Salisbury.
June 11. [1903]
My dear Garnett
I'm here till Tuesday next but shall not be in London soon enough to see you next week. Many thanks for writing: I shall be curious to see your paper in the H. Review[1] and only fear you have been too generous—that there will be honey on the rim of the cup but not any bitter taste in the liquor. I have a letter from Graham in which he speaks of the Academy's review of my book, and says that "Garnett" probably wrote it. I have written to say that I have not seen it, as I do not get any reviews sent but that you did not write it.
Talking of Life-histories—in the neighbourhood of the village where I visited the blind woman one very hot day I went over a vast down to the village of Oare, and on the hill top got off and sat in the shade to rest not far from a small lonely cottage. A very old grey woman and a very small boy came out and took a long look at me, and by and by the small boy came and presented me with a spray of Southern-wood, and began to prattle telling me incidentally his little life history. He appeared to be one of those whose origin is "wrop in mystery." A more beautiful little boy I have not seen: he was 6 years old and that old bent woman, he said, was his mother! His father was "a very old man," a farm labourer, at Mr. Young's Farm. They kept no pig but they had a yellow cat—only it was lost now. He went to school at Oare—all down hill, and then all up hill to come back. The other small boys plagued him but he always hit back so hard that they were beginning to leave him alone. His sister Susan had 3 children, and Fanny two. And he had a brother—a great fat man, who lived in London, but they knew nothing about him. Mother knew, but she wouldn’t tell. His father's name was "Mr. Kent." "And what's your name?" I asked. He drew himself up, took a very deep breath and said, "My name is Henry Jasper George Hicks Hallam." It was a fine name, I said, but why was he Hallam and his father Kent? "I have two fathers," he said "—Mr. Kent and Mr. Hallam."
On Sunday evening I had to go to Lyndhurst—some 24 miles
- ↑ The Nature Books of W. H. Hudson. Humane Review. June 1903.—E. G.
