Dear Sterling:—

Just a word. Am rushing to get away from here Oct 24, and have a sore thumb! Will be in your country. Sometime near Nov. 15th. We'll have a pow-wow!

Your lyric, "The Dead Captain" strikes me as being one of your very best. It's intensely human and bites in every line. I love it. My wife, too, likes it very much. It perfectly fits the case of her own family. While her father lived, money grew on trees. When he died, the miracle ceased. He was a real fellow, too loving to maintain his high place in modern finance. He was American representative of the Dutch house of [?] & Company & was for years president of the MK & T.R.R.

Old Chap, do more of the distinctly human stuff. It's a vein that you have never & could never overwork (because of your natural artistic reticence), & you have decided power in that direction. I love your unhuman things too; but men in general will love you more for the human sympathy that is in you and that you so often conceal. I don't mean mush. I hate mush. Till we meet!

Always yours,

You do, somehow, seem to be growing yet. A fine [omen?] for your future fame! I'm eager to see the new book.