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not always perfect in its working； etc。； and wrote a short preface which may now be read in all the copies printed since that date。
As I have said； the incident disturbed me a good deal； and more or less set me against the writing of novels of modern life。 It is very well to talk about art with a large A； but I have always felt that the author of books which go anywhere and everywhere has some responsibilities。 Therefore I have tried to avoid topics that might inflame even minds which are very ready to be set on fire。
The charge has been brought against me that my pages have breathed war。 I admit it； and on this point am quite unrepentant。 Personally I may say that I have a perfect horror of war； and hope that I may not live to see another in which my country is involved； for it seems to me terrible that human beings should destroy each other； often enough from motives that do not bear examination。 Yet there is such a thing as righteous war； and if my land were invaded I should think poorly of anyone； myself included； who did not fight like a wild…cat。 I am not even sure that I would not poison the wells if I were unable to get rid of the enemy in any other way。 What is the difference between killing a man with a drug and killing him with a bomb or by hunger and thirst？ Patriotism is the first duty； and the thing is to be rid of him somehow and save your country。 However； this is a question on which I will not enter。
For the rest war brings forth many noble actions； and there can be no harm in teaching the young that their hands were given to them to defend their flag and their heads。 If once a nation forgets to learn that lesson it will very soon be called upon to write Finis beneath its history。 I fear that we； or some of us； are in that way now — or so I judge from the horror expressed upon every side at the doctrine that men should not grudge a year or so of their lives to be spent in learning the art of war。 If God gave us our homes； I presume that He meant for us to protect them！
I think that the next book I wrote after “Eric；” or at any rate the next that was printed； was “Nada the Lily；” which I began upon June 27； 1889； and finished on January 15； 1890。 It is pure Zulu story； and； as I believe I have said； I consider it my best or one of my best books。 At any rate； the following letter from my friend Rudyard Kipling seems to show that this story has one claim on the gratitude of the world。
Vermont； U。S。A。：
October 20； 1895。
Dear Haggard； — Watt has just forwarded me a letter addressed to you from a bee…keeping man ething of a jungle tale of mine。 I dare say it didn’t amuse you； but it made me chuckle a little and reminded me； incidentally； that the man was nearer the mark than he knew： for it was a chance sentence of yours in “Nada the Lily” that started me off on a track that ended in my writing a lot of wolf stories。 You remember in your tale where the wolves leaped up at the feet of a dead man sitting on a rock？ Somewhere on that page I got the notion。 It’s curious how things e back again； isn’t it？ I meant to tell you when we met； but I don’t remember that I ever did。
Yours always sincerely；
Rudyard Kipling。
Here are some extracts from Lang’s letters on the subject of “Nada。”
April 20th。
I read right through to Chaka’s death。 It is admirable； the epic of a dying people； but it wants relief。 Massacre palls。 The old boy （i。e。 the narrator of the story； Mopo） would have given no relief； naturally； but an idyll or two seem needed。 The style is as good as it can be； an invention。 I think a word or two more in the preface might be useful。 I have made a slight suggestion or so。 I like “Eric” better； but this is perhaps more singular。 How any white man can have such a natural gift of savagery； I don’t know。 The Wolves are astonishing。
Yours ever；
A。 L。
The next letter is undated； but was probably written within a day or two of that just quoted。
I’ve finished “Nada。” If all the reviewers in the world denied it； you can do the best sagas that have been done yet： except “Njala” perhaps。 Poor Nada！ I hope it will be done into Zulu。 The old wolf Death…grip was a nice wolf。
May 13th。
Many thanks for the book。 You know exactly what I think of “B。” ＇“Beatrice”＇； but I like your natural novels better a long way than your modern ones at the best； which this probably is。 Beatrice is all right when anything flares up； and all right when in the open air； but the Lady Honorias of this world are not in your beat nor mine。 。 。 。 But； oh； how much I prefer Galazi and Skallagrim to these moderns！
St。 Andrews： January 18th。
I’ll return “Nada” tomorrow。 The Wolves are the best thing of yours I know。 Indeed the unity of tone and savagery throughout are unique。 But there will be rows about the endless massacres。 I have no doubt a Zulu epic would be like this； but reviewers are not Zulus； worse luck。 I think that it is excellent； and quite alone in literature as a picture of a strange life。 But one knows the public。 It is far more veracious than “Eric；” and far less modern： also far less rhetorical。 Chaka is a masterpiece。 But I am a voice clamantis in eremo： people won’t understand。 The realien are awfully well done； no appearance of cram about them。
Lang was quite right about the reviewers。 They for the most part； not having mixed with savages； and never having heard of Chaka and only dimly of the Zulus — for by this time our war with that people was forgotten — saw little in the book except unnecessary bloodshed。 But there it is： a picture； as Lang says； “of a dying people。” I hope that hundreds of years hence the highly educated descendants of the Zulu race may read it and learn therefrom something of the spirit of their own savage ancestors。
I cannot find many letters about “Nada。” Here； however； is one from Charles Longman； dated May 14； 1890。
“Nada” strikes me with wonder and awe。 It is in some ways the greatest feat you have performed： I mean because you have constructed a story in which the dramatis personae are all savages and yet you have kept the interest going throughout。 There will of course be a terrible outcry about gore。 I never read such a book。 It is frightful；