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Correspondence from George MacNie Cowie to Aleister Crowley
14 Glenisla Gardens, Edinburgh.
[Undated: circa 1915?]
[First page or pages of this letter are missing.]
easy mind about beans. They are not playing the game, Them. But it may be the last trial in that direction.
There has been a letter from Mills Lockyer asking if we would give Mrs Brook an option of extending the lease [of Boleskine] when it was out. Presumably she has heard that Mrs Murray Leslie has a hankering after the place, so——— I told Williamson to reply to the effect that I did not for a moment think we could agree at this date to bind ourselves to anything definite, as circumstances might arise at any moment which might make us keen to occupy the place ourselves on the termination of the lease, but that if not so, then we should feel bound in the circumstances, to give her the first option, and should not feel entitled to pass her over for a better offer. That is right, and should satisfy her, but make her still more keen to remain. B[oleskine] should be a peaceful place at present.
Blessed thrice blessed be The All Bounderest, the Kether Prince. At the rate at which he is sacrificing his wretched pawns, 'parsifal' will be an operatic failure. Good. Aren't you glad? I'm reading through the "Commentary M.S." till you send for it, I know you'll like me to. It would come in for the next 'Equinox', tho' there should be plenty without it. If They expect you to print the next Eq[uinox] on credit, I'm a-goin' to choose me a dissolute Island and fortify it.
Haven't heard from our very Excellent and Perfect Princess (this is no sarcasm) for a bit. Hammond [Benjamin Charles Hammond] seems to have got a move on at last, and I'm financing the miscreant who is mishandling the plates. The difficulty is about proofs and further copy (for letter press) but you'd better let it slide now, till you come out of retirement. I'll write occasionally but not bother you. Will be glad to hear from M.O.H. [Mother of Heaven—Leila Waddell].
I caught a devil of a cold in London (it rather spoilt my week), It clung to me in the normal suggestive way for weeks, but I think I have now conquered it. I've been very busy, my work does not get done in my absence, so I've had to pay for that holiday.
Three months in peace and a borrowed cottage. Lucky man. All good wishes.
Fraternally.
F[iat] P[ax]
P.S. This is F.P. his fifty fifth birthday. No flowers.
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