any very particular word. I must repeat I am sure this Calcutta
Omar is, in the same proportion with the Ouseley, by as good a hand as
the Ouseley: by as good a hand, if not Omar's; which I think you seemed
to doubt if it was, in one of your Letters. . . .

Have I previously asked you to observe 486, of which I send a poor Sir W.
Jones' sort of Parody which came into my mind walking in the Garden here;
where the Rose is blowing as in Persia? And with this poor little Envoy
my Letter shall end. I will not stop to make the Verse better.

I long for wine! oh Saki of my Soul,
Prepare thy Song and fill the morning Bowl;
For this first Summer month that brings the Rose
Takes many a Sultan with it as it goes.

_To Mrs. Charles Allen_. {337}

GELDESTONE HALL, BECCLES.
_August_ 15/57.

MY DEAR MRS. ALLEN,

One should be very much gratified at being remembered so long with _any_
kindness: and how much more gratified with so kind Remembrances as yours!
I may safely say that I too remember you and my Freestone days of five
and twenty years ago with a particular regard; I have been telling my
Nieces at the Breakfast Table this morning, after I read your letter, how
I remembered you sitting in the '_Schoolroom_'--too much sheltered with
Trees--with a large Watch open before you--your Sister too, with her
light hair and China-rose Complexion--too delicate!--your Father, your
Mother, your Brother--of whom (your Brother) I caught a glimpse in London
two years ago. And all the _Place_ at Freestone--I can walk about it as
I lie awake here, and see the very yellow flowers in the fields, and hear
that distant sound of explosion in some distant Quarry. The coast at
Bosherston one could never forget once seen, even if it had no domestic
kindness to frame its Memory in. I might have profited more of those
good Days than I did; but it is not my Talent to take the Tide at its
flow; and so all goes to worse than waste!

But it is ungracious to talk of oneself--except so far as shall answer
some points you touch on. It would in many respects be very delightful
to me to walk again with you over those old Places; in other respects
sad:--but the pleasure would have the upper hand if one had not again to
leave it all and plunge back again. I dare not go to Wales now.

I owe to Tenby the chance acquaintance of another Person who now from
that hour remains one of my very best Friends. A Lad--then just 16--whom
I met on boa