need her to intercede with God, but I would like her to intercede with man.  Why, oh why, do we not know whether she is or not!  Then all the universe would be explained to me.  The only miracle that I care about is the resurrection.  If we live again we certainly have reason for living now.  I think that belief is the foundation hope of religion.  Anne has it with a certainty that is to me nothing less than amazing.  And people of noble minds, of exalted spirits, not necessarily of greatest intellects have it.  George has it in his own way, and he is certainly one of the real men of the earth.  The President has it strongly.  He is, in fact, deeply, truly religious.  The slanders on him are infamous.

...  We are to have the quietest possible Christmas.  No one but ourselves at dinner—­I give no presents at all—­for financially we are up to our eyebrows.  I probably will work all day except for an hour or two which I shall use in playing with Nancy, for her gay spirit will not allow anything but the Christmas spirit to prevail.  She is so like our Dear One, so determined, cheerful, hopeful, courageous, yet very shy.  Ned will be out all night at dances and tomorrow too, for he is a most popular chap and very well-behaved indeed.  His manners are excellent and he has plenty of dash.  He is learning these things now which I learned only after many years, the little things which make the conventional man of the world.

I hope that you will find the New Year one of great peace of mind and real serenity of soul.  May you commune with the Spirit of the Infinite and find yourself growing more and more in the spiritual image of the Dear One.

My tenderest love to you and to your good high-hearted man, and to the Boy.

FRANK

TO MRS. ADOLPH C. MILLER

Washington [1915]

This is a Christmas letter and is addressed:—­“To a Brave Young Woman.”  I am afraid it is not just as cheery and merry as it should be because, you see, it’s like this, I am poor—­very, very poor, and I have very good taste—­very, very good taste.  Now those two things can’t get on together at Christmas.  Then, too, I am busy—­very, very busy, so I don’t have time to shop.  Now if you were very, very poor and had very, very good taste and were very, very busy and couldn’t shop—­how in heaven could you buy anything for anyone?

I did take half an hour or so to look at things, and things were so ugly that were cheap that of course I couldn’t buy them without confessing poor taste, or they were so very expensive that I couldn’t buy them without confessing bankruptcy.  Now there you are!  So what could a poor boy do but come home empty-handed, nothing for Anne or Nancy or Ned or you—­not even something for myself!  And I need things, socks and pipe, and better writing paper than this, and music and toothpaste and some new clothes, and a house near your palace, and a more