gpl

March eighth

125, Engle Street
Englewood, N.J.

Dear Miss Stein: I have seen Miss Heap (yes twice) and she seems glad to help me on the detail of these pamphlets. In fact she is writing a paragraph on you and one on Pavlik to be used in the subscription-propaganda sheets; she has given me the addresses of of printers and is going to give me addresses (I hope numberless addresses) of her subscribers etc. It would be easy enough for me to sell fifteen of my friends (or more accurately my parents' friends each five pamphlets but that is not at all the way in which I want to do it. Things swim along more or less smoothly. I am again the burden (the really noticeable burden) on the bosom of my family, and Englewood asks impossible questions such as 'What did you usually do this time of day most Thursdays'. There are few, there are no, compensations for suburban life now. Indeed I think I have been let in for dinners with the curate's wife, and I can easily see that if something does not drop heavily on her (and all the rest of them) that I might do several things equally drastic (self-protective) and uninteresting. There is only this to say. The International Theatre Exposition is something really miraculous, exciting; if things like it happen often perhaps New York will thwart Englewood's attempts (unconscious) to stunt my mind. My best to Miss Toklas; I think of both so often.

125englestreetenglewoodnewjerseyusa

gpl

March twenty-third

Dear Miss Stein: As I said I am enclosing several things for you to see. When
you are through with them you may dispose of them as you like as I, of course,
have other copies of them. I remember now that Allen asked once to see some-
thing, so, if you will, you might give them to him. I have very nearly dated
them to form a sort of sequence. I would really appreciate hearing from you
about them. The subscription blanks for the pamphlets are now in press. I
have had to increase the number of them to two hundred (numbered) copies of
which one hundred and seventy are for sale because of the horrible printer's
prices. Miss Heap has been very kind, giving me lists of addresses etc; she
promised to write a paragraph on you and one on Pavlik to go on the subscription
blanks (as I believe I wrote you) but as she has been so busy with her Theatre
Exposition that she was delayed and could not promise them for any definite
time. Accordingly the blanks are being printed without them. There is much
domestic excitement because of me. I came home one night not so very long ago
and announced that I would not go to college at all (I reserve the privilege
of changing my mind) and would commence the next day to search for work. I did
but found nothing. That was a week ago and I have still found nothing, but I
still look and expect things to arrive. So that is what I am doing now except
for being bored to taciturnity by environment. It is not pleasant. If I turn
up suddenly one of these days you will know that I have absconded with all my
worldly goods, and without permission. I wish somebody would write me about
Pavlik's vacation. I have had one letter from Rene since I have been back but
but I have no word from anyone else. My best to Miss Toklas.

gpl

April fifteenth

(the day that makes me nineteen)

Dear Miss Stein: Descriptions of Literature goes to press day after to-morrow and will be ready for distribution by the first May. Subscriptions are coming in well, and I am putting a number (fifty or so) in bookshops in New York, Philadelphia and New Haven. I have received only two subscriptions from the people on the list you gave me. Miss Etta Cone subscribed for five copies and Mr Howard Gans for one. And that is almost all of that. If I send you three copies (above the five that are coming to you) will you autograph them for Edith Finch (whom you will remember), Adlai Harbeck (who is active, very, in this project), and for myself. I will send you addressed envelopes to go with them and also American postage (for as I cannot send you French stamps I will send you Americain which you can undoubtedly somehow use). This will be soon a rare and unobtainable (expensive) edition!

Now for my news. There really is none except that I am working at Brentano's as the personal whatduck (I have been there a week and really have not yet discovered what I am supposed to do) of Mr Brentano Sr. I BROWSE all day among ancient tomes of Petronius, Voltaire, etc. and peruse many volumes on Magic, Witchcraft, cooking, sporting, costuming. I am in the OLD and RARE Dept. Of course I do all the dusting but that really does not matter. Besides

gpl

May eighteenth

Dear Miss Stein: Everything seems so uncertain. I mean that one day that I go into the LR Gallery Miss Heap is all of a flutter because she says that you will not go to England on account of the strike, and a week later she says that you will go because there is no strike. And then father talks about the garden of Eden having been situated at the North Pole until I am completely bewildered. Anyway I do hope that the England expedition is not off, that you do go and have a grand time. People seem greatly to admire Descriptions of Literature. I will send you whatever notices I may find. Van Vechten (did I tell you) did really buy one, but he did it through a bookshop. Heavens only knows when the Crevel will appear. I haven't a cent at present but I promise to get it and subsequent numbers out eventually. I think there are no mistakes in your number. I went over it carefully enough. Indeed I had to correct six proofs. The business lady said that the printer was a chinaman. Thanks for what you said about the little poems. But you didn't mention the kid element. Does it Disappear!? Is Allen as oriental as he writes. Saying: "they are unpretentious, uncomplicated and unvicious etc". I discovered recently a lot of esoteric themes I wrote for English last year at Berkshire (on

all of which I received very low marks). I understand what Allen says about being vicious (considering myself and the O-so-stupid English teacher.) Will probably go to Yale in the fall. I haven't proper requirements for Harvd. In the meantime I tutor frantically. No longer at Brentano and being bored, I revert to the sort of thing I used to do at school. Filling the local print with exciting spurious social items and home remedies. Someday the print will go out of business but then I will be somewhere else and it won't matter. All my best to you both,

Always,

gpl

June first

-Roughland

Norfolk, Connecticut

Dear Miss Stein: When I made out the application for copy-right for Descriptions of Literature I arranged for the certificate to be sent direct to you. I imagine you should have it by now but if you have not, and if you do not receive it soon, I want to follow it up. So do let me know if you have received it yet. I am not really at the above address but I will be by the time this reaches you, and I think that it will serve me quite well for address. I am really rather disgusted. Edith and Rene write. But almost never Allen. Say a word for me. Perhaps, adoring you as he does, he will have to write oftener. And now, thanks for the advice you gave Edith concerning Cocteau etc. I asked her to ask you about it, knowing no other way of finding out. Picture me being oh-so-pastoral this summer in the meadows of Connecticut. Someday there will have to be some more civilization, but I rather wonder where I am going to find it. Perhaps, instead of doing so much college, I would be permitted later to attend Gurdjieff. That would at least bring me closer to something. Am really reading the bible now, beginning with the first and dogmatick pages of genesis so

that my respected parent must necessarily be less domineering about divinity, and consequently, I don't know how he does it, about everything else.

