Please believe how truly touched I am by your
confidence in your faithful, though old, friend,
HENRY JAMES.
My dear and distinguished friend Lord Morley sent me the following
letter of the 15th of September, 1919, and it was in consequence
of this letter that, two months afterwards, on November the 11th,
1919, I began to write this book:
FLOWERMEAD, PRINCES ROAD, WIMBLEDON PARK, S.W., SEPTEMBER 15TH,
1919.
DEAR MRS. ASQUITH,
Your kindest of letters gave me uncommon pleasure, both personal
and literary. Personal, because I like to know that we are still
affectionate friends, as we have been for such long, important and
trying years. Literary--because it is a brilliant example of that
character-writing in which the French so indisputably beat us. If
you like, you can be as keen and brilliant and penetrating as
Madame de Sevigne or the best of them, and if I were a publisher,
I would tempt you by high emoluments and certainty of fame. You
ask me to leave you a book when I depart this life. If I were your
generous well-wisher, I should not leave, but give you, my rather
full collection of French Memoirs now while I am alive. Well, I am
in very truth your best well-wisher, but incline to bequeath my
modern library to a public body of female ladies, if you pardon
that odd and inelegant expression. I have nothing good or
interesting to tell you of myself. My strength will stand no tax
upon it.
The bequest from my old friend [Footnote: Andrew Carnegie.
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