P.S. The oddest trio of coincidences yesterday afternoon. I was reading
the delightful Letters of that peculiarly Suffolk genius (of Woodbridge)
Edward FitzGerald ("Omar Khayyam") and, just finishing a story in one of
them about his relations with a boatman of Saxmundham (a name--seen for
the first time--that struck me--by its strangeness and handsomeness,)
laid down the book and went a long walk--five miles along this coast, to
where, in a very picturesque and lonely spot, I met a sea-faring man
with whom I fraternised.
"Do you belong to this place?"
"Oh no. I've been here five years; but I come from the Suffolk
coast--Saxmundham."
"Did you know Mr. FitzGerald?"
"Know him? My brother was his boatman!"--and he tells me the story! Then
I walk home and coming in, find your letter on my table. I tear it open
and the first word I see in it--in your date--is _Saxmundham_!
Tableau!!! It never rains but it pours!--
_To Edward Warren._
On returning from Dunwich--it was there that he had been bicycling
with Mr. Warren--H. J. heard that Lamb House, which he had seen and
admired at Rye the year before, was unexpectedly vacant. He at once
appealed to Mr. Warren for professional advice with regard to the
condition of the house, and as this proved satisfactory, secured it
without delay.
_Dictated._
34 De Vere Gardens, W.
15th September, 1897.
My dear Edward,
Very kindly read, for me, the enclosed--which throws an odd coincidental
light on the very house we talked of, day before yesterday (or was it
yesterday?) as we bumped and bounced and vainly shifted sides. The place
in question is none other than the mansion with the garden-house perched
on the wall; and though to be fairly confronted with the possibility and
so brought to the point is a little like a blow in the stomach, what I
am minded to say to you is that perhaps you may have a chance to tell
me, on Friday, that you will be able to take some day next week to give
me the pleasure of going down there with me for a look. I feel as if I
couldn't _think_ on the subject at all without seeing it--the
subject--again; and there would be no such seeing it as seeing it in
your company. Perhaps I shall have speech of you long enough on Friday
to enable us to settle a day. _I_ should be capable of Monday. I hope
you slid gently home and are fairly on all fours--that is on hands and
feet--again. What a day we should have had again also--I mean this
one--if we had kept it up! But basta cosi!--it does beautifully for
your journey. A thousand friendships to Margaret. Always yours,