You must not absolutely forget that you have promised me a photograph. All my best to you both,

Always,

gpl

They sailed! They sailed! Then spoke the mate:
"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night.
He curls his lip, he lies in wait,
With lifted teeth, as if to bite!
Brave Admiral, say but one good word:
What shall we do when hope is gone?"
The words lept as a leaping sword;
Sail on! sail on! and on!"

Then pale and worn, he kept his deck,
And peered through darkness. Ah, that night
Of all dark nights! And then a speck -
A light! A light! A light! A light!
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.
He gained a world; he gave that world
Its grandest lesson; "On and on!"

-Joaquin Miller

This and the like is the wholesomeness on which prep school
characters are built. I am too unutterably depressed after
having copied it all. And then. Ask Miss Toklas if she has
the difficulty writing exclamation points !!!!!!!! that I
have. Detestable things. Thanks for the pamphlet you sent.
Yesterday I mailed you the notice in the Post. Whatever others
I get I will send along. Soon I will start on a long drive.
This place is very bad for me, but my mind is gay often.

Always,

gpl

Norfolk, Connecticut

July first [1926]

Dear Miss Stein: Pavlik writes of your "enorme triomphe de Londres". I am so glad. Perhaps now the family-friend type of person will kick up and begin to think of something. Those so staid, so complacent, so successfully irritating people.

I do hope so. Descriptions Of Literature caused some little havoc in our suburban circles. They have gone as far as California and Mexico City over here, and to Rome, Milan, Berlin, London and that Paris of course. And incidentally, as I think of it, did you receive the certificate from the copyright bureau? Here I am being completely rural. Sunshine is giving me of that well-reputed tan. Surrounded by extraordinary-shaped near-mountains, coveted EARLY AMERICAN furniture, red and white mooley cows, and every known variety of stupidity I am becoming muscular and disgustingly healthy. I think that covers something. I will (expect to) enter Yale, oh yes there is no Harvard for me, in the fall. There I will gambol about with all the other swine and quite probably enjoy myself.

Someday something big (and not spectacular, Allen forbids me to be spectacular) will suddenly fall, and I will arrive here-alded by many cables. I like to talk about it, that seems to be about as near as I can arrive for the present. Always, gpl

gpl

392 Yale Station
New Haven, Connecticut.

October fifth -

Dear Miss Stein: Just now, just a minute ago, I finished reading "Composition As Explanation", and feel a great urge to write to you. It is so wonderful of you to deny the possibility of living ahead of time, and to put the squealing contemporaries in their proper and dusty decades. I think I will cut it out of the magazine and have it bound. Would you send me a letter more or less a propos that could be bound in with it. I shall wait until I can hear from you. As you have already probably guessed I am in this Yale. An emancipated Yale. They have abolished all the amusing barbarisms that made life so unpleasant for preceding Freshman classes, and have instituted only voluntary chapel. And that after 250 years of it compulsory. The professors now bemoan the fact for they cannot imagine what is going to get the boys up in the morning in time for classes. There is one amusing custom. Only Seniors can rollerskate and spin tops. All else is so dull, so dull and stupid; you could not imagine how horrible it is. And that is Yale! More As Stables are to appear about the first of November. I was desperate for a time as funds seemed totally unattainable, but now we have been presented with a tidy sum and instead of one we are doing two pamphlets at once. The Crevel-Gibb and the Hemingway-Cocteau. I will send you copies as I always swore I would. I showed the Cocteau drawing to a woman before I left home (at her request) and the astounding sentence began: 'Honest, Mr Lynes, I hardly know what to do or what to say. You see, it is so unusual.' Now, HONEST, Miss Stein, what do you do to them. I always get furious, and feel very weak afterwards. And it never does any good. Please advise me, and write, Always,

gpl

November tenth, -- [1926]

Dear Miss Stein: Of course; of course. I never do remember what I write in letters. That I should suddenly acquire graciousness in presenting you As Stables, and forget the agencies of honour and privilege, is no doubt due to the Yale without chapel. Let it pass. I sent you yesterday the Crevel and the Hemingway. I at last have discovered a totally reliable and beautiful printer. I regret only that I had not discovered him when I did your pamphlet. By the way, will you be including "Descriptions of Literature" in a book. Please do. I think it is so grand. When he sent us the mss., Hemingway wrote that he thought it one of the best things of yours he had ever seen. And we are so proud. And then, and then! This place is infuriating. The conventions begin no where in particular and are perfectly endless. This afternoon I had expounded to me the only way that one might be eccentric and live. By insinuating oneself quietly into "the group", by writing and publishing a few "charming" lines in the Lit. (a supposedly-literary monthly which avowedly refuses to be alive), by submitting so thoroughly to the custom and convention that the student has created to protect himself from all but a little harmless comment that one has experienced it all, one may then depart a little (very little) from the accustomed ways. Having been quite accepted one is to a small extent able to be amusing. No other way is possible. And the horrible part of it all is that those poor (misguided) youths who spend their entire undergraduate life attaining such a state have by that time forgotten whatever may have been

gpl

purpose and are just so much more stupid. Of course the average student will
do all this unconsciously but there are those, I know some half dozen, who
started out to overwhelm the university (and subsequently the world) by this
method of experiencing the whole and the past in order to enjoy the recent
and just fell along side the street. It is in this way that all vestrymen
are created (at least judging from father's). And. I CANNOT DO IT. And there
is no other way. That is why the place is so dull. NEUTRAL. It means nothing
except the creation of a background and a contrast to those few who will show
someday going either up or down. As interest I am afraid that it must be dis-
regarded. Yale then: intellectually timid, appalled at the prospect of creat-
ing discussion or controversy, handsome, athletic, and obsessed with the ex-
change of motorcycles? Perhaps now, if I have succeeded in making myself clear,
you will appreciate the degree of disgust and realize what a pleasure and rel-
ief a word from the outer world might be, and is. There are a few nice people
who pass some of the time, but I am afraid that they are of "topical rather
than permanent interest". SO MUCH FOR YALE! Thanks so much for the data
about the book. I have already sent my order. And will obtain the conference
shortly.

Did you ever think, maybe, that you once in those other ages
you promised me a photograph. Please think of it. I would so much like to
have it and for reasons not so vague as "honour and privilege." Do you
ever see the Hardys? Not once since I left Paris have either of them written
me. I write de temps en temps but it is decidedly unsatisfactory. How are
they. And how are you and all the rest. Give such as I know my love. They
are swine. Only René writes. And my best to Miss Toklas.

