TO MY SMALL SON,
AT THE SEASHORE

in Bermuda

I watched you scoop your shovel
through the sand,

Piling it shining in a golden swell,

And with a very damp and careful
hand

Erect a wall about a citadel—

Three somewhat crumbly towers,
crowning thus

A universe of personal creation,

Where you, my son, absorbed, oblivious

With childhood's infinite preoccupation

Held sway, and did not hear your
mother call,

Being engaged in this more weighty
thing.

How patently all else grows trivial,

Compared to worlds of one's own
fashioning!

Ah, Little Sunburned God, upon your
knees,

Juggling the fates of sandy dynasties!

—SARA HENDERSON HAY

August 30th, Friday.

MRS. GRACE HEGGER LEWIS

325 EAST 72ND STREET

RHINELANDER 6313

It was so sweet to hear your voice this
morning, my darling. I really don't know
why I haven't thought of telephoning you
before. We must do it again, but the next
time I shall remember what a Rip Van Winkl
you are.

I am so glad you are staying on with
Father -- New York is no place for a
little boy any time, much less in the
summer. And by lengthening your stay
you will come to know the farand the
country better and better, and love it
as a real home, the real home you have
always wanted.

Yesterday about fourteen people came in ka for cocktails, among them Alice Joyce, the movie actress, very sweet and simple, and rather depressed about the Talkies. Floyed Gibbons, that one-eyed, and, to me, always romantic war-correspondent. Uncle Harrison, and Richard Hughes, the young Englishman who wrote "The Innocent Voyage". He has a fat jaw out of which sprouts a Van Dyke beard. Most incongruous, looks like a false beard, and rather upset me aesthetically, for it doesn't granx go with his novel. But perhaps he is playing grown-up, like the children. Uncle Harrison is having great success -- a half dozen best-sellers, and the cleverest and most unusual jackets for his books. It would be fun if you were with him some day. —I shall give you a cocktail party when you come — you'll be welcome

This week-end I spend in Locust Valley with people with whom I am most comfortable. Are you having lots of guests for Labor Day?....I have been thinking about your school-wardrobe. You really won't need anything except some shirts, and possibly some shoes. I think we'll put the racoun coat off for another year, and buy you a new overcoat at Christmas.....

From now on make a point of writing me every Sunday, just as you do at school, for I love to get your letters. Here are two kisses and a great hug to put you to bed tonight, dearest.