principle, from nature—­which can be said of very few in this world.  He was without cowardice of any kind, and without hypocrisy.  I believe he had no vanity.  He had the pride of a noble man and lived as generously toward the world as I have ever known man to live.  This might be said of one who was austere, but the dear, old Commodore was to me, and to us all, the very symbol of warmth.  The one thing I criticised in him was his unwillingness that people should discover him for the fanciful, humorous, wise, and exquisitely tender man that he was.  He did not leave an enemy, I know, unless that man was a scoundrel.  And with all his reticence he impressed himself profoundly on hundreds.  I know if there is another world that Wall and I will find each other, and he will be with the gladdest, gayest of the spirits.  I hope you can look forward to such a meeting with the confidence that Anne has, which always astonishes me and makes me envious.  He has gone to the one place, if any such place there is, where the greatest longing of his soul can be gratified—­his love for justice.

If you have a picture of him, no matter how poor, won’t you let me have it, that I may hang it beside my work desk, and looking at it find inspiration and be reminded of the sane, loving, lovable, high-hearted chap whom I held as a brother?

Dear lonely woman, I wish I could speak one word that would lighten your sense of loss, in him and in your mother.  I know that you are not lacking in courage, but stoutness of heart does not bring comfort, I know.  How exceptional your loss because how exceptional your fortune—­such a man and such a mother.  Very sincerely yours,

FRANKLIN K. LANK

TO MRS. M. A. ANDERSEN

Sunday, [December, 1919]

...  The whole of mankind is searching for affection, tenderness,—­ not physical love but sweet companionship.  We could get along with fewer pianos and victrolas if we had a more harmonious society.  We really don’t like each other much better than Alaskan dogs.  Now what is the reason for that?  Are we afraid of them stealing from us—­our houses, sweethearts, or dollars?  Or are we so stupid that we don’t know each other, never get under the skin to find out what kind of a fellow this neighbor is?  Certainly we are self-centered and we wonder that people don’t like us when we don’t try to find what is likable about them—­and keep stressing their unlikable qualities.

All of which homily leads up to the Holidays.  I hope that you will enjoy them.  Nancy is having no end of a gay time, and knows how really good a time she is having, I do believe.  She is the rarest combination of old woman and baby I have ever known, cynically wise, almost, and soft innocence.  She has a dozen beaux and is extravagant about, and to, each. ...

The President is getting better slowly, but we communicate with him almost entirely through his doctor (Grayson).  I shall be mighty sorry to leave here, where we have so many friends, but my hope is to get enough to buy a place in California, one of these days, and settle down to the normal life of digging a bit in the soil and then digging a bit in the brain.