I am also reading Chaucer’s minor poems (‘World’s Classics’,197 a scrubby edition but the only one I can find) and am halfway thr[ough] ‘The House of Fame’, a dream poem half funny & half fantastic that I like very much. But the print, tho’ clear, is very small. As to ‘The Letters of D.O. to W.T.’ I suggest you had better have a look at them in my copy before you do anything. There is a lot in them I think you would like but also a good deal that is dull.
I got this morning a letter from His Majesty the King of the Fiji isles expressing his pleasure at your gift. How much he appreciates it may be seen in his own terse and elegant words ‘Oor mi dalara bo chorabu platlark pho’.
We have had glorious storms here & a big old elm at the bottom of the garden is down by the roots. There is something majestic about a giant tree lying dead like this.
By the way take care of that weak heart of yours: it seems pretty sure that CONSCRIPTION is coming to Ireland now. I for one shall be jolly glad to see some relations of mine (and some of yours) made to behave like men at last. Goodnight, old man–
Jack
TO HIS FATHER (LP V: 143):
[Gastons]
9th Nov. 1916.
My dear Papy,
As it happened I had heard from Warnie himself shortly after my letter to you and thus got the truth about the promotion.198 I think we really have a right to plume ourselves on this–the double step is so very rare. You say ‘if inside the next year it is made permanent’: is there any prospect of that’s happening? If so we had better go and live with him or else get him to make us a separation allowance each. In the mean time avoid your bricklaying friend who may have something to say to you on the subject of ‘temporary’ commands. (Ah, these conversations between a brick layer and a brick dropper!)
Your encouragements–even the salts–are very pleasant to read, and it is always a great comfort to be assured that if I lose, I lose nothing more than a scholarship. As to the real prospects of that, they are on the knees of the gods, and possibly the ‘putty sky’ when I last wrote to you had something to do with my impressions. The consolation of having deserved a thing is perhaps one we should all rather apply to our rivals than to ourselves.
I don’t think I shall need any new clothes as I have three good suits (1) besides my everyday one, and two should be enough to take with me. Should I take the dress suit now that we know I shall not go to an hotel? And by the way, when the man says lodgings are to be ‘found’, does he mean that we get them free?
The hero of ‘Lady Connie’ was certainly a detestable fellow, though I must admit that in places I found something rather attractive about him. At the auction of the pictures he is particularly great. But on the whole, as you say, the book is unsatisfactory, and she ought to have married the Pole What’s his name. We are all reading Clodd’s memoirs199 here, which you will have seen reviewed everywhere. It is rather disappointing though, and the best story in it is the one about the Shah of Persia quoted in the Spectator ‘Library Supplement’. There is a certain vulgarity about Clodd: he seems rather too pleased with his famous friends. I like last week’s ‘Romance’ by the Student in Arms very much–in some ways as much as the other, tho’ perhaps you will not agree with me.200
We have got over the rain at last after one or two fearful storms in which a fine old elm at the bottom of the garden, the pride of Kirk’s heart, and of fabulous age, has come down. Today it is sunny and cold. That was a bad business in the Irish Sea, wasn’t it?
your loving
son Jack.
(1). That’s a funny mistake. I suppose I’m trying to make adjectives agree in English.–J.
TO ARTHUR GREEVES (W):
[Gastons 15
November 1916]
Dear Arthur,
I must begin my letter this week by heartily apologizing for some foolish remarks which I thoughtlessly directed against a book for whose merits your approval should have been to me and to all who enjoy the honour of your friendship a sufficient guarantee. As you very properly remind me, I am profoundly ignorant of the scientific side of music in which you specially excel, while my aesthetic judgements on the subject are modelled upon the sane and temperate example of your own criticism. What amends I can make by studying with diligence the admirable work which you commend, shall immediately be made: for, believe me, I am not insensible of the kindness and indulgence which a man of your education has displayed in such musical discussions to a boy so ill informed as I.
Your verdict upon Macdonald’s tale was worthy of so shrewd and serious a gentleman as yourself: I can well understand that the puerilities which attract a schoolboy may indeed seem [a] waste of time to an experienced business man. I am not a little ashamed of my own lightheadedness, and am resolved to turn my attention to that excellent study of history with which you beguile your leisure. Here may I take the liberty of expressing my ardent and continued admiration of those qualities which make you the ornament of the society to which you belong: first and foremost the practical nature of your character which enables you to relinquish in a moment those trivial fairy tales and such like useless inventions: then your habits of economy and regularity, your sound knowledge of the Lord’s Word, your unaffected piety, your knowledge of modern thought, the perfect control of your temper, the justness of your sentiments and–above all–the elegance of your language.
Well! we’ll drop it now, as I want some room left for a chat: but honestly thats the sort of answer your last letter seemed to expect. Goodness!, you gave me an awful dressing down! And all because I dared to make a joke on a book of yours that has been a recognised subject for fooling this year or so. Perhaps, however, you just happened to be in bad form when you wrote, so I needn’t take it too seriously. Or, what is more likely, J. M.201 has been annoying you and I come in for the aftermath. Anyway, language such as I have just read is not pleasant, and I was on the point of writing a very rude letter. But I remembered, what I do hope you will remember old man, that real friendships are very, very rare and one doesn’t want to endanger them by quarelling over trifles. We seem to be always sparing now a days: I dare say its largely my fault (tho’ in this case I really don’t know why you’re so angry) but anyway do let us stop it. Perhaps my nerves are a bit on edge as I get nearer to this abominable exam., and that makes me irritable. But I’ll try to do my best if you will.
So I may imagine you this evening just about now coming from dinner at Lily’s with Mr. Thompson, with the memory of Aida’ from last night and the prospect of the ‘Magic Flute’ tomorrow! I would give much to be in your place, and more to be in the same place with both of us there. I am very interested to hear what you think of the ‘Flute’, so mind you give me a special account of it–and accounts of the others also. Aida, of course, if well sung and staged must be enjoyable. I do hope you found them