ur friends: but as this is a little act of kindness for an
old and noble lady, I shall apologize no more for it. I will pay you all
you disburse when I come to London.

I was made glad and sad last night in looking over some of your letters
to me, ever since my stay at Tenby. I wonder within myself if we are
changed since then. Do you remember that day when we sat upon that rock
that runs out into the sea, and looked down into the clear water below? I
must go to Tenby one of these days, and walk that old walk to Freestone.
How well I remember what a quiet delight it was to walk out and meet you,
when you were coming to stay a week with me once at my lodgings. . . .

And now, Sir, when you next go to the British Museum, look for a Poet
named Vaughan. Do you know him? I read some fine sacred poems of his in
a Collection of John Mitford's: he selects them from a book of Vaughan's
called 'Silex Scintillans,' 1621. He seems to have great fancy and
fervour and some deep thought. Yet many of the things are in the tricksy
spirit of that time: but there is a little Poem beginning 'They are all
gone into a World of Light,' etc., which shews him to be capable of much.
Again farewell, my dear Allen: give my best remembrances to Mrs. Allen,
who must think that I write to you as if you were still a Bachelor.
Indeed, I think you had best burn this letter suddenly, after you have
read my commissions. [Greek text]. There--I believe I can construe that
passage as well as Porson.

BOULGE HALL, WOODBRIDGE.
[1837.]

MY DEAR ALLEN,

Another commission in so short a time is rather too bad: but I know not
to whom I can apply but to yourself: for our bookseller here could not
get me what I want, seeing that I don't exactly know myself. The book I
want is an Athenaeus, but the edition I know not: and therefore I apply
to you who know my taste. . . .

There is a small Cottage of my Father's close to the Lawn gates, where I
shall fit up a room most probably. The garden I have already begun to
work in. . . . Sometimes when I have sat dreaming about my own comforts
I have thought to myself 'If Allen ever would come and stay with me some
days at my Cottage if I live there'--but I think you would not: 'could
not' you will say, and perhaps truly. . . .

I am reading Plutarch's Lives, which is one of the most delightful books
I ever read. He must have been a Gentleman. My Aristophanes is nearly
drained: that is, for the present fi