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Correspondence from George MacNie Cowie to Aleister Crowley
14 Glenisla Gardens, Edinburgh.
[Undated: circa 1915?]
Care Frater
I am afraid I perpetrated an unconscious practical joke on you last letter; at least I found 2 stamps I couldn't account for on my return from my expedition to the pillar. It seemed worth while to send you a cheap cable to say M.O.H. [Mother of Heaven—Leila Waddell] was sailing, it would give you that certainty a few days earlier than by post.
I am trying to get Gardner to find that Arabic affair. The obvious thing was for you to ask one or other of the London crowd to stroll over to the British Museum and interview the keeper of the M.S.S. Geber and the Moorish alchemists would give the clue. I am almost writing direct, uncertain whether it is a piece of cheek though, or a legitimate request, I can't spare a guinea to an expert to hunt it up. We'll see just what Gardner says. Time is my difficulty and no British Museum. Never mind, the Arabic may only turn out to be a receipt for Mother Leigel's Soothsome Syrup.
I feel a bit rotten as I can't shake off quite the Seqelae of a cold, and even get a fluey sort of twinge occasionally as if P[erdurabo] had made a little wax image of me and was sticking pins into it, but didn't know the essential factor. This is suggested by a funny drawing in Punch this week, black necromancers at work for the—no we are having a rest this time, any way they are sticking pins into a wax John Bull, and one gentleman is studying a collection of the 100 best curses. Hope you're cheered up by the prospect of M.O.H. coming and that you've got the dam £600.
Fraternally.
F[iat] P[ax].
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