with huge amusement, and broke up at nine. This morning I
have read a splendid piece of Montaigne, written this page of
letter, and now turn to the WRECKER.

WEDNESDAY - November 16th or 17th - and I am ashamed to say
mail day. The WRECKER is finished, that is the best of my
news; it goes by this mail to Scribner's; and I honestly
think it a good yarn on the whole and of its measly kind.
The part that is genuinely good is Nares, the American
sailor; that is a genuine figure; had there been more Nares
it would have been a better book; but of course it didn't set
up to be a book, only a long tough yarn with some pictures of
the manners of to-day in the greater world - not the shoddy
sham world of cities, clubs, and colleges, but the world
where men still live a man's life. The worst of my news is
the influenza; Apia is devastate; the shops closed, a ball
put off, etc. As yet we have not had it at Vailima, and, who
knows? we may escape. None of us go down, but of course the
boys come and go.

Your letter had the most wonderful 'I told you so' I ever
heard in the course of my life. Why, you madman, I wouldn't
change my present installation for any post, dignity, honour,
or advantage conceivable to me. It fills the bill; I have
the loveliest time. And as for wars and rumours of wars, you
surely know enough of me to be aware that I like that also a
thousand times better than decrepit peace in Middlesex? I do
not quite like politics; I am too aristocratic, I fear, for
that. God knows I don't care who I chum with; perhaps like
sailors best; but to go round and sue and sneak to keep a