. . . The country is now showing symptoms of greenness and warmth.
Yesterday I walked (not a common thing for me) eleven miles; partly over
a heath, covered with furze bushes just come out into bloom, whose odour
the fresh wind blew into my face. Such a day it was, only not so warm as
when you and I used to sit on those rocks overlooking the sea at Tenby,
just eight years ago. I am afraid you are growing too good a Christian
for me, Master Allen, if you know what I mean by that. Don't be alarmed
however. I have just read the first number of Dickens' new work {66a}:
it does not promise much, I think.