Do You Remember That Afternoon - That Sunday Afternoon! - When, As The Kirks Were Ringing In, And The Grey City Teemed With Sabbath Feelings And Aspects, Lewis - Our Lewis Then, Now The Whole World'S - And You, Young, Yet In Shape Most Like An Elder, Came, Laden With Balzacs (Big, Yellow Books, Quite Impudently French), The First Of Many Times To That Transformed Back-Kitchen Where I Lay So Long, So Many Centuries - Or Years Is It! - Ago? Dear Charles, Since Then We Have Been Friends, Lewis And You And I, (How Good It Sounds, 'Lewis And You And I!'): Such Friends, I Like To Think, That In Us Three, Lewis And Me And You, Is Something Of That Gallant Dream Which Old Dumas - The Generous, The Humane, The Seven-And-Seventy Times To Be Forgiven! - Dreamed For A Blessing To The Race, The Immortal Musketeers. Our Athos Rests - The Wise, The Kind, The Liberal And August, His Fault Atoned, Rests In The Crowded Yard There At The West Of Princes Street. We Three - You, I, And Lewis! - Still Afoot, Are Still Together, And Our Lives, In Chime So Long, May Keep (God Bless The Thought!) Unjangled Till The End. W. E. H. Chiswick, March 1888