Dear Lady Amblesham,
Who gives quickly, says the old proverb, gives twice. For this reason I
have purposely delayed writing to you, lest I should appear to thank you
more than once for the small, cheap, hideous present you sent me on the
occasion of my recent wedding. Were you a poor woman, that little bowl
of ill-imitated Dresden china would convict you of tastelessness merely;
were you a blind woman, of nothing but an odious parsimony. As you have
normal eyesight and more than normal wealth, your gift to me proclaims
you at once a Philistine and a miser (or rather did so proclaim you
until, less than ten seconds after I had unpacked it from its wrappings
of tissue paper, I took it to the open window and had the satisfaction
of seeing it shattered to atoms on the pavement). But stay! I perceive a
flaw in my argument. Perhaps you were guided in your choice by a
definite wish to insult me. I am sure, on reflection, that this is so.
_I shall not forget._
Yours, etc.
Cynthia Beaumarsh.
PS. My husband asks me to tell you to warn Lord Amblesham to keep out of
his way or to assume some disguise so complete that he will not be
recognized by him and horsewhipped.
PPS. I am sending copies of this letter to the principal London and
provincial newspapers.
* * *
We hope that Max Beerbohm read far enough in Bergson to appreciate what
Mr. Santayana says of that philosopher. He seems to feel, wrote G. S.
(we quote from memory), that all systems of philosophy existed in order
to pour into him, which is hardly true, and that all future systems
would flow out of him, which is hardly necessary.
* * *
To a great number of people all reasoning and comment is superficial
that is not expressed in the jargon of sociology and political economy.
Expand a three-line paragraph in that manner and it becomes profound.
* * *