Correspondence from George MacNie Cowie to Aleister Crowley

14 Glenisla Gardens, Edinburgh.

[Undated: 19 September 1916?]

Care Frater.

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.

My weekend trip to London is over and has been worth while, and I am glad I decided to go at all costs, the little change and the long journey up gave me some peace of mind. It will have been clear from recent letters that I have been and am not quite normal as regards nerves. For one thing I seemed face to face for a time with blue ruin, and the anxiety is not on my own account alone. Then naturally my increased knowledge and the recent feeling of illumination has weighed heavily on me, owing to the realisation of its terrific responsibilities, and the situation in London whilst very satisfactory in many ways has rather dispirited me. I will hint why later on.

But

(1) Althea's [Althea Hobbs] telegram about the MS reached me in a garbled form, the confirmations made all clear, she had really sent the Book IV [Part I & Part II] MS. On seeing her in London she states that there were two registered packets, one she sent to the Bank, the other to Cooks, she mentioned the above is a p[ost] c[ard] in her letter to you. It it's not at the Bank I can only imagine that it has been confiscated. It has never come back. By the way as nothing has been said to the contrary I assume that you have received all the packages of Manifestos etc sent? The printers would know how to conform to the regulations.

(2) The mystery about Hammond [Benjamin Charles Hammond] is cleared up. It was not what I supposed, there was no offence taken, but the poor chap is a walking mass of skin disease, it looks like eczema of some sort, and he is so tortured by itch that he threatens I am told to take his life. He is also very busy at present day, night and Sunday, but with all this he won't hear of giving up the job and is quite determined to finish it. There seem two courses open.

(a) print the book [Liber C] and let him finish the steel blocks as he can. It's very difficult to get any clear information put of him, but so far as I understand he has completed 8 chapters. He states that each line takes 8 hours to do, and the marvel is that he took such a terrific task upon him at all. Printing the Book can't be done without the money, and the money is badly wanted for other things. Don't for goodness sake ask me to print it! I'm in a state in which an extra burden would kill me.

Course (b) would be for you to write H[ammond] a nice letter stating how urgent the need is and imploring him to finish the work. He promised to send me proofs of everything on Sunday, but of course failed to. I called again before I left but he was out and I could only leave a note. Personally I'd be in favour of course (b) as I'm sure he is really and honestly keen to complete the job. It's our eternal want of peace that's the root of the trouble. He really has done something and is entitled to a receipt for his yearly dues. I was awfully sorry for the poor chap and did my best to comfort him, but what could one do for him? He seems worn out too by want of sleep. Can you suggest a remedy? For one thing and another it is very trying that you are so far away and communication so slow.

(3) Greek Qabalah. Before I left London, a letter came that was a snarl, saying that whilst J.M. would be pleased to see me, I need not hope to get what I wanted, as he'd given it to a much greater Kabalist than Crowley. I expected to have a rotten time, but we got on capitally and had a pleasant forenoon, and liked the man. We parted on very good terms, but he is simply immovable and won't part on any consideration, with what he says is all his own life work. He showed me his MS, a very neat production, but certainly a huge labour to copy out, and which he won't do or permit. The only concession I could get out of this man of adamant was that he would put the other great Kabalist in communication with you, but I'm rather afraid the he may be a Mrs Harris. Money, again, would settle the difficulty if we could send a transcriber to Spalding. One inducement to break at Peterborough was to add the cathedral to my 'collection'. These glorious old piles always have a charm for me.

(4) About London. The Lodge is in an eminently satisfactory condition. There could hardly be a nicer set of people. All Mary's [Mary Davies] own friends, and all really paying. They are not cranks or even spiritualists, but all sorts, down to Scottish Presbyterians even, and obviously all very fond of her. Really, Mary is turning out a jewel, as I get to know her better and we must never forget what is due to her for the initial start. She is really doing a lot of propaganda work, in connection with her lectures and dignified kind. She wishes me to tell you that she is absolutely at your disposal for such work, would even devote herself completely to it if desired. It's a different matter from what W [James Windram] suggested. I told her all about W. and what my feeling about the proposal was, this altho' I knew he is quite a pet of hers, and she is always praising him. It may be mere prejudice on my part, owing to his likeness as a 'specimen' I once knew, but certainly his letter can hardly impress one as wise or disinterested.

