October 12 Friday – In Dublin, N.H. Sam added to his Oct. 11 to Mary B. Rogers.
Next Day, 11a.m.—Friday.
What a useful creature you are, Saccharin! When I’ve lost my sleep & can’t dictate coherently & have to quit trying, I can turn for relief to you—I can entertain myself with scribbling incoherently to you, & you have to put up with it. Clara likewise.
October 11 Thursday – In Dublin, N.H. Sam began a letter to Mary B. Rogers that he added to on Oct. 12, 13, and 16.
Thursday. 6 pm
Dublin, Oct. 12/06.
It isn’t right to pelt you with a letter so soon, dear pal, but there’s been a cloud-lift today & I’ve got to jubilate with somebody or expire with satisfaction. Next, I will write Clara, & between you two I expect to quiet down & become rational again.
October 10-16 Tuesday – Sam wrote two aphorisms to Henry Darracott Allison, of saving work for tomorrows, and of being better to deserve but not receive credit than the other way around [MTP: from Allison’s Dublin Days Old and New: New Hampshire Fact and Fancy (1952) ].
October 10 Wednesday – Isabel Lyon’s journal:
October 9 Tuesday – In Dublin, N.H. Sam wrote to daughter Clara, in care of John Walker,
Clara dear I hope you are sleeping well, now, & without the help of drugs. Certainly broken sleep is a bad thing. I have suffered from it several times lately. Twice it has cost me my day’s work. This morning it took me half an hour to dictate a dozen sentences—then I gave it up. A day or two ago I had the like experience.
October 8 Monday – Isabel Lyon’s journal:
The King is filled with the idea of defying conventionalities & wearing his suitable white clothes all winter, so he has bidden me order 5 new suits from his tailor; the suits to be ready against the time we arrive in N.Y. He was a creature of inspiration today even to his toe tips. He was a lambent spirit, & the dictating was beautiful. I sat in the study, writing some, but listening most; & drawing checks.
October 7 Sunday – Isabel Lyon’s journal:
It’s night now & I’ve just come to my room. The King called a minute ago & when I went to my door to see what he wanted, he stood in his own doorway & with gritting teeth said, “I wish you’d gather together my bobtailed flannel night shirts & burn them! I wish they were all in hell! I hate them so!”
He has been giving us a lovely evening, for he has been reading poetry for more than an hour— the old English ballads, & war poems
October 6 Saturday – Isabel Lyon’s journal:
All day, wind & rain.
With the afternoon mail came a letter from AB to the King—a love letter & the most beautiful love letter ever written. The King was deeply moved as he read it & when he called me in from my study his voice was shaking as he said, “Superb, superb! and worth waiting 70 years for.” He gave me the letter to read & it made me weep, even as he had wept. I didn’t know A.B. could write so exquisitely.
October 5 Friday – In Dublin, N.H. Sam replied to the Oct. 3 from (Harold) Witter Bynner, supporting Bynner’s decision to devote himself to poetry.
Dear Poet: / You have certainly done right—for several good reasons; at least, of them, I can name two: 1. With your reputation you can have your freedom & yet earn your living: if you fall short of succeeding to your wish, your reputation will provide you another job. And so, in high approval I suppress the scolding & give you the saintly & fatherly pat instead.
October 4 Thursday – In Dublin, N.H. Sam replied to the Sept. 27 from Anne W. Stockbridge.
Dear Miss Stockbridge (if she really exists):
257 Benefit Street (if there is any such place)
Yes, I should like a copy of that other letter. This whole fake is delightful, & I tremble with fear that you are a fake yourself & that I am your guileless prey. (But never mind, it isn’t any matter) Now as to publication. I shall be going home to New York 8 days hence— 21 Fifth Avenue