Of course I should be glad to see Dick, but don't expect to. They never come, and it has long been my habit to ignore every "declaration of intention."
I'm greatly pleased to know that you too like those lines of Markham that you quote from the "Wharf of Dreams." I've repeatedly told him that that sonnet was his greatest work, and those were its greatest lines. By the way, my young poet, Loveman, sends me a letter from Markham, asking for a poem or two for a book, "The Younger Choir," that he (M.) is editing. Loveman will be delighted by your good opinion of "Pierrot"—which still another magazine has returned to me. Guess I'll have to give it up.
I'm sending you a booklet on loose locutions. It is vilely gotten up—had to be so to sell for twenty-five cents, the price that I favored. I just noted down these things as I found them in my reading, or remembered them, until I had four hundred. Then I took about fifty from other books, and boiled down the needful damnation. Maybe I have done too much boiling down—making the stuff "thick and slab." If there is another edition I shall do a little bettering.
I should like some of those mussels, and, please God, shall help you cull them next summer. But the abalone—as a Christian comestible he is a stranger to me and the tooth o' me.
I think you have had some correspondence with my friend Howes of Galveston. Well, here he is "in his habit as he lives." Of the two figures in the picture Howes is the one on top.[11] Good night. A. B.
[11] Howes was riding on a burro.
Washington, D. C.,
January 29,
1910.
Dear George,
Here are your fine verses—I have been too busy to write to you before. In truth, I've worked harder now for more than a year than I ever shall again—and the work will bring me nor gain nor glory. Well, I shall take a rest pretty soon, partly in California. I thank you for the picture card. I have succumbed to the post-card fashion myself.