A BUNDLE OF OLD LETTERS

THE very high prices of antique furniture, china, coins, books, and prints have placed these almost beyond the reach of those of modest income. Pictures of any merit have long been the hobby of the rich. There remains the collection of the autograph letters of famous men and women. Of these an inter- esting collection may still be formed even by those not greatly blessed with the goods of this world, provided they are not too ambitious and hunt with the pertinacity and knowledge of the real enthusiast. Perhaps some proof of this assertion may be afforded by straying leisurely through a bundle of old letters mostly gathered in the last ten years, taking them quite at random and with an absolute disregard of connexion and century. None of them coat over ten pounds. Two of the modern letters were presents. The first I take up is from Alexander Farnese to Monsieur de Montigny, son of the ill-fated Marquis de Montigny, the emissary of the Low Countries to Philip II. M. de Montigny is addressed as the son of a faithful servant of the Emperor Charles V. and of the "Roy Monseigneur," who died in the Royal service. Considering that the unfortunate Marquis was strangled in 1570 at Simancas by order of Philip IL, this seems rather a cool way of reminding the son of his father's fate. The letter is dated from Bruges, October 30th, 1578 ; that is, a few days after the death from typhus fever of Don John of Austria, whom Parma succeeded in the Captain-Generalcy of the Low Countries. Perhaps it is fortunate that the writer of such a letter did not land in England in 1588, with his veteran troops, as he had arranged to do.

It was once suggested to Marshal Saxe that he should become a candidate for the French Academy. He ridiculed the idea,

stating that he could not even spell. He certainly spoke the truth. I see that in s letter to Louis Philippe's grandmother he writes as

follows :— Les recomendation des grandee prineesse sent des ordres au quels je me conforme avec plesir, Vostre Altease Serenissime n'oret pas bessoin de se titre pour me faire courir, ureter et galoper pour son servisse," &e.

It is a charming letter, undated, but written in the lifetime of Mme. de Pompadour, who is mentioned.

I suppose great soldiers like each other's company, for alongside of Maurice de Saxe I find a letter from Lord Kitchener written from

Pretoria during the South African War. He says :—

" It is curious to me what wrong impressions civilians acquire of the power of an army in the field. No experience seems to have the least effect, and they go on taking the opinion of people who have manifestly led them all wrong over and over again."

Again I pick up the letter of a soldier, this time one of the greatest—viz., General Robert E. Lee to his daughter Miss Agnes Lee. I have hardly ever read a more delightful letter. " Your letter of the 24th cheered me considerably. I felt my pulse quicken and my spirits lighten. The air of camp seemed to be exhilarating and the glow of affection spread all over me." He is engaged in Indian warfare, and gives a long and most interesting account of an interminable visit paid to his tent by some Comanche braves and their squaws. " I feared," he says, " I should never get rid of them, and I bade the whole

party a delighted adieu." The letter is dated April 28th, 1856, from a camp on the Brazos River. How little he then foresaw Gettysburg, his immortal defence of Richmond, or. that his letter would be lying in 1918 in an old fifteenth-century house in Faigland Would that he were now coming to France with a million men! Let us hope that his spirit and that of Grant will march before the armies of the Republic. I feel that I must put Lee in the highest company, so I brush aside a letter from Georges Couthon (who usually and very properly lives in my Chamber of Horrors) and deliberately pick out one of the Great Conde. There is no indication to whom the letter is addressed or what the un- fortunate addressee said when he tried to read it, for the hand- writing and spelling are alike abominable. It relates to a message from Mazarin about the appointment of the Duke of Pastrana and the Duke of Medina de Las Torres as the Spanish Delegates to make peace. It is dated from Paris, January 20th, 1643-44. Talk- ing of bad handwritings, there are few equal to that of the great Duke of Alva. Those who, like myself, have painfully waded through many of the drafts of his despatches, must have felt sym- pathy with his unfortunate secretaries. A letter of his to Mateo Vasquez, the famous Secretary of Philip II., is before me, and his signature, " El Duque de Alva," is quite illegible to anyone but an old hand. Perhaps like the late Dean Stanley—one of the worst of modern penmen—he kept a special expert to read his writing. What a contrast to his great adversary, William the Silent, whose signature to a letter of 1575 is as clear and fresh as on the day it was written. He signs " Guile de Nassau."

It is a far cry from the Great Netherlander to Voltaire, who begins a letter to Dr. Jacob Tronchin :-

" La divine providence enferm4e dans is roue de fortune vous a donna, Monsieur, 80 mule livres tour:eels, par grace prevenante. Voulez-vous les placer en tout en partie pour trois ens it 6 pour cent. reraboursable par tiers au bout de cheque armee ou remboursables la tin de trois ans f Je me chargerai de votre payement."

Next to Voltaire, I find a very different personage—the late Marshal Cabrera, whose appalling cruelties in the first Carlist War are still remembered in Northern Spain, where he was called " El Tigre del Maestrazgo." His subsequent history was singular. He fled to England after the victory of the Cristinos and married in 1850 a daughter of the late Mr. Robert Vaughan Richards, Q.C. He became the quietest and most benevolent of men—in his palmy days he nearly always murdered his prisoners in cold blood— and declined to take part in the second Carlist War in the "'seventies." His widow died aged ninety-five during the present war. My letter is part of an historical, if acrimonious, corre- spondence about prisoners with the Cristino General Don Hlarcelino Orate, who was known and feared under the name of the " Grey Wolf."

One of my greatest finds while autograph-hunting (next to ibex-stalking and salmon-fishing the most enthralling of sports) was the original letter from the Inquisitors of Saragossa sending to the Supreme Council of the Inquisition at Madrid the famous sentence against Antonio Perez after the Insurrection of Aragon in 1592-93. My first thought was that it must have been stolen from the Spanish .Archives at Simancas, and I telegraphed to the

Director there to inquire whether such a document was missing. Fortunately for me, no theft had taken place, and for twenty

pesetas I became the possessor of what was a treasure to a student of Spanish history. I found many other interesting letters while in Spain, and I am certain there is still a fine field in that country for the autograph-hunter, and especially for the book-hunter, in the old towns off the beaten track.

Here is a strange letter from George Eliot to my mother: "I am very grateful for the lovely flowers. They remind me that there is rejoicing for others in the world as there used to be for me " (March 4th, 1879).

I have many hundreds of letters, and I might be tempted to continue beyonddue bounds; but the following from a distinguished , enemy statesman written in 1912 is interesting. I had sent him some cuttings from the Times on the German danger—including a letter from Mr. Frederic Harrison :- "Many thanks for the cuttings ; all this is very interesting, but I find it hard to take these suppositions quite seriously. The German bugbear has been used as a canvassmg implement quite as freelyat the last English elections as the English menace has been used now fa Germany. There is, alas, reciprocity and equality

in the electioneering methods all over the world. Anyhow, I am very much indebted for anything that may give me additional light concerning the moat threatening though—as I cannot help thinking—the most fantastic complication of our days."