I wrote to him when in London, and boiled down my first letter into the fewest possible words, let Mary see and approve it, and asked her to keep an eye on the whole thing.

By the way that matter I made confession about was so slight that M[ary] does not even remember the incident, nor can recall any passage, to make certain however, I spoke of it as if it were something I had 'kidded' her about. This does not make my step any less careless, and I'm wary now, and avoided any talk with J.M. even at all, on our knowledge. (He invited a Dr Power to lunch, who seems to know you and asked after M.O.H. [Mother of Heaven—Leila Waddell], Kennedy and others. He seemed a good sort, and I'm sending the literature at his own request.

It's S. L. [William Steff-Langston] I'm uneasy about in connection above. He is turning out such a sleuth hound! and his way of rushing into things and always exceeding his instructions is alarming me besides. I found e.g. he had reduced Althea to tears by trying to pump information about 33 [Avenue Studios] out of her, which she is too loyal to give. M[ary] D[avies] found this out and stopped it. I was amused to find that he has a sort of notice up, that all below VI degree are to write to you through him—You didn't tell him this did you? Of course I am putting him right. I'm trying to say just as little as I can, but I'm bound to ask you, now, to make something clear to S.L. if you have any regard for me. You have innocently put me in the position that I don't know what my left hand is doing and in the invidious position of having to write as above.

It's no good telling me I am the supreme authority, unless you impress on him that trifling fact which I am not troubling to remind him of, he wouldn't take it from me. I could judge from his letters that he is a good sort, and far on, but a hint that I have no official information as the names and numbers of his members and so forth, is worth while—What is he by occupation. S.L. is lucky: not tied to office hours as I am. And at present I'm doing piffle at that.

[The following is part of a separate letter from the previous.]

My feeling is that no magazine is likely to print that L.P.K. epistle as they would consider it as giving us a free advert. That's why I thought of some publication of our own. We should really have to buy space otherwise. But as I had already said, at the commencement of my letter, the wise thing is to make the most of what is already printed. I have sent you six of the L.P.K. proofs. The style would disgrace the R.T.S. and I'm only sending them as of possible use as 'copy'. The properly set and printed production should reach you shortly.

The printers of the tracts are not the people who can take risks. Terms cash. You must get at the Widow's Cruse again. I don't fancy printing the Eq[uinox] on tick, have too much fellow feeling for the poor printers.

You wonder why I should want a damn typewriter? You don't realise the extent of my correspondence, besides having a machine of my own, I see my way to hiring an occasional girl to come here and pound away. The Studio one was never stored and is now a mass of old iron—Althea only manages by borrowing one at her office. The one I've got is not precisely a Remington but it will do to practice on and one day I shall squander three Nairne Epistles [£5 notes] on an A1 Remington and save half the time. I'm continuing this serial at home and the non-Remington is a foot from my elbow, but the stilus habit is on me again. Nevertheless it is usually easier to play a tune on the non Rem[ington] than to drag myself to the desk and force a stilus into my lazy and reluctant hand.

Tell M.O.H. for God's sake to take a stilus and call me a blithering fool or anything affectionate like that and end a Year of Silence. It's all because a blinking fool (term of endearment) was idiot enough to show her what I'd rather have a typewriter than have hurt her feelings with.

Sept 19

Didn't get done in time to post yesterday. I'm writing, of all people, to Eustace Miles, he seems interested. Tell you about it later. I haven't much time left and I've covered the ground pretty well. So I must come to the usual dead stop and simply sign myself

Ever fraternally.

F[iat] P[ax]

[104]