[B] This to attenuate his feebleness of hand!
_To William James._
The news had just arrived of the death of F. W. H. Myers at Rome,
where William James was spending the winter.
Reform Club, Pall Mall, S. W.
Jan. 24, 1901.
My dear William,
A laggard in response you and Alice will indeed feel that I have become.
I've had for three or four days your so interesting and relieving letter
dictated to Alice at the hour of poor Myers's death, and though it
greatly eased me off (as to my fears that the whole thing would have
worn you out,) yet till this moment my hand has been stayed. I wrote you
very briefly, moreover, as soon as the papers here gave the news.
Blessed seems it to have been that everything round about Myers was so
sane and comfortable; the reasonableness and serenity of his wife and
children etc., not to speak of his own high philosophy, which it must
have been fine to see in operation. But I hope the sequel hasn't been
prolonged, and have been supposing that, by the necessary quick
departure of his "party," you will have been left independent again and
not too exhausted. We here, on our side, have been gathering close
round the poor old dying and dead Queen, and are plunged in universal
mourning tokens--which accounts for my black-edged paper. It has really
been, the event, most moving, interesting and picturesque. I have felt
_more_ moved, much, than I should have expected (such is _community_ of
sentiment,) and one has realized all sorts of things about the brave old
woman's beneficent duration and holding-together virtue. The thing has
been journalistically overdone, of course--greatly; but the people have
appeared to advantage--serious and sincere and decent--_really_ caring.
Meanwhile the drama of the accession, new reign, &c., has its lively
spectacular interest--even with the P. of W. for hero. I dined last
night in company with some Privy Councillors who had met him
ceremonially, in the a.m., and they said (John Morley in particular
said) that he made a very good impression. Speriamo!
I find London answering very well, but with so much more crowdedness on
one's hours and minutes than in the country that I shall be glad indeed
when the end comes. Meanwhile, however, work proceeds.... The war has
_doubled_ the income tax here; it is hideous.
Ever tenderly your
HENRY.
_To Miss Muir Mackenzie._
Miss Muir Mackenzie, during a recent visit to Rye, had been
nominated "Hereditary Grand Governess" of the garden of Lamb House,
and is addressed accordingly.
Lamb House, Rye.
June 15th, 1901.
Dear Grand Governess,
You are grand indeed, and no mistake, and we are bathed in gratitude for
what you have done for us, and, in general, for all your comfort,
support and illumination. We cling to you; we will walk but by your
wisdom and live in your light; we cherish and inscribe on our precious
records every word that drops from you, and we have begun by taking up
your delightful tobacco-leaves with pious and reverent hands and
consigning them to the lap of earth (in the big vague blank
unimaginative border with the lupines, etc.) exactly in the manner you
prescribe; where they have already done wonders toward peopling its
desolation. It is really most kind and beneficent of you to have taken
this charming trouble for us. We acted, further, instantaneously on your
hint in respect to the poor formal fuchsias--sitting up in their hot
stuffy drawing-room with never so much as a curtain to draw over their
windows. We haled them forth on the spot, everyone, and we clapped them
(in thoughtful clusters) straight into the same capacious refuge or
omnium gatherum. Then, while the fury and the frenzy were upon us, we
did the same by the senseless stores of geranium (my poor little
22/-a-week-gardener's idee fixe!)--we enriched the boundless receptacle
with _them_ as well--in consequence of which it looks now quite sociable
and civilised. Your touch is magical, in short, and your influence
infinite. The little basket went immediately to its address, and George
Gammon (!!) my 22-shillinger, permitted himself much appreciation of
your humour on the little tin soldiers. That regiment, I see, will be
more sparingly recruited in future. The total effect of all this, and of
your discreet and benevolent glance at my ineffective economy, is to
make me feel it fifty times a pity, a shame, a crime, that, as John
Gilpin said to his wife "you should dine at Edmonton, and I should dine
at Ware!"--that you should bloom at Effingham and I should fade at Rye!
Your real place is _here_--where I would instantly ask your leave to
farm myself out to you. I want to _be_ farmed; I am utterly unfit to
farm myself; and I do it, all round, for (seeing, alas, what it is) not
nearly little enough money. Therefore you ought to be over the wall and
"march" with me, as you say in Scotland. However, even as it is, your
mere "look round" makes for salvation. I am, I rejoice to say, clothed
and in my right mind--compared with what I was when you left me; and so
shall go on, I trust, for a year and a day. I have been alone--but next
week bristles with possibilities--two men at the beginning, two women
(postponed--the Americans) in the middle--and madness, possibly, at the
end. I shall have to move over to Winchelsea! But while my reason abides
I shall not cease to thank you for your truly generous and ministering
visit and for everything that is yours. Which _I_ am, very faithfully
and gratefully,