Always and always,

Eugène.

gpl

December first - 1926

Dear Miss Stein: Your letter this morning gives me "another idea". Being amused by, but hardly satisfied with, publishing pamphlets! Eventually, I am determined, we are going to publish a limited-edition magazine-effect, in a format similar to that of "Commerce". That will come with the advent (the too uncertain advent) of funds. Will you please hold yourself in readiness to be asked to contribute. But that is too shadowy for now. NOW FOR THE POINT! Your speaking of the naissance of portraits of Allen and Pavlik, and I suppose of other portraits too, is the nucleus of the idea. I think you have guessed it. Why cannot there be a small book of just (recent) portraits published under the gentle guidance of The As Stable Publications. By subscription. Of course I have not one cent, but I think funds might be raised. If you think this is a good idea (I think it is a grand idea) will you please advise. Will you please advise with suggestions of possible sources of revenue, and can you get for me the list (with addresses) of the subscribers to "As a Wife Has a Cow". I cannot explain it. It is too awfully unreal, this mania I have for publishing. I would like to be published, yes certainly, but I think that even that would not give me as much thrill as this other. 0000! Do let me know and say something that will give the idea a sense of tangibility!

And now. I hate the 'baby George'. Please drop it. In this place, if I cannot feel superior and aloof, paresis will certainly set in. And I will have to watch and watching be wholly unable to escape.

Always,

THE AS STABLE PUBLICATIONS

125 ENGLE STREET
ENGLEWOOD, NEW JERSEY

January sixth - [1927]

Dear Miss Stein: This is no letter. I am horribly rushed about many things at the moment. Will write you a real letter shortly containing much important news. The reason for this note is to tell you something that I think will please you. In response to my advertisements in the Jan. "Dial" I have much satisfaction. Of interest to you will be the fact that no person has ordered less than two copies, and your pamphlet has been on every order. That is to say that they order either yours and Crevel, or yours and Hemingway, or all three. Next pamphlet to contain Osbert Sitwell, Yvor Winters and Archipenko (I think). I have sent my love to you by Sitwell. If he forgets to give it to you when you see him; ask him for it.

Always,

m.licht

511 broad avenue nalisades park.n.i.

February, 7, 1927

George Platt Lynes, Esq.
The As Stable Publications
GXT 125 Engle St.
Englewood, N.J.

Dear Mr. Lynes,

"Unser Buch", the publication I am associated with presently, was ordered by me to be sent to you. I hope that its perusal by you thru some intelligent Jewish channel will render a satisfactory literary impression of its contents.

However, there is a possibility of a new group-alignment. The publication that may thus result will probably be of a more exclusive nature. For years we have been aiming at a stricter literary and critical vehicle. When achieved, the work of Miss Stein in such a magazine should have even a more heightened effect.

Saturday last I mailed a letter to Miss Stein. I appreciate greatly your interest in the matter and thank you for writing to her concerning the plan of translation.

As soon as her answer reaches me I will have the pleasure of communicating with you. I hope you will write upon hearing from Miss Stein, first.

Description of Literature is in the writer's less dense vein. As a Steinite it gave me pleasure to read and re-read it. Meseems that your experimental activity with pamphlets of this kind is very laudable. It is to be hoped that you find no discouragement in your enterprise.

Kindly write me whenever you find it convenient to do so.

THE AS STABLE PUBLICATIONS

February seventeenth, 1927.

Dear Miss Stein: As I may have, probably have, advised you, the book did finally arrive and is grand. It is terrible the way things get delayed. And I think that squabbling does sometimes help. And now, please, I beg of you, please. What about that or its size or content. I thought it was quite perfectly understood that it was to contain "Descriptions of Literature", "Four Pauls", "A Mile Away", and perhaps the think Muriel showed me. I think that makes it a very good size. Or, if you like, something else may be easily added. And a frontispiece. Oh, all this is terrible. I thought that the mss. was on the way. And now I am all upset, for the prospect for financial support will do nothing until the mss. has been seen. Please rush it over. Things are so generally and successfully annoying. I think I am going to murder (or more superlative) those who have started this Literary Guild. You have probably heard tell of it. Of all imbecile schemes. I do hope they go bankrupt just when they are decided to become so so rich on literature, or near it. Oh yes, and do send me the Man Ray photograph. Business is being learned, but not so good. And just how ill is René. Allen mentioned it. But nobody seems to elaborate. And now. Will I ever stop. (I guess not.) I have another plan for you and me. Will you be interested in lecturing over here. I can easily arrange such socially, publicly and educationally. I mean drawing rooms, galleries and colleges. Next winter, I mean. How about women's clubs. Whether or not it will carry itself financially I don't know. It will pay partly that way and much other ways. Let me hear. Always,

gpl

Englewood, New Jersey

February twenty-fourth, 1927.

Dear Miss Stein: I am excited beyond mention. The BIRTHDAY BOOK
sounds too marvelous to be true. Please send it at once. Please
send it at once and let me have all accompanying data. The exact
title, the dedication if any, the complete or selected list of
books (by the same author), the whole business. I would like to
get it out for the Christmas sales. I don't know that I can. I
will surely try. I think done in quarto with sometimes one day,
sometimes two days, sometimes three days to the page it will be
astonishing. Somebody told me that the assymetrical arabesque
is the most spiritual of designs. Contextually and other ways
this means nothing. I don't quite know about the royalty bus-
iness. I rather feel that whoever puts how many dollars into the
enterprise should first regain the amount of the loan. If I were
doing the paying myself it would be different. But when I say:
will you loan me so much to publish this book; I have to add: I
will pay you back out of the first returns and give you percentage
afterwards. So, my dear Miss Stein, would you be willing to accept
a larger percent (say 33 1/3) on profits and let me retain reputation
for paying debts. It is very difficult trying to do this sort of
thing without personal capital, and that, you know, I have not got.
If you cannot do this, let me know and I will try to manage it on
the 10% basis. But do send me the material at once! Modern Chinese
Literature is really something. But the motive is hardly dissimilar.

Always,

gpl

March eighteenth, 1927.

