_22 Jan. 1900._
I can well believe that England is a gloomy place just now. Even here
where I see few papers and few English folk, except the family, this
ghastly affair sits heavily upon me and is always coming between me
and my book: at the moment Gardiners _History_: from which my thoughts
flit off to England and the Transvaal. It don't make things better to
doubt profoundly whether we have any business to be at war at all. I
remember telling you at Warboys (what a good day that was!) that I
deeply mistrusted Chamberlain. Since then I have been thinking worse
and worse of him: I hope that I am in the wrong, but only hope.
... Then I feel a beast for lazing here in the sunshine among the
Spaniards who heartily enjoy all our misfortunes. And the worst of it
is that lazing is obviously and visibly doing me good. Really and truly
the temptation comes to me, when the sky is at its bluest, to resign my
professorship, realise my small fortune and become a Canario for the
days that remain. On the other hand three or four projects occasionally
twitch my sleeve--connected with the Selden Society, which has behaved
more than handsomely by me. But both sets of motives conspire to keep
me lying in the sun and saying with the Apostles "Lord! it is good for
us to be here."
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.