two or three thousand years she would tell me that part
of her life?

I did not go to hear her read, for I can not
leave Miss Whitney in the evening. I left her once and
she would not go to sleep until I came in. By that time
she was so wrought up that she kept awake all night, and
a very difficult day followed. So I've decided it's less
trouble to keep at home, and easier on my conscience.

But I got some flowers for you - Ophelia roses,
the florist said, and three dollars a dozen, please, - and
took them to her hotel. I did not ask to see her, because
I'm not an artist at butting-in, - and when I came away I
said "There goes my last chance to know Ellen Terry." It
wasn't so easy finding out where she was. I went to the
Symphony Hall, the Belgian Relief, and telephoned four
hotels and the Boston Herald before I found her. Thought
they were having repairs at the Bellevue so left that
hotel for the last.

Well, dear, thank you for this best of gifts -
a hand-clasp from Ellen Terry. She was so lovable, so
gracious, that I believe she would have sat down and list-
ened to that little one-act play that I wanted her to see,
if I had asked her. But who could look into her face and
ask her to play an old lady? Not this "humble Betty."

Your loving
Oliver

The Charlesgat®, Boston, Jan. 7th,

Dear my Julia:

I've never felt that I owed you anything until to-day, when -
because she loves you - Ellen Terry came to see me. Well - it was like
trying to talk to a rainbow. She's the youngest thing that ever happened.
Such spirit! She almost put a little of it into stodgy old me. I believe
I could dream that I was young if I lived with her, even if I couldn't be so.
There's a picture of her in the Suffrage shop on Adam street in London.
They are very proud of it, but I shall try to smash it when I go back
because it makes her look elderly. She danced and perched all over the room,
but so gracefully and softly that I was always surprised to see her in a
new place, and she talked all the time because I couldn't talk to her and
she was sorry for me. How could you tell her to look into my eyes? She
might never have known they were just little pea-green beads if you hadn't
called her attention to them. I almost shut them I was so ashamed, but I
was too anxious to see hers, so large and clear and full of glories. Is she
always like this? She must have times when she goes to her room and pulls
the feather-bed over her, like any other woman. But I can't believe it.
You know I think it must have been as hard for her to leave Watts as it
was to live with him. Do you suppose if she knew me for two or three
thousand years she would tell me that part of her life?

I did not go to hear her read, for I can not leave Miss Whitney
in the evening. I left her once and she would not go to sleep until I
came in. By that time she was so wrought up that she kept awake all night,
and a very difficult day followed. So I've decided it's less trouble to
stay at home, and easier on my conscience.

2

Well, dear, thank you for this best of gifts- a hand-clasp from Ellen Terry. She was so lovable, so gracious, that I believe she would have sat down and listened to that little one-act play that I wanted her to see, if I had asked her. But who could look into her face and ask her to play an old lady? Not this "Humble Betty."

Your loving

Olive

I was in my ragsdest, ugliest gown, of course, and she was dressed like Guinevere in the forest, with a hat of a sky-grey something,adorably simple, and so soft I could hardly keep my hands off it.

Copy

The Charlesgate, Boston, Jan. 7th,

Dear my Julia:

I've never felt that I owed you anything
until to-day, when - because she loves you - Ellen
Terry came to see me. Well - it was like trying to
talk to a rainbow. She's the youngest thing that ever
happened. Such spirit! She almost put a little of it
into stodgy old me. I believe I could dream that I was
young if I lived with her, even if I couldn't be so.
There's picture of her in the Suffrage shop on Adam
street in London. They are very proud of it, but I shall
try to smash it when I go back because it makes her look
elderly. She danced and perched all over the room, but
so gracefully and softly that I was always surprised to
see her in a new place, and she talked all the time
because I couldn't talk to her and she was sorry for me.
How could you tell her to look into my eyes? She might
never have known they were just little pea-green beads
if you hadn't called her attention to them. I almost
shut them I was so ashamed, but I was too anxious to see
hers, so large and clear and full of glories. Is she
always like this? She must have times when she goes to
her room and pulls the feather-bed over her, like any other woman.
But I can't believe it. You know I think
it must have been as hard for her to leave Watts as it
was to live with him.
Do you suppose if she knew me for

