ood's here. This island's breed is the best there is. An
Englishman or a Scotchman is the best ancestor in this world, many
as his shortcomings are. Some Englishman asked me one night in
what, I thought, the Englishman appeared at his best. I said, "As
an ancestor to Americans!" And this is the fundamental reason why
we (two peoples) belong close together. Reasons that flow from
these are such as follows: (1) The race is the sea-mastering race
and the navy-managing race and the ocean-carrying race; (2) the
race is the literary race, (3) the exploring and settling and
colonizing race, (4) the race to whom fair play appeals, and (5)
that insists on individual development.

Your mother having read these two days 1,734 pages of memoirs of
the Coke family, one of whose members wrote the great law
commentaries, another carried pro-American votes in Parliament in
our Revolutionary times, refused peerages, defied kings and--begad!
here they are now, living in the same great house and saying and
doing what they darn please--we know this generation of 'em!--well,
your mother having read these two big volumes about the old ones
and told me 175 good stories out of these books, bless her soul!
she's gone to sleep in a big chair on the other side of the table.
Well she may, she walked for two hours this morning over hills and
cliffs and through pine woods and along the beach. I guess I'd
better wake her up and get her to go to bed--as the properer thing
to do at this time o'night, viz. 11. My golf this afternoon was too
bad to confess. But I must say that a 650 and a 730 yard hole
argues the audacity of some fellow and the despair of many more.
Nature made a lot of obstructions there and Man made more. It must
be seven or eight miles around that course! It's almost a three
hour task to follow my slow ball around it. I suggested we play
with howitzers instead of clubs. Good night!

W.H.P.

_To Frank N. Doubleday and Others_

Royal Bath and East Cliff Hotel,
Bournemouth, May 29, 1916.

DEAR D.P. & Co.:

I always have it in mind to write you letters; but there's no
chance in my trenches in London; and, since I have not been out of
London for nearly two years--since the war began--only an
occasional half day and a night--till now--naturally I'v