_To Mrs. George Hunter._
Instead of going abroad for the summer, as he had proposed, H. J.
went first to Bournemouth, and from there to join his cousin, Mrs.
George Hunter, and her daughters at Dunwich, near Saxmundham.
Bath Hotel, Bournemouth.
Saturday [July 3, 1897].
Dearest Elly,
It is an immense satisfaction to get your news--and no figure of speech
to say that it has found me literally on the point of reaching out, for
it, into the thick twilight of your whereabouts. I have had my general
silence much on my conscience--and especially my dumbness and darkness
to Rosina and Bay, for whom my movements must have been enveloped in a
perfidious mystery that has caused me, I fear, to forfeit all their
esteem. But let me tell you first of all how I rejoice in your good
conditions and in your having found your feet. It was "borne in" upon
me, on general grounds, that Southwold would never do for long, and it
is charming that you have found so near and so nice a substitute. I
especially delight (without wanting to sacrifice the rest of you) in
such a letting-down-easy of the Art-Daughters. Please give them my
tender love and tell them that, preposterous as it sounds, I have never,
all this time, and in spite of the rosiest asseverations, crossed the
channel at all. The nearest I have come to it is to have, early last
month, come down here to the edge of the sea and collapsed into the
peace and obscurity of this convenient corner (long familiar to me,)
which, having a winter season, is practically empty at present. I will
tell R. and B. when I see them just how it was that I happened to be so
false--it is too long a story now. Suffice it that my reasons (for
continuing to hug this fat country) were overwhelming, and my regrets
(at not tasting of their brave Bohemia) of the sharpest. Moreover all's
well that ends well. If I _had_ gone abroad I should be abroad now and
the rest of the summer; and therefore unable to join you on your Suffolk
shore--or at least alight upon you there--which is what I shall be
enchanted to do. You describe a little Paradise--houris and all; and I
beseech you to keep a divan for me there. The only thing is that I fear
I shan't be able to come till toward the end--or _by_ the end--of the
month. I have more or less engaged myself (to a pair of friends who are
coming down here next week for my--strange as it may seem--sweet sake)
to remain on this spot till toward the 25th. But I will come then, and
stay as long as you will let me. If you can _bespeak_ any quarters for
me at the inn, in advance, I will take it very kindly of you. Can they
give me a little _sitting-room_ as well as a bed-room? If you can
achieve any effective [word illegible] at them to do so I shall be very
grateful. I always _need_ some small literary bower other than the
British bed-room--and in this case I would of course "meal" there, as
that makes them always more zealous. I don't know the East Coast to
speak of at all--and I can imagine no more winsome introduction to it. I
quite yearn to commune with the young Parisians. Bravo, McMonnies. Bravo
everybody--especially Grenville. How I shall joy to frolic with him in
the sand! Have they seen--the art-daughters--the image of the St.
Gaudens Shaw? It is altogether great. William's oration was a
first-class success. I encircle you all and will write again!
Ever, my dear Elly, so constantly yours,