“. . . When are we to have rain? Last night it lightened to the South, as we sat in the Suffolk Gardens—I, and Posh, and Mrs Posh, and Sparks; Newson and Jack being with some other friends in another Department. Posh and I had been sauntering in the Churchyard, and reading the Epitaphs: looking at his own little boy’s Grave—‘Poor little Fellow! He wouldn’t let his Mother go near him—I can’t think why—but kept his little Fingers twisted in my Hair, and wouldn’t let me go; and when Death strook him, as I may say, halloo’d out ‘Daddy!’”
“Lowestoft, Sunday, Aug. 30, ’69.
[‘Letters,’ p. 318.]
“. . . You will see by the enclosed that Posh has had a little better luck than hitherto. One reason for my not going to Woodbridge is, that I think it possible this N.E. wind may blow him hither to tan his nets. Only please God it don’t tan him and his people first. . . .
“Lord and Lady Hatherley were here last week—no, this week: and I met them on the pier one day, as unaffected as ever. He is obliged, I believe, to carry the
Great Seal about with him; I told him I wondered how he could submit to be so bored; on which my lady put in about “Sense of Duty,” etcetera-rorum. But I (having no Great Seal to carry) went off to Southwold on Wednesday, and lay off there in the calm nights till yesterday: going to Dunwich, which seemed to me rather delightful.
“Newson brought in another Moth some days ago; brownish, with a red rump. I dare say very common, but I have taken enormous pains to murder it: buying a lump of some poison at Southwold which the Chemist warned me to throw overboard directly the Moth was done for: for fear of Jack and Newson being found dead in their rugs. The Moth is now pinned down in a lucifer match box, awaiting your inspection. You know I shall be glad to see you at any time. . . .”
“Lowestoft, Sept. 4, ’69. [Ib.]
“I wish you were coming here this Evening, as I have several things to talk over.
“I would not meddle with the Regatta—to Newson’s sorrow, who certainly must have carried off the second £10 prize. And the Day ended by vexing me more than it did him. Posh drove in here the day before to tan his nets: could not help making one with some old friends
in a Boat-race on the Monday, and getting very fuddled with them on the Suffolk Green (where I was) at night. After all the pains I have taken, and all the real anxiety I have had. And worst of all, after the repeated promises he had made! I said, there must now be an end of Confidence between us, so far as that was concerned, and I would so far trouble myself about him no more. But when I came to reflect that this was but an outbreak among old friends on an old occasion, after (I do believe) months of sobriety; that there was no concealment about it; and that though obstinate at first as to how little drunk, &c., he was very repentant afterwards—I cannot let this one flaw weigh against the general good of the man. I cannot if I would: what then is the use of trying? But my confidence in that respect must be so far shaken, and it vexes me to think that I can never be sure of his not being overtaken so. I declare that it makes me feel ashamed very much to play the Judge on one who stands immeasurably above me in the scale, whose faults are better than so many virtues. Was not this very outbreak that of a great genial Boy among his old Fellows? True, a Promise was broken. Yes: but if the Whole Man be of the Royal Blood of Humanity, and do Justice in the Main, what are the people to say? He thought, if he thought at all, that he kept his promise