New Canaan, Connecticut
10. Nov. 1928
be to the good God! You are still there, and the wire
is open again. Your most precious letter is here. The
harmony of paper and ink, gold brown, is intriguing
beyond resistance. I surrender at discretion, and at
this distance, to the ineffable lure of color and soft
words. To materialize myself in your Circeís den would
probably mean instant translation to the Seraphic sphere
not of this world. And God help us. You preferring all
things from one son of Adam, and I being the frailest
of the frail. To say nothing of the present burdens
of happiness already weighing upon so fragile a prop.
Pray that the starry canopy of heaven do not crash down
upon our heads!
words are more and more amazing to me every mail that
carries them. The honesty of modern youth in such post-War
angels as Margaret fill [sic] me with thankful happiness
and with a touch of panic too. When I think of the terrible
humbug and inhibitions of my lost (thank God!) Victorian
day, I cannot be glad enough. There could never have
been then one such as you are now. Margaret darling. . . .
first of all about beautiful Kathryn.1
You say, "Your lovely Kathryn." Hardly that,
of course, except as a phrase meaning my admiration,
such as any sane person must have had for so fair a
character. But that is enough to make me wish I could
be of any help. It is frightful. What can I do? Please
say. Ah, if only Ernest Fewster2
were here. He is so
wise, so all-understanding, so strong, so kind, so deeply
skilled in soul and body ailments. And why should she
have wished you to come down to Twilight so emphatically?
We canít let her suffer
so surely! My heart bleeds for so pitiful a break and
of course one has the wish to rush to aid. I wish we
knew more. Do divert her, if you see her. Is there anything
I could do? You are wise. You must be able to do something.
Tell me more at once, dear.
must run now, and will finish answering your letter
am full of poems!
Letter 61 n.2 and Letters 62, and 68. [back]
Letter 8 n.13. [back]