_To William James._
Point Hill,
Playden, Rye.
July 24th, 1896.
My dear William,
...I wrote you at some length not very long since, and my life has been,
here, so peaceful that nothing has happened to me since save an incident
terminated this a.m.--a charming little visit (of 24 hours) from Wendell
Holmes, who was in admirable youth, spirits, health and "form," and
whose presence I greatly enjoyed. He is--or has been--having his usual
social triumphs in London, was as vivid and beautiful as ever about
them--also seems to enjoy much _this_ humble but picturesque little
place and sails for the U.S. on Aug. 22nd. Save that he seems to see you
rarely and precariously, he will carry you good news of me. I have only
five days more of Point Hill, alas--but I have solved the problem of not
returning on Aug. 1st to the stifling London (we are having a summer of
transcendent droughts and heat--like last, only more so,) and not on the
other hand sacrificing precious days to hunting up another
refuge--solved it by taking, for two months, the Vicarage at Rye, which
is shabby, fusty--a sad drop from P.H., but close at hand to this (15
minutes walk,) and has much of the same picturesque view (from a small
terrace garden behind--a garden to sit in, and more or less, as here, to
_eat_ in) and almost the same very moderate _loyer_. It has also more
room, and more tumblers and saucepans, and above all, at a moment when I
am intensely busy, saves me a wasteful research. So I shall be there
from the 29th of this month till the last week in September. "_The
Vicarage, Rye, Sussex_," is my address. The place, unfortunately, isn't
quite up to the pretty suggestion of the name. But this little corner of
the land endears itself to me--and the peace of the country is a balm.
It is all, about here, most mild and mellow and loveable--too
"relaxing," but that is partly the exceptional summer. I have been able,
_every_ evening, for three months, to dine, at _8_, on my little
terrace. So the climate of England is, literally, not always to be
sneezed at. But the absence of rain threatens a water-famine, and the
"tub" is a short allowance. With Chocorua let, I am at a loss to place
you all, and only hope you are succeeding better in placing yourselves.
It would delight me to hear that Alice is "boarding" somewhere with
Peggy and the afflicted infant whom I refuse to denominate "Tweedy." I
hope, at any rate, she is getting rest and refreshment of some sort.
There would be room for two or three of you at my Vicarage--I wish you
were here to feel the repose of it. May your summer be merciful and your
lectures _on ne peut plus suivies_. I say nothing about the political
bear-garden--I fear I pusillanimously keep out of it. I am well (absit
omen) and interested in what I _am_ in--and I embrace you all. Ever your
affectionate