Dear Waldo: Dear repository of my faith, will you also serve as sanctum of some [of] my “works”? By which I mean that, though I shouldn’t bother you now while you are busy with inner work of your own, I still must ask you to keep the enclosed somewhere.[49] One never knows what may happen, fires burn the house here, etc., and mss. be burnt or otherwise lost--and in the case of this _Bridge_ I feel enough honor-bound to desire preserved whatever evidence of my industry and effort is forthcoming. I don’t presume to ask you for comments. Read it if you like and fold it away somewhere. You have the last section (“Atlantis,” as I have decided to call it) haven’t you? I have discovered that it IS the real Atlantis, even of geology! My plans are soaring again, the conception swells. Furthermore, this Columbus is REAL. In case you read it--(I _can’t_ be serious)--observe the water-swell rhythm that persists until the Palos reference. Then the more absolute and marked intimation of the great _Te Deum_ of the court, later held,--here in the terms of C.’s own cosmography. Mrs. S. is the god’s own gift. This were a perfect place for work but for the prostrating heat. I think of next winter! Last night a wonderful breeze came up--and you can walk singing through the grove with a great moon simply bending down. 255: TO MALCOLM COWLEY AND PEGGY BAIRD _Isle of Pines, Cuba_ _July 29th_ Dear Malcolm and Peggy: I’ve been wanting to tell you how glad I’ve been to know about your good luck with the _Post_ business, etc.--but you probably know by this time what I’ve been going through with.... There’s really no news except that I’m better and have begun to write--for a period until prostrated by the heat--like mad. Columbus has been cleared up--and a lot of other things started within ten days. In the middle of _The Bridge_ the old man of the sea (page Herr Freud) suddenly comes up. I enclose this section,[50] hoping you’ll like it. Please mention or display it to no one but Allen and les Browns for the time: it makes me nervous to have parts of an unfinished drama going about much before the curtain goes up. It happens that all the clippers mentioned were real beings, had extensive histories in the Tea trade--and the last two mentioned were life-long rivals. Rather touching.... 256: TO HIS MOTHER [_Isle of Pines_] _July 30th_ Dearest Grace: --/--/ Everything new sent down here now incurs terrific customs duty, so don’t send me any luxuries--or necessities either until I ask for them. Waldo sent me some ointment for bug bites after he went north--and the duty came to over the original price in NY; I was so angry I threw it back into the post office and refused to have anything more to do with it (by which please understand I _didn’t_ pay the duty).