mise, a new imaginative dimension. Since then, he has written scores of masterpieces that extend the borders of human fantasy and conquer fresh empires amid the extra-human and ultra-terrestrial infinities. Among these, I might mention The Outsider, The Call of Cthulhu, The Color Out of Space, The Rats in the Walls, The Dunwich Horror, Pickman's Model and The Dreams in the Witch-House as being special favorites. However, there are few tales of his that I have not read and re-read many times, always with that peculiar delight given by the savor of some uniquely potent distillation of dreams and fantasy. Leng and Lomar and witch-ridden Arkham and sea-cursed Innsmouth are part of my mental geography; and dreadful, Cyclopean R'lyeh slumbers somewhere in the depths. Others will venture into the realms that the Silver Key of his mastery has unlocked; but none will read them with the same wizard surety, or bring back for our delectation essences of equal dread and beauty and horror."
From Edmond Hamilton
Edmond Hamilton writes from New Castle, Pennsylvania: "I just heard the news of H. P. Lovecraft's recent death. This is quite a shock, coming so soon after the death of Howard. While I never met either of them, I have been appearing with them in Weird Tales for so long that I had a dim feeling of acquaintance. I think I read every one of Lovecraft's stories from Dagon, years ago. It is too bad that he is gone—there will never be another like him."
From Henry Kuttner
Henry Kuttner writes from Beverly Hills, California: "I've been feeling extremely depressed about Lovecraft's death. Even now I can't realize it. He was my literary idol since the days of The Horror at Red Hook, and lately a personal friend as well. The loss to literature is a very great one, but the loss to HPL's friends is greater. He seemed, somehow, to have been an integral part of my literary life—and the shock was more severe because I had not known that his illness was serious."
From Earl Peirce, Jr.
Earl Peirce, Jr., writes from Washington, D. C.: "The news of Lovecraft's passing, although not the shock of surprize, is nevertheless the shock of an irreparable loss, not