Another thing which amused and interested M. Zola when he took his walks around Norwood was to note the often curious and often high-sounding names bestowed on villa residences.  As a rule the smaller the place the more grandiose the appellation bestowed on it.  Some of the names M. Zola, having now made progress with his English, could readily understand; others, too, were virtually French, such as Bellevue, Beaumont, and so forth; but there were several that I had to interpret, such as Oakdene, Thornbrake, Beechcroft, Hillbrow, Woodcote, Fernside, Fairholme, Inglenook, etc.  And there was one name that I could not explain to him at all—­an awful name, which I fancied might be Gaelic or Celtic, though I appealed in vain to Scottish, Irish, and Welsh friends for an interpretation of its meaning.  It was written thus:  ‘Ly-ee-Moon.’

Nobody of my acquaintance was able to explain it to me.  M. Zola wrote it down in his memorandum-book as an abstruse puzzle.  However, while this narrative was appearing in the ‘Evening News,’ several correspondents kindly informed me that Ly-ee-Moon (at times written ‘Lai-Mun’) was Chinese, being the name of a narrow passage or strait between the island of Hong-Kong and the mainland of China (now transferred to Great Britain), at the eastern entrance to the harbour of the city of Victoria on the island.

It seems also that Ly-ee-Moon is a name often given to ships sailing in the China seas.  And in the case of the Norwood house, built by a retired shipowner and sea captain, the name was taken from a vessel plying on the Australian coast for many years, and ultimately wrecked with great loss of life.  The owner of the Norwood house had an engraving of the ship executed on a plate-glass window of this hall.  Until these explanations reached me both M. Zola and myself were quite as much at sea (with regard to ‘Ly-ee-Moon’) as ever its owner and captain was.

When I spent an afternoon at Norwood with M. Zola we generally returned to the hotel about half-past four for a cup of tea.  And on the way back (particularly during the last months) I frequently purchased postage stamps for him at the chief post-office.  He might, of course, have bought them himself, and as a matter of fact he did at times do so.  But he was aware, I think, that he was regarded with some suspicion by the young lady clerks under the control of the Duke of Norfolk.

At certain periods, Christmas time and the New Year, for instance, M. Zola’s correspondence became extensive, and on the first occasion when he entered the Upper Norwood post-office and asked for fifty 2 1_2 d. stamps he was looked at with surprise.  When, a couple of days later, he applied for another fifty, the young ladies eyed him as if he were a genuine curiosity.  A hundred 2 1_2 d. stamps in four days!  What could he do with them?  Nobody could tell.  When, shortly afterwards, he returned for another supply of the same kind, the Norwood post-office was convulsed.  And I doubt if even now some of the young ladies have quite got over that brief but extraordinary run on the so-called ‘foreign stamp.’