In spite of these heavy showers, I persist in believing the weather will
clear, and means really to be dry: at any rate I am not made of sugar or
of salt; so intend to be off to-morrow;--and am, even now, in all the
horrors of a half rotted ship, which has lain two years, dead, among the
ooze, and is now trying to get up its anchor again: ropes breaking, sails
holed, blocks giving way, you may fancy what a pother there is!
My train is to be 11 a.m. from Shoreditch; which gets to Ipswich about
two? If you have a gig and pony, of course it will be pleasant to see
your face at the end of my shrieking, mad, (and to me quite horrible)
rail operations: but if I see nothing, I will courageously go for the
Coach, and shall do quite well there, if I can get on the outside
especially. So don't mind which way it is; a _small_ weight ought to
turn it either way. I hope to get to Farlingay not long after 4 o'clock,
and have a quiet mutton chop in due time, and have a do pipe or pipes:
nay I could even have a bathe if there was any sea water left in the
evening. If you did come to Ipswich, an hour (hardly more) to glance at
the old Town might not be amiss.
I will bring Books enough with me: I am used to several hours of solitude
every day; and cannot be said ever to _weary_ of being left well alone.
But we will 'drive' to any places you recommend; do bidding of the omens,
to a fair degree withal: in short I calculate on getting some real
benefit by this plunge into the maritime rusticities under your friendly
guidance, and the quiet of it will be of all things welcome to me.
My wife firmly intended writing to you to-day, and perhaps has done so;
but if not, you are to take it as a thing done, for indeed there was
nothing whatever of importance to be said farther.
To-morrow then (Wednesday 8th) 11 a.m.--wish me a happy passage. Yours
ever truly,