_To Jonathan Sturges._
34 De Vere Gardens, W.
Thursday [Nov. 5, 1896].
My dear Jonathan,
I spill over, this a.m., in a certain amount of jubilation--all the more
that I have your little letter of the other day to thank you for. One
breathes, I suppose--the alarmed, anxious, prudent part of one. But I
don't feel that McKinley is the _end_ of anything--least of all of big
provincial iniquities and abuses and bloody billionaires. However he's
more decent than the alternative--and your fortune will flow in, more
regularly; and mine will permit me to say I'm delighted you "accept,"
and shall see that the cold mutton is not too much "snowed under" before
you come. Only give me a few--three or four if possible--days' notice:
then we will talk of many things--and among them of Rudyard Kipling's
"Seven Seas," which he has just sent me and which I will send you
tomorrow or next day (kindly guard it,) on the assumption that you won't
have seen it. I am laid low by the absolutely uncanny talent--the
prodigious special faculty of it. It's all _violent_, without a dream of
a _nuance_ or a hint of "distinction"; all prose trumpets and castanets
and such--with never a touch of the fiddle-string or a note of the
nightingale. But it's magnificent and masterly in its way, and full of
the most insidious art. He's a rum 'un--and one of the very few first
_talents_ of the time. There's a vilely idiotic reference to his
"coarseness" in this a.m.'s _Chronicle_. The coarseness of the _The Mary
Gloster_ is absolutely one of the most triumphant "values" of that
triumphant thing. How lovely, in these sweet days, your Haslemere
hermitage must be! I hope you've still the society of your young
friend--it eases the mind of your old one. What you said about Howells
most true--he is very touching. And I feel so _remote_ from him! The
little red book is extremely charming. Write to me. Tout a vous,