Letter from Sinclair Lewis to Marcella Powers, June 21, 1942

              SINCLAIR   LEWIS  Sunday, June 21    You will have been at Peterboro for something over a day now.  I keep thinking of you and hoping that you are liking it....Today, here, is the most exquisite blue and golden day, breezy and bright and cool -- it couldn't be any better in your mountains.  There is a big Swedish picnic at the Svitiod Home, next  door, but they are so quiet I can’t tell they are there.    The trip was an enormous success.  The North Shore of Lake Superior is really sensationally beautiful; the lake like a placid ocean, dove-colored or sparkling  blue, innumerable headlands and many islands, and all along, not just hills but real mountains -- for when it stands in contrast to flat sea, a hill of 2000 feet seems vaster than a 5000 lad surrounded by many other mountains.    And I had a day on the Red Lake Indian Reservation, and saw the Chippewas at their commercial fishing, and birchbark wiciups and the little houses over the graves and the rags they tie on house corners to keep off the evil spirits, all same voodoo.    I came back to find Virginia and Dotty Bennett still here, which was pleasant and domestic.  And now that they are gone, I am whooping thru the novel like a Minnesota tornado.  And I went to dinner at Al and Fefe Wilson's, very pleasant -- they spoke of you with delight, as did Mrs. Heffelfinger, who said her Jinx adored you, as did also Ginny who has promised to write to you and prob'ly won't unless you write first. And last evening I saw ""Biography* at the Log Cabin – it was, at least, better done than Peg o' My Heart, with your handsome tho adams-appled Larry Hugo good as the young radical and Bob Aden actually quite good as the senator and the benches no harder.    The whole house and the rowboat and the Buick and Joseph all miss you so. Maybe I could find some one else who does.  But the gallery of Silly Mllly’s are here, so radiant and comforting....And I want to hear EVERYTHING about the PETERBROW PLAYERS -- down to the smallest mouse in the tiniest dressing room.  Sir Cedric Oleson