Dear Miss Stein: I am very sorry that there is any complication about the mss of the Birthday Book. I more than appreciate your position, and must realize that you are quite right. But would you let me know the approximate number of words it contains, and how much blank space you want left for each day, so that I may get an estimate on the cost of production. And would you send me the exact title so that I may have a jacket design made. A very simple one, but distinctive. When I have the cash in hand for the publication I will Let you know. Although I a little fear that it may not be immediately. It is so inconvenient being so far away! Muriel has it all arranged for a reading from "Unser Buch" when you appear in it. Some friend of hers knows Yiddish. And although we will comprehend nothing of the translated text, it will be truly exciting. Of that I will let you know quite a lot later! Here things are not very amusing. I know that too many people are too malicious. Especially the women and the young men. Old men who run musical societies are harmless, but they chatter themselves and each other to sleep. There are a number of "souls" about. People who would have done so well in 1890; or so I am assured. The sort of people who spot one for sympathy and rush over saying: A flower is a beautiful thing but is it art? It is terrible. The medium is terrible! I must stop this. I am getting bored with it myself. Always,

THE AS STABLE PUBLICATIONS

April fourteenth - [1927]

Dear Miss Stein: The whole thing is wrong. This being a business man and not a business man. And it is an excellent idea to drop it all and begin again, somehow differently. For as far as the business part ever got was the idea. I did not know that the consummation of whatever plans I had would be prevented (1) by my extraordinarily ill health this spring and (2) my great inability to procure funds. I am naturally sorry that the plans for the Birthday Book have fallen through. Perhaps sometime later, when things are settled with me, we can make some sort of satisfactory arrangement. At present I am doing nothing. Recuperating. Presently I am going to take a JOB with some publisher, Knopf I think as some family friend has influence there. And then in the fall I will open my book shop. Then I will consider myself settled and I will have much to keep me unostentatiously occupied. And everything will be calm again, for everything will be settled. The hectic business of leaving college and subsequent idleness, amusement and illness have left things far from calm. And, I think, that by the time I next see you I will have recovered whatever quality I possessed in Paris that I have since neglected! I have seen no one recently. Muriel was not well when I saw her several weeks ago. Max continues in his quiet way, but seemed much excited over the telephone yesterday about the audience at the Antheil concert. He was 1 of the 10 distinguished pianists, you know. And so things go. I hear from Glenway and Monroe from Villefranche, but it is ages since I heard from Allen. Tell him that I will write soon. I have had one very triste letter from Rene from the Alps. And that is all. Do write me about all yourselves. And do please send me the photograph for the shop. Give my very best to Miss Toklas.

Always,

THE AS STABLE PUBLICATIONS

August twenty-third 219273

Dear Miss Stein:

Everything is finished. Or else everything is just beginning. The realization
that a lease is signed, the sensation of going-to-open-a-bookshop-on-October-fifteenth, the
knowledge that it is all quite irrevocable, is vicious and somewhat too brilliantly clinical.
Like frustration. And I think that it was all inevitable. For when I went to college I made
a sort of agreement with father that if, for any reason, I left that I would not expect to
return and that I would go to work. That was a long time ago. I left college nine months ago
and have worked at nothing since. I was ill, of course, but that is all over, and I think
that obviously it is time to start something. So does father. So does mother. Even my little
brother is investing. What do you think? What do you think, remembering perhaps that it does
not concern New York?

I am stocking two of your books, the only ones that seem to be in print,
that is "Three Lives" and "Geography and Plays", and await news of more. Will there be some-
thing soon? I seem to hear of an opera. And I do wish, in view of this crisis (for me), that
you would send the photo you promised me so long ago. The display would be advantageous, and
it is unfortunate to only have the snapshot. I seem not to have a copy of Georgian Stories
1926. And people do ask.

I have written René. And I have heard from him. And I am so sorry. It seems
that everyone is ill or sad or frantic. René is so unfortunate, and I am so fond of him.
If there is anything that I can do or send him that might amuse him please tell me of it.

I am enclosing something or other. It is not for me to describe. But it may
amuse you and it may interest you. I seem to remember something you said about the compos-
ition of "Descriptions of Literature", which, incidentally, is being advertised in several
Rare Book catalogues this fall.

Do write when you can. My best to Miss Toklas.

THE AS STABLE PRESS

TELEPHONE: ENGLEWOOD 4466

GEORGE PLATT LYNES'
PARK PLACE BOOKSHOP
ENGLEWOOD, NEW JERSEY

September thirtieth

Dear Miss Stein:

This is really very much less a letter than
a specimen. A forecast and a gesture of sorts, something
wherein one is rudely appreciated and, more often than not,
ignored. And I am certainly not one to probe the immutable
mysteries of that indifference which Glenway claims to be
tolerance. And I am not to be so very easily frightened.

Then. There is a new development, though of
an uncertain kind. I may have a partner. A partner who will
be as involved, as muddled, as pleasant as I. And who will
not insist on removing my name from the throne of this sheet.
And I am very contented. And things promise well.

And I promise nothing!

Please think kindly of me, and favour me with
occasional cheer. I seem to handle so many dull books and to
encounter so many cheerless people. And the nice things seem
so far away. And . .

At the moment my room is full of bees. Which
I justly detest. And which made me jumpy.

THE AS STABLE PRESS

TELEPHONE: ENGLEWOOD 4466

October twentieth - 51927

Dear Miss Stein:

You timed it beautifully, and I thank and thank you for it. The photograph arrived just two days before the opening of the shop, for me to see. One day for the framing, and one day for exploration and placing. And you would be pleased. The effect is splendid. And ever so appealing to these our unspoiled clients, technical, and who would thank you too.

This is the fourth day. Three days of rain, and today with clouds. But People have been amazingly attentive and I think that greater excitement will come with that sun which seems to be the only factor sufficiently powerful to draw them from the fires. And, I suppose that these people will continue to be attentive as long as they refuse to suffer from the pains of love. Or, properly, of concupiscence. Pains which I could have no desire to suggest. Advisedly.

And I am pleased. And appreciate the good wishes of the "upper strata of Englewood society", and the good wishes of friends and acquaintances and blood-relations. And will not be peeved by the greater proportions the Atlantic seems to have assumed. And I am sure to be gratified by those invading their states, territory which I would not claim. It is enough for now.

