I have, like you, always have, and from a Child had, a mysterious feeling about that ‘Sizewell Gap.’ There were reports of kegs of Hollands found under the Altar Cloth of Theberton Church near by: and we Children looked with awe on the ‘Revenue Cutters’ which passed Aldbro’, especially remembering one that went down with all hands, ‘The Ranger.’
They have half spoilt Aldbro’; but now that Dunwich is crossed out from my visiting Book by the loss of that fine fellow, [290] whom this time of year
especially reminds me of, I must return to Aldbro’ now and then. Why can’t you go there with me? I say no more of your coming here, for you ought to be assured that you would be welcome at any time; but I never do ask any busy, or otherwise engaged man to come. . . .
Here is a good Warwickshire word—‘I sheered my Eyes round the room.’ So good, that it explains itself.
White Lion, Aldeburgh.
July 7/80.
My dear Keene,
I shall worry you with Letters: here is one, however, which will call for no answer. It is written indeed in acknowledgement of your packet of Drawings, received by me yesterday at Woodbridge.
My rule concerning Books is, that Giver and Taker (each in his turn) should just say nothing. As I am not an Artist (though a very great Author) I will say that Four of your Drawings seemed capital to me: I cannot remember the Roundabouts which they initialed: except two: 1. The lazy idle Boy, which you note as not being used; I suppose, from not being considered sufficiently appropriate to the Essay (which I forget), but which I thought altogether good; and the old Man, with a look of Edwards! 2. Little Boy in Black, very pretty: 3. (I forget the Essay) People looking at Pictures: one of them, the principal, surely a recollection of W. M. T.
himself. Then 4. There was a bawling Boy: subject forgotten. I looked at them many times through the forenoon: and came away here at 2 p.m.
I do not suppose, or wish, that you should make over to me all these Drawings, which I suppose are the originals from which the Wood was cut. I say I do not ‘wish,’ because I am in my 72nd year: and I now give away rather than accept. But I wished for one at least of your hand; for its own sake, and as a remembrance, for what short time is left me, of one whom I can sincerely say I regard greatly for himself, as also for those Dunwich days in which I first became known to him. ‘Violà qui est dit.’