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Title: The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb — Volume 6 - Letters 1821-1842
Author: Lamb, Mary, 1764-1847, Lamb, Charles, 1775-1834
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb — Volume 6 - Letters 1821-1842" ***
THE WORKS OF
CHARLES AND MARY LAMB
VI. LETTERS
1821-1842
THE LETTERS
OF
CHARLES AND MARY LAMB
1821-1842
EDITED BY
E.V. LUCAS
WITH A FRONTISPIECE
CONTENTS OF VOLUME VI
LETTER 1821
264 Charles Lamb to Dorothy Wordsworth Jan. 8
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
265 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop No date
From _Harper's Magazine_.
266 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop No date
From _Harper's Magazine_.
267 Charles Lamb to Mrs. William Ayrton Jan. 23
From the original.
268 Charles Lamb to Miss Humphreys Jan. 27
From the original at Rowfant.
269 Charles Lamb to Mrs. William Ayrton. March 15
From the original.
270 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop March 30
From _Harper's Magazine_.
271 Charles Lamb to Leigh Hunt April 18
From Leigh Hunt's _Correspondence_.
272 Charles Lamb to S.T. Coleridge May 1
From the _Life of Charles Mathews_.
273 Charles Lamb to James Gillman May 2
From the _Life of Charles Mathews_.
274 Charles Lamb to John Payne Collier May 16
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
275 Charles Lamb to B.W. Procter ?Summer
From facsimile in Mrs. Field's _A Shelf of
Old Authors_.
276 Charles Lamb to John Taylor June 8
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
277 Charles Lamb to John Taylor July 21
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
278 Charles Lamb to C.A. Elton Aug. 17
From the original in the possession of
Sir Edmund Elton.
279 Charles Lamb to Charles Cowden Clarke Summer
From _Recollections of Writers_.
280 Mary Lamb to Mrs. William Ayrton No date
From the original in the possession of
Mr. A.M.S. Methuen.
281 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop Oct. 21
From the American owner.
282 Charles Lamb to William Ayrton Oct. 27
From the original.
1822.
283 Charles Lamb to S.T. Coleridge March 9
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
284 Charles Lamb to William Wordsworth March 20
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
285 Charles Lamb to W. Harrison Ainsworth May 7
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
286 Charles Lamb to William Godwin May 16
Mr. Kegan Paul's text (_William Godwin:
His Friends_, etc.).
287 Charles Lamb to Mrs. John Lamb May 22
From the original in the Bodleian.
288 Charles Lamb to Mary Lamb (_fragment_) Aug.
From Crabb Robinson's _Diary_.
289 Charles Lamb to John Clare Aug. 31
From the original (British Museum).
290 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Sept. 11
From the original (British Museum).
291 Charles Lamb to Barren Field Sept. 22
From the original in the possession of
Mr. B.B. Macgeorge.
292 Charles Lamb to John Howard Payne Autumn
From the _Century Magazine_.
293 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Oct. 9
From the original (British Museum).
294 Charles Lamb to B.R. Haydon Oct. 9
From _Haydon's Correspondence and Table
Talk_.
295 Charles Lamb to John Howard Payne Oct. 22
From the _Century Magazine_.
296 Charles Lamb to B.R. Haydon Oct. 29
From _Haydon's Correspondence and Table
Talk_.
297 Charles Lamb to Sir Walter Scott Oct. 29
From Scott's _Familiar Letters_.
298 Charles Lamb to Thomas Robinson Nov. 11
From the original (Dr. Williams' Library).
299 Charles Lamb to John Howard Payne Nov. 13
From the _Century Magazine_.
300 Mary Lamb to Mrs. James Kenney ?Early Dec.
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
301 Charles Lamb to John Taylor Dec. 7
From _Elia_ (Bell's edition).
302 Charles Lamb to Walter Wilson Dec. 16
From the original (Bodleian).
303 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Dec. 23
From the original (British Museum).
1823.
304 Charles Lamb to John Howard Payne Jan.
From the _Century Magazine_.
305 Charles Lamb to William Wordsworth Jan.
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
306 Charles Lamb to Mr. and Mrs. J.D. Collier Jan. 6
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.B. Adam.
307 Charles Lamb to Charles Aders Jan. 8
From the original (Mr. J. Dunlop).
308 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Jan. 9
From the original (British Museum).
309 Charles Lamb to John Howard Payne Jan. 23
From the _Century Magazine_.
310 Charles Lamb to John Howard Payne Feb. 9
From the _Century Magazine_.
311 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Feb. 17
From the original (British Museum).
312 Charles Lamb to Walter Wilson Feb. 24
From Mr. Hazlitt's text.
313 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton March 11
From the original (British Museum).
314 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton April 5
From the original (British Museum).
315 Charles Lamb to B.W. Procter April 13
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn) with alterations.
316 Charles Lamb to Sarah Hutchinson April 25
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
317 Charles Lamb to Miss Hutchinson (?)
(_fragment_) No date
From _Notes and Queries_.
318 Charles Lamb to John Bates Dibdin No date
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.W. Dibdin.
319 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton May 3
From the original (British Museum).
320 Charles Lamb to John Bates Dibdin May 6
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.W. Dibdin.
321 Mary Lamb to Mrs. Randal Norris June 18
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
322 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton July 10
From the original (British Museum).
323 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop July
From _Harper's Magazine_.
324 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Sept. 2
From the original (British Museum).
325 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop Sept. 6
From _Harper's Magazine_.
326 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop Sept. 9
From _Harper's Magazine_.
327 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop Sept. 10
From _Harper's Magazine_.
328 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop Sept.
From _Harper's Magazine_.
329 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Sept. 17
From the original (British Museum).