Thursday, Feb. 5th, 1948

Darling Julia:

Yes, you did tell me about your wobirdful dream - the woman in the sun, the spread wings she lies on, looking up, up, up! The rays falling delicately on her nude body, touching her skin with almost transparent glow, the clouds partly covering her. I had to smile when you thanked your stars you could cover with clouds what you could not draw. Of course you mustn't try to paint yet, but there is health and wonder in your beautiful dream.

Now about the snuggle-gowns. I thought I had two blue ones bought one would have been enough, but I wanted to do exactly as you told me - and they were do luxurious and tempting. But when I went into town to get them I found that they were not at all like the one you sent me, and I wouldn't have them. I went to other shops and there wasn't one in Asheville that I liked so well. I didn't buy anybecause I wanted a "snuggle" or nothing. I had two gowns from last winter that would do very well until Spring. Not so soft and lovely, but warm, and I could use you pink one as a special luxury. Then yesterday came the blue one from you, which makes two snuggles for me. But I don't want to keep them if you have any need of them, I can't tell from your letter whether you want them for yourself or want to give them to somebody.

If the latter, I'll be the "somebody" and keep them. Of course if they are for your own self I'll start them right back to you if you send me card air mail. And I'll keep the express check to buy me a bag that I need to go with a new dark-blue suit of botany wool that will set me up for Spring. I know very well that I ought to return the check since I'm not buying the gowns, but I don't want to disturb you or have you telling me to go to the devil.

I'm happy over your liking my book. I was fittery about your seeing it, there is so much of humanity's jungle in it, but there are bits of beauty too, and you will spot them. I've made a copy of letter for you that I've just received from Clement Wood.

I've read Frontiers of the Mind, by J. B. RHINE, and have the book, but I was greatly disappointed in it. The title was better than the contents. But his Reach of the Mind may be much better. I've a friend who is daffy over it. To me he seems to be playing around in the front yard and never gets inside to the shrine.

So Richard Greer walked on fire. I bet you and I could do it, with the right preparation. We can't doubt that it is done. A stunt of no value except the greatest value - to give us faith in what the mind can do - this new implement that we have earned through long ages of "trial by error," how shall we use it? We know we can - that's been demonstrated - and we know we ought - that's conscience - but will we use it and how? The answer will come through spirit, here and there the rays are falling, revealing the use of our instrument of wonder,

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the power of the mind-force, its directive and objective course and objective. There is something of what I really think in the last two paragraphs of my Indian chapter.

Thanks, darling, for the suggestion about the table-oil, and that little drawing you made of the rubber implement. I shall try it. I do get awfully weary with physical processes, but my "hour of illumination" sets me up again. I can keep you with me in it, my Julia, because at the core of being -whatever peripheral differences may be - we have the same longing for beauty and peace over the earth and a wiser mankind to dwell there. At the spiritual centre there is no difference. My prayers for you are just and right, and take their place in the Light.

I thought of you today as I read some lines in a poem that a friend sent me.

"Some wealth is self-renewing, building beauty
To widen the eyes of youth, to make the
 eyes of age.

wealth that does not destroy, but gives each
man of earth
Rapture, mating, children, health,
And the strange sun called peace."

"The torch of smelting turns the ore to gold,
The torch of heat turns winter into summer,
The torch of love can recreate your world,
The torch of beauty is the soul's redeemer."

That is why you could paint at eighty,
you and me and all of us and keep your torches
alive, my dear, dear Julia.

Have to run now. A busy day.

Devoted love, and love to
Margaret and Dr. Vouga. I'd be distressed
if he were not with you.