Letter from Edward Thomas to his wife, Helen Thomas. Archival reference: 424/1/1/1/1/101
is to be announced.
On Monday the Moderations list was published. Fyfe got a
first class, MacAlister a second. Lincoln for the first time for
seven years got a first class, though only one.

Why your mysterious reference in Monday's letter to "a
certain anxiety"? It at once again recalled the fact that you
are now perhaps suffering the unusual pain which followed
your pleasure last Autumn: Is that so?

I see a good deal of Haynes, but am as yet by no means
certain he cares for me. He quoted the cynical snob Farrer
with whom he stayed at Ingleborough in the Vacation, as
referring to me with two words only, "Poor Thomas". There is
a lot in that judgement.

Damn Yvette Guilbert. Irene ought to be ashamed of herself.
Of course you won't go to see such a woman. She recalls a
speech of Hayne's last night at the Arnold

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26.iv.'99.
My dearest friend,
That paper on the relations between Prose and Poetry in the
XIX th century came out quite satisfactory. I was nervous
while reading it, but when the paper was declared open to
discussion and people began to question me, I was perfectly
at my ease. Only one man actually told me the paper was a
success, though; he is a fresher named Hodges, a big
hearty fellow with noble and literary tastes. I was engaged in
patching the essay until the last moment, and it is now in a
far too scrappy condition for me to send it
to you. Someday perhaps I will revise it and send it to the
Speaker or Magazine.

As yet of course I have had no news of my Merton paper; nor
have I had a cheque for "In Praise of Indolence", or got back
my copy of it from Gwili.

Since coming here, I have written nothing, and beyond a few
pages of Stevenson's "Travels with a donkey in the
Cevennes", and some delightful stories of Q's in a volume
called "Noughts and Crosses", I have read nothing but
History and Law. Yesterday, however, some fragments of
mine were printed in the J.C.R., which I send; please return it
when Mary has done with it, and tell her it is not a typical number.

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In fact, my only literary work has been the correcting of an
article of Morgan's called the Celtic Requiem, dealing with
Tom Ellis's funeral in Merionethshire, at which he was present
in the Vacation. I consider it very bad; it is as fulsome and
boyish as my work three years ago. The greater part of it is
natural description, not bad but badly expressed. He is
coming round to hear my verdict this afternoon, and then to
go for a walk. I wonder what I shall have courage to say?

Irene's criticism of me is quite wrong. I may be precious, but
not with regard to Murcer; and Oxford has certainly given
me no super refinement, at least in literature, but rather the
reverse.

I am glad to hear you have seen Miss Lucas again, and with
enjoyment.

On May 1 the result of the Newdigate
Society in Balliol - on "The Decadence of Modern Society." It
was very amusing, especially to those who know Haynes's
biography.

Collins is a Lincoln man I have mentioned before. He is one
of the little set I am in - Davies, O'Brien, Collins and myself.
He is a tall creature with a face that has given him the
nickname Rabbit. He is not at all clever, very good natured,
rich, and his only interest is the collecting of bugs and
beetles.

I should hardly recommend Pater's Marius the Epicurean. It is
a very difficult book, and [illegible] demands a knowledge of
later Roman history - the time of Marcus Aurelius the
Emperor and philosopher.

Goodbye sweet heart, my anemone maiden. Ever and wholly yours, Edwy.
Adieu. Write soon.