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(Buenos) Montevideo                                    13th Nov. 1892

My dear Mother,

Having headed so many letters “Buenos Aires” during the last three months the force of habit made me begin this one with a capital B.

But I am glad at having at last said adios to the Argentine, – though I must return for a couple days at the end of the week to bid it a final farewell. Not that Buenos Aires is at all a bad kind of place to live in, – quite the contrary, particularly when one has a sufficiently large circle of acquaintances. But the restless spirit awakes again & makes me wish to “move on”, – the effect of this wandering life. And I feel a kind of satisfaction in having “done” so much – finished a certain part of my journey – so that I can figuratively fold it up, write the name & date on the back, & put it away like an answered letter. I wonder does everyone experience that satisfaction of completion, the agreeableness of drawing a line through a reminder in one’s note-book, – of reading the last page of a heavy book undertaken from a sort of sense of duty – of placing in definite & final order things that have lain in pending confusion in one’s mind or in one’s surroundings. This is, as Basil used to say, a line of thought that might be followed out, but I won’t inflict on you any further reflections on the subject.

Last night I was reading a Spanish, or rather Argentine, historical novel, called “Amalia”, but the irritation the opening chapters produced in me reached a climax when I came to the following description of a young woman, – “a waist twelve inches (!) in circumference, sustaining a delicate alabaster vase in which seemed to be placed, like a flower, that exquisite head”; – when I got so far I thought it was time to shut the book & blow out the candle.^[1]

One of the characters, an old schoolmaster, makes the observation that it is the stupidest pupils who write the best hand, – the dunces, as some do, should add carelessness to their stupidity & scrawl, & imagine themselves geniuses in consequence.

Something similar applies to a good many books. Because genius is sometimes eccentric not a few authors seem to think that is sufficient to be eccentric in order to be a genius. I am thinking just now of two shining lights but I am afraid to mention them lest I should be indignantly crushed by young ladies who have the advantage of attending lectures on literature. Ruskin is not one of them. I have a humble & enthusiastic admiration for him.

I have just read “Armorel of Lyonesse” by Besant, – a pretty story.^[2] I like all Besant’s books. They are very weak in places, but the man is “motived” by right principles, & his work is good, if not so good as it might be. A Ruskinian theory applies here, but as it rather savours of moralizing I will merely refer you to Ruskin for it. I like the humour in the book; – there is not too much of it this time (as there is in the “The Golden Butterfly”).^[3] There is a funny reference to a royal duke who used to murmur, during the weekly repetition of the commandments: “Never did that! Never did that!”

16th Nov.      Last Sunday afternoon I drove out to the very pretty country residence of Mr Alfred Thomsen (of Hamburg & Montevideo) father of our local agent. It is a drive of about an hour, in the course of which one has many a fine view over the broad bay & the scythe-like promontory on which the town is built, & up the slopes which culminate in the well-known “Cerro”, a hill a few hundred feet high, referred to in the aforementioned historical novel as “that immense mountain!”^[4]

Mr Thomsen’s house stands in some 150 squares of land, say, at a rough guess, 200 acres, most of which is covered with trees 30 to 40 years old, – oaks, firs, cedars, magnolias, & eucalyptus, a very beautiful property in this almost treeless land. It is alive with birds, for Mr Thomsen allows no shooting in the place, & is very angry if anyone injures bird or animal. He has five sons & one daughter. The second son fell from his horse nearly two years ago & injured his spine & is now a helpless invalid. It is very sad. He was formerly the strongest & most active of the family & he now has to be wheeled about on a couch & cannot walk a step.^[5]

The two younger boys, sturdy chaps of about 8 & 10 years, were galloping about all afternoon on horseback, without stirrups, saddle, or other bridle than a rope fastened to the bit – the horses quite barebacked! I believe the little girl, who must be about 9 years old, rides like her brothers, sitting crossways like them. They run about the place barefooted, as their father believes in making them hardy & strong. They all rise at half past five & have their cold bath, & at eight o’clock they are in town after their hour’s drive – the father & eldest son at business, & the three young people at school. The youngest boy, aged 6, & the invalid, remain at the country-house.

This morning early I had a plunge in a fine saltwater swimming bath & another before dinner, – very refreshing now that the weather begins to get warm.

I shall have no letters from you now till I arrive at Rio. You can address there per return c/o Mr A. Spann, Caixa N^o 1.^[6] In my next I shall likely give you another address.

Best love to all

Jack