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OFFICE OF THE EDITOR

8 ARLINGTON STREET
BOSTON, MASS.

The Atlantic Monthly

2 December, 1932

My dear John:-

In these damnable days, enjoyment is rare, and so I am writing
a line of thanks for the pleasure that your Life of Sir Walter has
given me. Scott was my friend long before I could read. I used to
ramble through the woods holding my father's hand while he told me
the breathless romances, occasionally stopping and reciting, word
for word, half a page which had caught his fancy and stuck in his
mind. I can see him now, waving his stick in the air and shouting
aloud to the squirrels, "I cannot fight the man who saved my
father's life. Nor have I yet been taught to say the words,
'I yield!' ".

And so it is that as a man growing old I feel by far the best
reason for immortal hope is the chance of seeing Sir Walter with my
own eyes.

You can see, then, that I am not prepared to pare anything from
your meed of praise. Indeed, I thought that when you spoke of his
lyrics you might have said still more. I have not a copy by me, but
my impression is that the Golden Treasury holds more lyrics ot Scott
than of any poet since Shakespeare, and Palgrave, with Tennyson at his
elbow, was no mean judge. When it comes to the novels, my favorite is
generally the one I am reading, but either Rob Roy or Guy Mannering
is the best in the world.