My dear Glasier,—I have been a long time answering your letter: need I make any excuses? Thank you for your kind estimate of my last work; I am truly glad that it pleases you. It is not popular, but I think some people read it and like it. As to the movement, between you and me the League don't get on—except like a cow's tail, downwards. Up here there is now a great deal of quarrelling (in which I take no part), the basis of which is that some of them want the paper made 'more revolutionary,' i.e. they want to write the articles themselves (which they can't do), and to do a little blood and thunder without any meaning, which might get me into trouble but couldn't hurt them. In all this there is no great harm (and no malice) if we were flourishing; but we are not. I am now paying for the League (including paper) at the rate of ₤500 a year, and I cannot stand it; at Whitsuntide I must withdraw half of that, whatever may happen: which will probably be the end of Commonweal, followed by the practical end of the League. A little while ago this would have seemed very terrible, but it does not trouble me much now. Socialism is spreading, I suppose on the only lines on which it could spread, and the League is moribund simply because we are outside those lines, as I for one must always be. But I shall be able to do just as much work in the movement when the League is gone as I do now. The main cause of the failure (which was obvious at least two years ago) is that you cannot keep a body together without giving it something to do in the present, and now, since people will willingly listen to Socialist doctrine, our rank and file have nothing to do. But of course you know more about all this than I can tell you. Meantime, it is a matter of course that I shall do what I can to put off the evil day for C'weal, and I am sure you will help. Try to make arrangements to come up at Whitsuntide; I will find you quarters. This letter is hurried and rough; so please keep it to yourself.