THE AS STABLE PRESS

TELEPHONE: ENGLEWOOD 4466

November first -

Dear Miss Stein:

There's not so much to be said now, and not so
much thinking, although it's reasonable enough to expect that the
young man, in the chaos of the rush, will rejoice or complain. It
would be nice, but, ¹ must say, either state of mind will not be
forced. We are making money in our small way and find the exper-
ience pleasant, and we are being liked by the "upper strata", a
kindly political and coy body, but it is not exactly satisfying.
The urge seems to lead elsewhere. And small comfort it is! But
as we are, and such as we are, we manage to be decorative, to re-
assure numerous dull ones as to taste and intelligence and the
advisability of suspecting all things cryptic, to amuse ourselves
with several giantesses who spend most of their time away from here
and with several delicate and elderly ladies who receive volume
after volume of correspondence from their husbands, deceased. But
that is only the half of what you could guess from the enclosed,
rather wide-eyed, and eloquent (?) snaps. It is so much easier to
look than to wade through what endless and inadequate descriptions
I might write you of it. And you may appreciate me in that connect-
ion.

Always,

THE AS STABLE PRESS

TELEPHONE: ENGLEWOOD 4466

January twenty-seventh

Dear Miss Stein: Up to a certain point I can make excuses for not writing, uncover things of no importance, but after that I must begin all over again. A timely and self-preserving measure! ... Existence here is like no existence at all. It is so unbeautifully true. Nothing ever quite happens. Wesson, with whom I expect to invade Europe in a few months time, has almost died of pneumonia, all away in California. Entertainment becomes a burden. My parents have gone away to Bermuda, leaving me all alone in much too large a house; there is comfort in it but little enough diversion. Whatever pleasures there are lie beyond wide rivers and the boats are slow! ... Little Bravig is here, but that I expect you know. I see him occasionally. Glenway is here, cheering many of the dull moments, making history. And always there are: Adlai and Jimmy and Lee. Even Max, the "demi-dazed and demi-demure"; I've seen very little of him lately, which is satisfactory enough! ... The little Norwegian read me a part of his book. Did you like it? My loyalties, it seems, lie far to the east; east of this and Wyndham Lewis' social intrigue. The cultural notation. I covet predominance. Will you not send me the Pauls and the Georges, or tell me where I may read them? That I am a George I will never forget. It is forbidden. ... A letter from René from Berlin; the saving grace of this morning's mail. The first I have had all in English. I miss the purple ink, but find consolation in the fact that he writes at all. The ease with which he creates confusion! With much love,

THE AS STABLE PRESS

TELEPHONE: ENGLEWOOD 4466

GEORGE PLATT LYNES'

PARK PLACE BOOKSHOP

ENGLEWOOD, NEW JERSEY

March ninth, 1928.

Dear Miss Stein: It would take more than a calendar-promise of summer
to persuade me that our dark, incorporeal, lustreless winter season
would one day come to an end. Today, for example, there is fine, bitter
snow, never reaching the ground, carried horizontally by a strong wind.
No winter is always enough winter for me! Glenway writes that Rene
has had a lung collapsed. How is he. Will he, by any chance, be in
Paris when I arrive in May. Which reminds me that I am arriving in May.
My shop is being sold. When that is finished I am off. And, though I
will be in Paris only long enough to say hello, I will see you and the
few. I am headed, so I am told, for a land of wasps and primroses! It
occurs to me to tell you that a copy of Descriptions of Literature is
(in a lot with Three Lives and Geography and Plays) to be put up for
auction at the Anderson Galleries next Tuesday. The Phoenix Book Shop
has taken over all the pamphlets, including the thirty odd of yours
that remain. Out of the two hundred they took they have sold twenty in
a week, which is well and as it should be! Disgust is the prevailing
emotion now. My family has adopted an old man, eighty-six, who smells
evilly of bad cigars. If I disliked him less, I might profit by his
discourse: Jenny Lind, the burning of the Park Theatre, odd recipes
for cooking oysters, . . Etc. and indefinitely. It is a bad time I
am having; what with the weather and the withered. But it will all be
over soon.

Always, your

THE CITY UNIVERSITY OF NEW YORK
WRITING SKILLS ASSESSMENT TEST

FORM AA

DIRECTIONS

You will have 50 minutes to plan and write the essay assigned below.
You may wish to use your 50 minutes in the following way: 10 minutes planning what you are going to write; 30 minutes writing; 10 minutes rereading and correcting what you have written.

You should express your thoughts clearly and organize your ideas
so that they will make sense to a reader. Correct grammar and sentence
structure are important.

Write your essay on the lined pages of your booklet. You may use
the inside of the front cover of the booklet for preliminary notes.

You must write your essay on _one_ of the following assignments.
Read each one carefully and then choose either A or B.

A. At a recent anti-war demonstration, a large sign was displayed stating that, "Nothing is worth dying for." This statement is generally true. Nothing -- not country, religion, family, or friends -- is worth dying for.

Do you agree or disagree? Explain and illustrate your
answer from your own experience, your observations of others,
or your reading.

B. The pressure of taking tests in class does not always allow students to do their best. Students should be allowed to take tests wherever they want -- at home, in the library, or some other convenient place.

gpl

June twelfth, 1929.

And, what did become of the translation? I have none yet.

My dear Gertrude . . I am all boats and hopes, sure of being deserted by father and brother, and likely not to permit an extension of maternal solicitude. I might, of course, disobeying my God-like and godless doctor, go over myself this summer, but I am still rather timid and infinitely prefer this house to any grave. I wanted to, and was disappointed when told I couldn't. The scenery here is nice if one walks or rides far enough to see it but the cooking is abominable, and I envy you your distinguished retreat. I have only silence, solitude and a great deal of coolish fresh air for my enjoyment. I couldn't give your love to New York because there isn't any New York to give it to, and, too, I do not think you really meant me to. True, while I was in the hospital, New York sent a bit of its fancy work, in the form of a certain Mr Ewing, but I was not content and sent it back. And that is all. I shall not stay more than another week in the country. My private messes are calling me and I may even enjoy the somewhat inferior climate. Englewood is not so bad for the summer when one knows one will live out the winter in the city. Shall I interpret the suburbs? I think sometimes of the threat from Bermuda, and hasten to assure you that it in no way concerns me or what might have been mine. I think that, at the end of my next three-year period, I will be twenty-five and wonder what the application is. It will be an unkindly fate that keeps me from you and Europe longer. Give my love to Alice and tell her that I shall be very disappointed if she has no questions to ask when next we meet. Give my love to yourself and don't let anything keep you from writing me all the nicest things you think. I miss you.

THE AS STABLE PUBLICATIONS

July twenty-ninth, 1929.

