Memoirs of Anne C.L. Botta,: written by her friends. With selections from her correspondence and from her writings in prose and poetry.

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you saw Sainte-Beuve. I grieve that he is gone. He was for me
the best of his nation in the late years.
And again, November 30, 1 869:
Thanks for your unfailing memory and good-will. Pity me
that I cannot yet use the hospitalities you offer me. I please myself, like other aging and aged men, with visions of leisure and
the finer employments that shall fill it-too long delayed; the
leisure that flies before is unattainable. Will it always? I am
then to be a poet, a friend, and turn days into heaven. But today and to-morrow, and the year through, I find myself the
drudge of tasks I cannot praise. But the taskmaster lets gleams
and streams of sunshine in, and consoles us with friends and new
promises.
He speaks of her invitation as "one of the happiest rainbows."
Your hospitality has an Arabian memory, to keep its kind
purpose through such a long time. You were born under Hatem
Yayi'sl own star, and, like him, are the genius of hospitality.
He once more alluded to this:
The great Hindoo, Hatem Yayi, has nothing by the side of such
hospitality as hers. Hatem Yayi would soon lose his reputation.
These letters, hitherto unpublished, are extremely
valuable, as is, also, the following one from Mrs.
Charles Kingsley, sending a copy of her life of her
noble husband.
Among the first copies of my "Memoirs" I sent one to you,
for I could not bear to think that you should read the book in
1 Hatem Yayi was a celebrated Oriental whose house had sixteen
doors.
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