And to you, The Ehle, may the peace that gay souls need and seldom get, and the joy that good souls long for, be with you always. And do write some more!
F. K. L.
Bethel, [October 28, 1920]
My dear B. I.,—It has been along time since your letter came, but until now I have not felt that I could write. Most of the time I have been in pain and I have also been much discouraged over the condition of my health. No one wants to hear a man talk of his aches and I haven’t much else on my mind. I am beginning to crawl a bit health-wards, I think; at any rate I am moving on that assumption.
[Illustration with caption: Franklin K. Lane in 1917. Taken in Lafayette national park]
What a hell of a condition the land is in politically. Cowardice and hypocrisy are slated to win, and makeshift and the cheapest politics are to take possession of national affairs. Better even obstinacy and ego-mania! Cox, I think, has made a gallant fight. He is to be beaten because Wilson is as unpopular as he once was popular. Oh! if he had been frank as to his illness, the people would have forgotten everything, his going to Paris, his refusal to deal with the mild Reservationists—everything would have been swept away in a great wave of sympathy. But he could not be frank, he who talked so high of faith in the people distrusted them; and they will not be mastered by mystery. So he is so much less than a hero that he bears down his party to defeat.
And after election will come revolt in the Republican party, for it is too many-sided for a long popularity.
I am sorry to be out of it all, but the Gods so willed. I did want to help Phelan. The country will think that what he has stood for, as to California matters, especially oil and Japan, has been repudiated if he is not returned. He was California incarnate in Washington.
Remember me to the Lady and the Soldier. Always your friend,
To John W. Hallowell
Bethel, November 3, 1920
My dear Jack,—You have so much idle time hanging, dragging, festooning on round and about your hands that I want to give you a job, something to do. Eh, what!
I have taken it into my head, caput, cranium, that I will read Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, and as the only copy here is too poorly printed to read, and furthermore as I wish to own said work myself, I would that you make purchase of same and send it to me. Now, I do not wish an expensive copy, nor a large copy, nor a heavy copy. Therefore I think it would be best to buy a good second-hand set, say in half-leather—perhaps you can get it in six or eight volumes—and it must