My dear Gertrude . . I've a vast amount of this paper left, and might as well use it up
on those few (and choice) people who know what it was all about. I might add that sev-
eral weeks ago I sent complete files of the pamphlets to the New York and Yale Univer-
sity Libraries (it is a wonder I never thought of it before) and received elaborate let-
ters of thanks. It is nice to suppose one is appreciated. I thank you very kindly
for your sentences. Quote my thanks, saying: "Without doubt." and "They are very winning."
I like everything about the edition, except the title page which I think a bit crowded,
and the preface which is too much like Cocteau's to "J'adore". I am amazed that you trans-
late so well, though I regret that many will not be able to read the original. Indulge my
prejudices and I'll love you more than ever. One appreciates, in this country, what a
blessing the telephone may be. This is not wholly irrelevant. The bell has been ringing
continually all morning and I've had a number of curious and delightful conversations
with a number of curious and delightful people. People I could not bear to see. It is too
hot. But, I expect you are not envious. My family has crossed over into France. Some
of my France is, or has been, over here. For the last week I have been living alone in
Englewood, taking my meals where I can get them (the breakfasts at the Excelsior Restaurant
I particularly loathe), making frequent trips into New York. I go again when I finish this
sheet. But why? It is a fabulous city. Not to be believed in. And perhaps it is merely that
quality of fabulousness that is attractive. One has no friends, merely, as I have remarked,
telephone acquanitances. One loses faith. I am going to work on Saturday. I'll write what
that is like. I always was good at bookshops though this is only for the month. I know what,
and what not, has to do with a career. Letter-writing has advantages; I should write more.
Love to Alice and Basket (pretty thing) and you.

Always,

gpl

October ninth, 1929.

My dear Gertrude . . I'm sorry that the progress I have to report is not progress at all.
There were only two people who might have helped us, and those two passed me on to two
others. Donald Friede, of Covici Friede Inc., wrote: "Publishing is somewhat of a commercial
business, tempered only by an un-commercial attitude towards new authors. Gertrude Stein
is very definitely not a new author and unless you can find somebody with a tremendous
enthusiasm for her work, and with such a heavy subsidy back of him that he does not have
to worry about possible losses, I can see no hope for you. However, there is a young boy
about to set up in publishing who might possibly be interested. His name is Alfred King.
You might get in touch with him." I wrote Mr King, and have had no reply. This was at
least two weeks ago. Ralph Allan, of the Phoenix Book Shop, wrote: "I don't think I could
handle the Stein textbooks. I haven't enough collectors of her works to make the scheme
feasible from the financial point of view, much as I should like to do it. However, I
would suggest that you speak to Mr David Moss of the Gotham Book Mart. As you probably
know, Mr Moss is the American distributor for 'transition', and, as such, I should think
he would be in a position to handle the 'How to Write' series. It is awfully good of you
to come to me in this matter and I am very sorry indeed not to be in a position to do
what you suggest." I interviewed Mr Moss, who was not at all interested in doing anything
about you on such a scale. And that, of course, unless you can get somebody else to find
you a publisher, leaves only the subscription method. I am terribly sorry, as you know.
I wish I could do it myself . . perhaps, one day . . but my bank balance isn't even worth
looking into. You mustn't, in any case, be discontented with me. Do write me what you do,
whom you see, and how you are. I am lonesome for Paris.
Always,

Always,

15 RUE GARANCIÈRE (VIª)

June sixteenth, 1930.

My dear Gertrude.

It is a strange Paris without you. But I suspect that could not
have been helped. I could not have come sooner, but have confidence in the fact
that I shall still be here when you return, hoping that you do not arrive too
late.

I am to have a celebrity show in the fall, here or in New York,
and must have a picture of you to exhibit. Assorted celebrities. Even Lindbergh.
Though it might be impertinent to suggest that you return expressly to sit for me.
Shall I make you a list . . even a tentative one?

That I have not your address with me bothers me a little. I hope
somebody will forward this to you.

I have seen a number of people . . Allen and Tonny and Eugene,
for example . . but always in the distance, always in the theatre. I haven't
"looked up" anybody. I am rather unsociable these days, though not unfriendly. If
you were here life would be different.

15 RUE GARANCIÈRE (VIᵉ)

June twentieth, 1930.

My dear Gertrude.

Your letter, addressed to the Guaranty, arrived not two
hours after I had mailed mine, addressed to the Rue de Fleurus. That ex-
plains everything, including my pleasure in having two letters from you
when you might have sent only one.

The only aspect of my plans that is not vague is that I
will probably continue in Paris for at least another month. After that, if
I can buy or beg or steal an automobile, I mean to see the world, and will
assuredly make my way in your direction . . . for long enough to see and photo-
graph you all. I expect I shall be wanting to go to Villefranche for a short
time, to review my particular battle fields, to have a look at the sea and
the foliage. And, of course, I will not be alone. I have never seen you in
the country, a pastoral Gertrude, and the prospect fills me with delight.
But more of that later when I know what I am about.

My love to you and to Alice. Benediction upon Basket.

gpl

Englewood, New Jersey.

November twenty-ninth, 1930.

Dearest Gertrude,

I wish you were really here, to be seen and talked to. Talking about you is the second best, but it only aggravates my lonesomeness, making you seem especially far away. For I have had the luck to be able to talk about you, often and tenderly, with Bernard Fay. And he is sailing away, within the week, and I must stay behind. Next summer I mean to be in France again. Then I shall pursue you into the depths of the country, bearing with me gifts and the accoutrements of my profession.

How I loathe making school-girls beautifully vague. But there are still people who are beautifully natural, or simply beautiful, and I find comfort in that. I am going to try to make proper prints of the snapshots I took of you so long ago; if I have any success, I will send examples. There was a good one of Cocteau. Perhaps I shall try that too. The vanity of young Americans is just compensation for the vanity of their parents, their aunts, and their living ancestors. And there are conservative politicians, actresses, and men of letters. It rather suits me, however; I do not wither, but otherwise resemble an old woman . . . guarding my memories. God bless us.

There must be new editions (although I haven't paid for the last one yet), more grammar or portraits. Bernard read me his piece about you. I was delighted

with it. I should like to have a copy. Could you and he combine to send me one. For
my letter will reach Paris only a few days before he does. You are so much a part of
my history. Having known you, near and far, for more than five years, feeling impressively
devoted, I want every scrap. And lovely long letters.

I neglected everybody, saw nobody, this summer. The fault of my fatal
preoccupations. If peace there needs to be, make peace for me. I expect this is going
to be a hard winter for lots of people, certainly lots of people here; I'm sorry. I
feel singularly pure, and wish nobody hard luck. A sort of benediction. Send me one.

