You treated Brooke in a masterly way in the last issue. I saw many things I hadn't seen before, and understood the _Wagner_ better. But I disagree with you in one way. The _Wagner_ and the _Channel Passage_ are merely clever realistic satire--that's always worth while. But it's the thought behind the _Menelaus and Helen_ sort of thing that I don't like. Of course there's no doubt that Helen grew wrinkled and peevish. But to say that therefore Paris in his grave was better off than Menelaus living is just a bit decadent, isn't it? I'm forced to picture Brooke as the sort of chap who couldn't enjoy a good dinner if he had to wash the dishes afterward:--instead of regarding dishwashing as a natural variety of living that could be thoroughly enjoyable with shirtsleeves and a pipe. I'm afraid he wouldn't play American football for fear of getting his face dirty. He's just a bit finicky about life. He's afraid to commit himself for fear he'll have to endure something about which he can't weave golden syllables. That's the reason I don't agree with you about Whitman liking all of him. Whitman was frank about the whole world, dirt and all, and he accepted it enthusiastically. Brooke writes about dirt in such a way as to make it seem horrible. This poem of Whitman's will prove my point: Afoot and light hearted, I take to the open road; Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good fortune--I myself am good fortune; Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, heed nothing; Strong and content I travel the open road. The earth--that is sufficient; I do not want the constellations any nearer, I know they are very well where they are; I know they suffice for those who belong to them. Still, here I carry my old delicious burdens; I carry them, men and women--I carry them with me wherever I go. I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them; I am filled with them and I will fill them in return. You road I enter upon and look around! I believe that you are not all that is here; I believe that much unseen is also here.