In a Letter to B.F. Esq. at Sydney, New South Wales My dear F. -- When I think how wele the sight of a letter from the world where you were born must be to you in that strange oo which you have been transplanted, I feel some punctious visitings at my long silence. But, indeed, it is no easy effort to set about a corresponde our distahe weary world of waters between us oppresses the imagination. It is difficult to ceive how a scrawl of mine should ever stretch across it. It is a sort of presumption to expect that ohoughts should live so far. It is like writing for posterity: and reminds me of one of Mrs. Rowes superscriptions, "Alder to Strephon, in the shades." Cowleys Post-Angel is no more than would be expedient in su intercourse. One drops a packet at Lombard- street, and iy-four hours a friend in Cumberlas it as fresh as if it came i is only like whispering through a long trumpet. But suppose a tube let down from the moon, with yourself at one end, ……（内容加载失败！）
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