My best love always,

gpl

January twenty-eighth, 1931.

Dearest Gertrude.

I am sensationally poor, but too impatient to wait until ten or more subscriptions have been collected before getting your book. Please send it at once. And I will mail all your blanks to the most likely people I know, and hope for flattering returns.

What a good idea it is to publish yourself all the unpublished work. I particularly admire the enterprise because I remember what an impressive lot of manuscript volumes you have. I shall subscribe to them all, hoping to be a favoured or favourite collector, and because I applaud you.

Why the massacre? I do it myself, abruptly and without conscience, but not often. I wish you would write me all the news. Paris is still my chosen city, and the Rue de Fleurus is the best of streets. I wish I were there today. I will probably reach Paris by the middle of May. Will you have gone away?

I am devoted enough to deserve a dedication. Please be indulgent. Always with much love to yourself and Alice.

Your.

gpl

April eleventh, 1931.

Dearest Gertrude.

This is my best winter, or my worst, or both. I have worked as it hardly possible to work, and am exhausted. I have seen too many people, have stayed away from my desk for unconscionable periods, have kept late hours. On the other hand I have not been bored, I have done good work, and am doing better. I regret principally that I have written so seldom, so languishingly, sometimes with tears. And I am glad it is nearly over. I am not unprepared for a summer of luxury, however arduous, and of no letters at all.

I want to order a copy of the second book, Before the flowers ..., and am enclosing a cheque. I hope there are copies left. I should have ordered it weeks ago. And laziness is not my excuse. And I want to thank you for so charmingly inscribing Luch Church to John McAndrew. He is one of the nicest young men I know, although I believe Bernard does not agree; I will take or send him to see you some day.

Will you mail the book to me care of the Guaranty Trust Company, 4 Place de la Concorde. I am sailing on May seventh, and am afraid there will be no time to send it to me here before I leave. That will be a lovely surprise. And I will write them to hold it for me. So much for the book. But what about yourself? Will you have retired to your mountain haunts before May fifteenth? I will insist upon hunting you out this year. So, if you are gone, let me know how much and how

long it takes to get to wherever you go. I am poorer than ever, but will manage somehow.

I am going to Hartford next week to see some twenty-five of my pictures which are being exhibited there. (Two exhibitions in New York next winter.) And then I am going to Massachusetts for a week to try to rest before I start for Europe. I look crushed. But before I go to Hartford Joella Levy is giving a big birthday party for me. That will be nice. And I have taken lots of pictures of her to show you and her mother whom I have never met.

I have heard from at least three sources that Man Ray has gone quite off the deep end. Can you verify or contradict the rumor?

This is a dullish sheet, but so am I. I am twenty-four now (next week). And I was eighteen when I met you. It seems years ago. And so much has happened. I will want news of everybody, both the quick and the dead. Are there any recent dead?

Best love as always,

gpl

Guaranty Trust Company,
4, Place de la Concorde.

May twenty-fifth, 1931.

Dearest Gertrude.

I found the book at the bank . . and very handsome it is
and very enjoyable . . but no letter. And I wanted a letter so much. And
everybody I have seen reports that you long since fled to the country. I
walked so wistfully by your door the other day. How beastly if it were not
true, if you were there all of the time.

Do let me know if I can see you, how I can see you. Are you
so very far? Might I stay in your neighborhood for a day, or for two days,
take photographs for my exhibition, and make conversation?

I am moving in a day or two, but know not where. The bank
is the best address anyway.

With many a tender thought,

Yours,

Friday.

Dearest Gertrude.

It has been unmannerly of me not to write, especially after
your message of hospitality. I have been waiting to see when I can get away,
and every day have thought that I would have something definite to tell you.
But I seem no nearer a decision than I have ever been, and it may be just as
well to set a day arbitrarily . . . and stick to it. I am moving on the first of
July from my hotel to an apartment which I am to have until October (when, of
course, I will return to the vicissitudes of New York), and think the very best
time I could get away would be during the moving. So let us say the 28th of
June. And, if it is agreeable to you, I will come on that day. Will it be
all right to let you know about trains at the last minute?

I have just looked at the calendar and discover that the 28th is a Sunday. Travelling over weekends is not particularly appealing, so perhaps Friday or Monday would be better. Will you let me know what you think. Either would suit me beautifully.

I want so much to see you. It seems very long since we met.
And I want to be forgiven my recent silence, and to take lots and lots of pictures
of you. I made an illustration for _As A Wife Has A Cow_ which I shall take you.

Thank you again and again. And love to you both.

November sixteenth, 1931.

Dearest Gertrude.

I am almost ashamed to be writing to you after so many months
of silence, but write I must. I have thought of you so often and of my lovely
weekend with you and again, without breaking the circle, of your landscapes
and of your house and of your tea table. I have wondered when you were going to
publish more books, and how Alice is getting on with her tapestry. Before I
start making excuses for my transgressions, let me ask for answers to these
questions and to other I do not even know.

My days and weeks after I left you were erratic and troubled.
I often thought that my days with you were the only really tranquil ones. Friends
arrived from America and other odd parts of the world, and had to be entertained.
And for six weeks, from the end of July to the beginning of September, I took a
long motor trip into Germany and Austria. And then, of course, I returned to New
York and Englewood. Somehow, between friends and between trips, I managed to take
between 1500 and 2000 photographs. And all the while I had yours on my mind. Well,
they are done at last and have been mailed . . . some twenty-five of them. I think
that if there had not been so many, or if I had liked them better, I should have
sat up all night one night during the summer to get them ready for you. But several
required a grade of paper I can get only in this country, and that was my ex-
cuse to myself. Frankly I was very disappointed in them, and for reasons of pride
would have been glad to suppress them altogether. Perhaps you will. I might even
be grateful for that. But if you are glad to have even one or two, that is all

I could ask.

New York is like and unlike itself. Everybody has more to
complain of than usual, but everybody complains of everybody else, and not,
as might be expected, of the general impoverishment. I, equivocally enough,
have been all-consumingly cheerful.

I met Muriel at a cocktail party last week and persuaded her
to sit for me. I had almost forgotten how infinitely charming she can be, and
was delighted to see her again. We talked of you, and she asked me to send her
love. As for the pictures . . . they are rather incredible, but I am pleased with
them. You may see them soon in the local prints. It appears that she has another
book almost ready. A book about New York, and not in the least like the last.
It would be nice if you would like New York, and come here. We would appreciate
you. But then, I suppose, I would have less to go to Paris for, and that would
not do at all, even though we are never there together any more. I hope to get to
Europe as early as April next year. I have a tentative plan to go to Portugal.
But, as usual, I shall probably manage less than half. Although any half is a
good one.

