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  To Walt Whitman, Copy of note scribbled in pencil in open air, Rivington, 8 p.m.

Here I sit again in the place I occupied this night week overlooking Rivington lake. A similar evening, but even calmer. The sun is just about setting behind a low thinly stratified bank of clouds. The rest of the sky is perfectly cloudless—grey purplish blue above, merging to palest salmon colour on the horizon.   The lake—calm & free from ripples—perfectly reflects the green wooded banks across the lake & the opalescent colours of the Pike, broken here & there by the rings left by leaping fish. (The furthest surface of the lake glazed later with ripples.) The glory with which the sun lately filled the whole scene has faded, & a more subdued & sober harmony has taken its place, deepening as the evening advances. The spirit of the whole is that of uttermost peace, content & cheer. But the air is thick with the varied music of birds,— not loud & vivacious—but sweet & gentle, blending well with the scene.

Besides me sits a young artist friend—A.H. Cooper who is just beginning a small water colour sketch of the east end of the lake, showing Rivington church & village, & the Pike beyond.

He came to see me last night, & we had a good long ramble of several miles round the country here. He is an admirer of yours, so I asked him if he would make 2 or 3 sketches for me to send  to you. But he is going to Norway for 3 or 4 month's painting in 2 or 3 days, & his time is of course very limited. However, as I wanted them for you, he kindly promised to come here for a short time today & again tomorrow to do what he could.—I met him half an hour ago & he shewed me two slight bits he had sketched in Rivington village, & he has just begun one here. If it is fair again tomorrow (weather forecast rain) I hope that he will be able to add one or two more.

 

I wish that he had more time. For he would then be able to get over more ground & to give you sketches at once more varied & more characteristic of the country here. But we can only do what we can, & they will give you a kink or two into a country which is very beautiful in a homely idyllic fashion & very dear to me.

I hope that the next mail will bring good news of you & report some little improvement in your health. I wish you were here for a little time. It might do you good & would be an immense joy to me.

 

Love to you always, and an eventide as sweet & calm & cheerful as this in which I write.

Yours affectionately J.W. Wallace

Wednesday noon

A dark drizzling day.—Looks a little lighter now & may possibly clear up, but it isn't promising.—Unless it does clear up, Cooper can do nothing & I shall not be able to send you the sketches I hoped.