y story, which seems as if it really happened (p. 201 of
De Tassy's Translation, referring to v. 3581 of the original), of the Boy
falling into a well, and on being taken out senseless, the Father asking
him to say but a word; and then, but one word more: which the Boy says
and dies. And at p. 256, Translation (v. 4620), I read, 'Lorsque Nizam
ul-mulk fut a l'agonie, il dit: "O mon Dieu, je m'en vais entre les mains
du vent."' Here is our Omar in his Friend's mouth, is it not?

I have come here to wind up accounts for our Herring-lugger: much against
us, as the season has been a bad one. My dear Captain, who looks in his
Cottage like King Alfred in the Story, was rather saddened by all this,
as he had prophesied better things. I tell him that if he is but what I
think him--and surely my sixty years of considering men will not so
deceive me at last!--I would rather lose money with him than gain it with
others. Indeed I never proposed Gain, as you may imagine: but only to
have some Interest with this dear Fellow. Happy New Year to you Both!

I wish you would have Semelet's Gulistan which I have. You know I never
cared for Sadi.

_To W. F. Pollock_.

MARKET HILL: WOODBRIDGE.
_Jan_: 9/68.

MY DEAR POLLOCK,

I saw advertised in my old Athenaeum a Review {102} of Richardson's
Novels in the January Cornhill. So I bought it: and began to think you
might have written it: but was not so assured as I went on. It is
however very good, in my opinion, whoever did it: though I don't think it
does all justice to the interminable Original. When the Writer talks of
Grandison and Clarissa being the two Characters--oh, Lovelace himself
should have made the third: if unnatural (as the Reviewer says), yet not
the less wonderful: quite beyond and above anything in Fielding. Whether
you wrote the article or not, I know you are one of the few who have read
the Book. The Reviewer admits that it might be abridged; I am convinced
of that, and have done it for my own satisfaction: but you thought this
was not to be done. So here is internal proof that you didn't write what
Thackeray used to call the '_Hurticle_,' or that you have changed your
mind on that score. But you haven't. But I know better, Lord bless you:
and am sure I could (with a pair of Scissors) launch old Richardson
again: we shouldn't go off the stocks easy (pardon nautical metaphors),
but stick by the way, amid the jeers of Reviewers who had never read the
orig