I cannot remember what the news is. There must be some. But it
is too late at night for me, and it would be sensible if I tried to write another
day instead. Now that I have the awful load of those photographs off my con-
science, I will write oftener. My love to Alice. I wish I could see you both.

Love to you,

GEORGE PLATT LYNES. ENGLEWOOD. NEW JERSEY.

My dear Gertrude.

It is weeks, even months, since I last wrote. I am sorry. My life here, for all its order, is something of a mess underneath. Perhaps I have preferred to feel deserted by the world, the element of it I miss, and have risked actual desertion. In any case remember that I do not forget you, and wish very often that I could have an hour or two of you.

I did not see (Mr. and Mrs.) Georges Maratier. They were in New York only one day, and I could not get in. We chatted over the telephone, however, and I arrived at several amusing conclusions about rapacious women and ambitious young men. I hear nothing from them from Chicago. But then I have not written. I wonder if knowing them would be simpler or quite impossible.

I have a fair chance of becoming a good photographer. I am, however, not attempting to practice it as an art. Decoration, a portion of eccentricity, and a great deal of good will, are my stock in trade. I have taken family groups, but no wedding parties; negroes, but no Chinamen; and you should see my "sentimental landscapes". When I make enough money here for it to be possible, I will open a studio in Paris and never leave there again.

New York is impossible. All luxury, physical and spiritual, and no nourishment. An ideal place for Mary Butts and Mireille Havet and Eugene MacCown, but not for George Lynes. Eugene, I believe, is coming over; why will not America import the others and deport me. I for one do not believe Cocteau, for all his charm and vice, is France. I like to think of you in the Rue de Fleurus. I do nothing, see nobody. Because I wish it so, though I often dislike it. My love to Alice. I'll be seeing you soon, if I live down my chagrin.

Best love always,

GEORGE PLATT LYNES

March ninth, 1933.

My dear Gertrude.

Thank you 1000 times for your letter. It is good to hear from you again. I think of you so often and fondly, none the less because we have been out of touch. It will be a long time before we meet again. No Europe for me this year, perhaps none for several years. For I have an establishment now for the taking of pictures, a palatial sort of place, and the rent must be earned. And that is uncertain and rather difficult just now.

New York is really fantastic. I suppose you have read of our wonderful "bank holiday". Everybody is living on credit. Cheques can be neither cashed nor deposited; there is no money. Now, of course, everybody is wondering if there is to be scrip and how long credit will be good. And what that funny new president of ours will be up to next. I hope he knows what he is doing.

I am quite excited by the account in the New Yorker of the "Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas", and, rushed to my bookseller to order a copy. I am looking forward to it. And what of the Plain Editions? I have not had an announcement for months. And there were a couple I could not afford at the time. I think Lucy Church and the Flowers of Friendship are the latest ones I have. Will you let me know about the newer ones.

The same seventy-five faces everywhere, always. So if you know any new and attractive people who are coming to America, do send them to see me. And give pleasant messages to Bernard for me. I am so frightfully behind on my correspondence. Only a letter from you could rouse me to immediate action.

Now to work. There is work to do, thank heaven, even if money is difficult to collect.

My best love to you both,

44 EAST 50TH STREET, NEW YORK

TELEPHONE: PLAZA 3-8666 - CABLES: VAUGIRARD NEW YORK

SANTIAGO

July twenty-eighth, 1933.

Dear Gertrude.

I have hoped all this time I would be able
to go to see you. No luck. As usual, perhaps. At any rate
I am now engaged in a tour of the northern half of Spain,
enjoying it. The worst is I must return to New York two
weeks after I return to Paris, and must go to Dieppe to
see the Hardys before I sail. By the twenty-fifth I will
on the sea. Regretting I did not see you, and some other
things. Better luck next year.

I wrote to Bradley. That was ages ago, be-
fore I went to Germany. He replied it would be too late, by
the time I returned, to do things about pictures of you.

But, it appears, the Literary Guild telephoned my studio and
WAX was given some prints of you I had on file there. The
pictures for the book I can take care of when I get back.
Is the book to be illustrated? Remember, I have snapshots
of you (alone, with Alice, with both of us) as well as the
portraits and will be pleased to provide prints. Let, or
have them let, me know.

Everywhere I hear the praises of the book,
and I have not even seen the last installment, so much the
worse for me.

Do write me.

My best love to you both,

44 East 50th Street, New York.

Guaranty Trust Company, 4 Place de la Concorde, Paris.

GEORGE PLATT LYNES

August eighth, 1934.

My dear Gertrude.

It has been a very long time since I last wrote, so long that now I cannot remember when it was or what I said or if you answered. I have been neglectful, of course, and preoccupied, and infinitely sorry for myself, in your connection, depriving myself of your letters. And I hope that now you will, somehow, be pleased to hear from me again and again be indulgent.

From time to time, I have heard rumors that finally you would come to America in the autumn and scarcely credited them, in spite of your successes, knowing how long you have stayed away. Now a letter from Bernard Fay definitely signals your arrival. And I find myself moved and strangely excited. I have been remembering my devotion to you and the inevitable influence you have had on my life, the valuable or merely pleasant hours I have spent with you, that I met you at the critical age of eighteen and am now at the somewhat critical age of twenty-seven. Well, anyway, I find myself wanting to see you. Will you let me know.

214 EAST 58TH STREET, NEW YORK

I, too, hope that your good luck and deserved success will continue. Obviously nobody but you could have written the autobiography; I find myself refering to it again and again for some anecdote or sentence half-remembered or forgotten, and never put it down without rereading many more pages than I had intended. It is a fine book. The opera I saw three times and loved, though only the libretto and the singing seemed first rate. And I have a photograph of the three dancing boys, in sleepy attitudes, which I will send you if you would like to have it.

I realize that you have many powerful friends in New York who will help and entertain you. I should like to entertain you too and will be pleased if you will let me do any little thing to be useful.

In October I am to have another exhibition at the Julien Levy Gallery, and wish I could have a new portrait of you to show. I have had great success with the old ones, but they have been exhibited and published everywhere and everybody knows them. So, if you should arrive in September, may I make a new one?

With love to the now famous and ever amiable Alice, and with love to you, not surprisingly, as ever