you
are myself, whatever that self may be.--Ever yours,

T. B.

P.S.--By the way, I want you to do something for me; I want a MAP of
your house and of the sitting-rooms. I want to see where you usually
sit, to read or write. And more than that, I want a map of the roads
and paths round about, with your ordinary walks and strolls marked in
red. I don't feel I quite realise the details enough.

SENNICOTTS,
HONEY HILL,
EAST GRINSTEAD,
Aug. 9, 1904.

DEAR HERBERT,--I am making holiday, with the voice of praise and
thanksgiving, like the people in the Psalm, and working, oh! how
gratefully, at one of my eternal books. Depend upon it, for simple
pleasure, there is nothing like writing. I am staying with Bradby, who
has taken a cottage in Sussex. He has had his holiday, so that he goes
up to town every day; it does not sound very friendly to say that this
arrangement exactly suits me, but so it is. I work and write in the
morning, walk or bicycle in the afternoon, and then we dine together,
and spend peaceful evenings, reading or talking.

But this is not the point. I came in yesterday to tea, saw an
unfamiliar hat in the hall, and found to my surprise James Cooper, whom
you remember at Eton as a boy. I knew him a little there, and saw a
good deal of him at Cambridge; and we have kept up a very fitful
correspondence at long intervals ever since.

I am ashamed to confess that I was bored, though I trust to Heaven I
did not show it; I had come back from my ride brimming over with ideas,
and was in the condition of a person who is holding his breath, dying
to blow it all out. Cooper said that he had heard that I was in the
neighbourhood, and he had accordingly come over, a considerable
distance, to see me. He is in business, and appears to be prospering.
We had tea, and there was a good deal to talk about; but Cooper showed
no signs of moving, and said at last that he thought he would stay and
see Bradby--perhaps dine with us. So we walked about the garden, and I
gradually became aware, with regret and misery, that I was in the
presence of a bore. Yes, James Cooper is a bore! He had a great deal to
say, mostly on subjects with which I was not acquainted. He has become
a botanist, and seemed full to the brim of uninteresting information.
He stayed till Bradby came, he dined, he talked. At last he decided he
must go; but he talked in the hall, he talked in the porch. He pressed
us to come over and see