eft standing; yet the inhabitants retreating inland, the name was
preserved, as has been the case with many other ports when their ancient
site has been blotted out. There is, however, a church of considerable
antiquity still standing, the last of twelve mentioned in some records.
In 1740, the laying open of the churchyard of St. Nicholas and St.
Francis, in the sea-cliffs, is well described by Gardner, with the
coffins and skeletons exposed to view--some lying on the beach, and
rocked

"In cradle of the rude imperious surge."

Of these cemeteries no remains can now be seen. Ray also says, "that
ancient writings make mention of a wood a mile and a half to the east of
Dunwich, the site of which must at present be so far within the
sea."[409] This city, once so flourishing and populous, is now a small
village, with about twenty houses, and one hundred inhabitants.

There is an old tradition, "that the tailors sat in their shops at
Dunwich, and saw the ships in Yarmouth Bay;" but when we consider how
far the coast at Lowestoff Ness projects between these places, we cannot
give credit to the tale, which, nevertheless, proves how much the
inroads of the sea in times of old had prompted men of lively
imagination to indulge their taste for the marvellous.

Gardner's description of the cemeteries laid open by the waves reminds
us of the scene which has been so well depicted by Bewick,[410] and of
which numerous points on the same coast might have suggested the idea.
On the verge of a cliff, which the sea has undermined, are represented
the unshaken tower and western end of an abbey. The eastern aisle is
gone, and the pillars of the cloister are soon to follow. The waves have
almost isolated the promontory, and invaded the cemetery, where they
have made sport with the mortal relics, and thrown up a skull upon the
beach. In the foreground is seen a broken tombstone, erected, as its
legend tells, "to _perpetuate_ the memory"--of one whose name is
obliterated, as is that of the county for which he was "Custos
Rotulorum." A cormorant is perched on the monument, defiling it, as if
to remind some moralizer like Hamlet, of "the base uses" to which things
sacred may be turned. Had this excellent artist desired to satirize
certain popular theories of geology, he might have inscribed the stone
to the memory of some philosopher who taught "the permanency of existing
continents"--"the era of repose"--"the impotence of modern causes