"the loon
Laughed, and the echoes, huddling in affright,
Like Odin's hounds went baying down the night")
from a poem entitled, I think, "The Washers of the Shroud." I found it
in the "Atlantic," in the summer of 1864, while at home from the war
suffering from a wound, and--disgraceful fact!--have never seen nor
heard of it since. If the magazine was a current number, as I suppose,
it should be easy to find the poem. If you look it up tell me about
it. I don't even know the author--had once a vague impression that it
was Lowell but don't know.
The compound "mulolatry," which I made in "Ashes of the Beacon," would
not, of course, be allowable in composition altogether serious. I used
it because I could not at the moment think of the right word,
"gyneolatry," or "gynecolatry," according as you make use of the
nominative or the accusative. I once made "caniolatry" for a similar
reason--just laziness. It's not nice to do things o' that kind, even
in newspapers.
* * * * *
I had intended to write you something of "beesness," but time is up
and it must wait. This letter is insupportably long already.
My love to Carrie and Katie. Sincerely yours,