Well you don't laze. I congratulate you heartily on coming out at the other end of the _Utilitarians_. You would not give me the pleasure of proof sheets--I regret it, but shall have the whole book soon and enjoyable it will be. Especially I want to see what you say of Austin. Since I was here I wrote an article "Hist. Engl. Law" for the _Encyclop. Britan._ and risked about Austin a couple of sentences which are not in accordance with common repute--and now I feel a little frightened. I don't want to be unjust, but I cannot see exactly where the greatness comes in. So I am curious to know your judgment about this--and many other things. I should like a long talk with you in these prehistoric surroundings. TO FREDERICK POLLOCK. CASA PEÑATE, MONTE, LES PALMAS. 5/2/00. My opinions about the origin of this wretched war are not worth stating and are extremely distressing to one who holds them. It will be enough to tell you that this summer John Morley seemed to me the one English statesman who was keeping his head cool, and I have not read anything that has changed my mind. I fear that the whole affair will look bad in history. And the worst of it is that the cold fit will come with a vengeance. We have no good news yet. I hope for some this afternoon. Your letter came by Marseilles--to my surprise, for we rarely get a mail that way. Our last tidings are of speeches made by generals and these do not cheer me. Last night I had a talk with a man who knew the Transvaal and who fears that our volunteer marksmen will not hit much until they have had two months of South African atmosphere: the unaccustomed eye makes wildly incorrect estimates of distance. You speak of dragoons. "My period," a very short one 1558-63 is full of the "swart-rutter." The English government's one idea of carrying on a big war, if war there was to be, was that of hiring German "swart-rutters." They did much pistolling, and I suppose that you know, I don't, how big a machine was the pistol of those days. Well, the War Office temp. Mary (only there was not one) was open to criticism. Every ounce of powder that England had was imported from the Netherlands. This had to go on for a while under Elizabeth--there are amusing letters from English agents wherein "bales of cloth," and so on, have an esoteric meaning. A starved Canarian hound has attached itself to us--of the grey-hound type, and sundry small additions are made to the menagerie as occasion serves. A parrot died yesterday--had drunk too much water, so an expert says--was called José--his fellow Juan still screams. In the neighbouring hotel is another with atrocious German habits acquired from the head waiter--will drink himself drunk with beer and swear terribly. I hear rumours of an additional monkey whose name is to be Loango.