330 Charles Lamb to Charles Lloyd
(_fragment_) Autumn
From _Letters and Poems of Bernard Barton_.
331 Charles Lamb to H.F. Cary Oct. 14
From _Memoir of H.F. Cary_.
332 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop ?Oct.
From _Harper's Magazine_.
333 Charles Lamb to John Bates Dibdin Oct. 28
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.W. Dibdin.
334 Charles Lamb to Sarah Hazlitt Early Nov.
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
335 Charles Lamb to Robert Southey Nov. 21
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
336 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Nov. 22
From the original (British Museum).
337 Charles Lamb to W. Harrison Ainsworth Dec. 9
From the original.
338 Charles Lamb to W. Harrison Ainsworth Dec. 29
From the original.
1824.
339 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Jan. 9
From the original (British Museum).
340 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Jan. 23
From the original (British Museum).
341 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Feb. 25
From the original (British Museum).
342 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton March 24
From the original (British Museum).
343 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Early Spring
From the original (British Museum).
344 Charles Lamb to Mrs. Thomas Allsop April 13
From _Harper's Magazine_.
345 Charles Lamb to William Hone April
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.A. Potts.
346 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton May 15
From the original in the possession of
Mr. B.B. Macgeorge.
347 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton July 7
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
348 Charles Lamb to W. Marter. July 19
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
349 Charles Lamb to John Bates Dibdin July 28
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.W. Dibdin.
350 Charles Lamb to Thomas Hood (?_fragment_) Aug. 10
From the original.
351 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Aug. 17
From the original (British Museum).
352 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Sept. 30
From the original (British Museum).
353 Charles Lamb to Mrs. John Dyer Collier Nov. 2
From the original (South Kensington
Museum).
354 Charles Lamb to B.W. Procter Nov. 11
From Barry Cornwall's _Charles Lamb_
with alterations.
355 Charles Lamb to Crabb Robinson Nov. 20
From the original (Dr. Williams' Library).
356 Charles Lamb to Sarah Hutchinson Nov. 25
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
357 Charles Lamb to Leigh Hunt ?Nov.
From Leigh Hunt's _Correspondence_ with
alterations.
358 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Dec. 1
Charles Lamb to Lucy Barton
From the original (British Museum).
1825.
359 Charles Lamb to John Bates Dibdin Jan. 11
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.W. Dibdin.
360 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop Jan. 17
From _Harper's Magazine_.
361 Charles Lamb to Sarah Hutchinson Jan. 20
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
362 Charles Lamb to Vincent Novello Jan. 25
From the original (British Museum).
363 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Feb. 10
From the original (British Museum).
364 Charles Lamb to Thomas Manning ?Feb.
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
365 Charles Lamb to Sarah Hutchinson. March 1
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
366 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton March 23
From the original (British Museum).
367 Charles Lamb to Crabb Robinson March 29
From the original (Dr. Williams' Library).
368 Charles Lamb to William Wordsworth April 6
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
369 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton April 6
From the original (British Museum).
370 Charles Lamb to Sarah Hutchinson April 18
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
(Last paragraph from original scrap at
Welbeck Abbey.)
371 Charles Lamb to William Hone May 2
From the original at Rowfant.
372 Charles Lamb to William Wordsworth May
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
373 Charles Lamb to Charles Chambers ?May
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
374 Charles Lamb to S.T. Coleridge ?June
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
375 Charles Lamb to Henry Colburn (?) June 14
From the original (South Kensington).
376 Charles Lamb to S.T. Coleridge July 2
From the original (Morrison Collection).
377 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton July 2
From the original (British Museum).
378 Charles Lamb to John Aitken July 5
379 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Aug. 10
From the original (British Museum).
380 Charles Lamb to Robert Southey Aug. 10
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
381 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop Sept. 9
From _Harper's Magazine_.
382 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop Sept. 24
From _Harper's Magazine_.
383 Charles Lamb to William Hone Oct. 24
From the original at Rowfant.
384 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop Dec. 5
From _Harper's Magazine_.
385 Charles Lamb to Charles Oilier ?Dec.
From the original (South Kensington).
1826.
386 Charles Lamb to Charles Oilier Early in year
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
387 Charles Lamb to Charles Oilier Jan.
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
388 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Feb. 7
From the original (British Museum).
389 Charles Lamb to Charles Oilier March 16
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.A. Potts.
390 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton March 20
From the original (British Museum).
391 Charles Lamb to S.T. Coleridge March 22
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
392 Charles Lamb to H.F. Gary April 3
Mr. Hazlitt's text.
393 Charles Lamb to Vincent Novello May 9
From the original (British Museum).
394 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton May 16
From the original (British Museum).
395 Charles Lamb to S.T. Coleridge June 1
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
396 Charles Lamb to John Bates Dibdin June 30
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.W. Dibdin.
397 Charles Lamb to Thomas Hill No year
From the original (British Museum).
398 Charles Lamb to John Bates Dibdin July 14
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.W. Dibdin.
399 Charles Lamb to William Wordsworth Sept. 6
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
400 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon (fragment). No date
401 Charles Lamb to John Bates Dibdin Sept. 9
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.W. Dibdin.
402 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Sept. 26
From the original (British Museum).
403 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon ?Sept.
From the original in the possession of
Mr. Henry Poulton.
404 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton No date
From the original (British Museum).
1827.
405 Charles Lamb to Crabb Robinson Jan. 20
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
406 Charles Lamb to Crabb Robinson Jan. 20
From the original (Dr. Williams' Library).
407 Charles Lamb to Crabb Robinson Jan. 29
From the original (Dr. Williams' Library).
408 Charles Lamb to Crabb Robinson Jan.
From the original (Dr. Williams' Library).
409 Charles Lamb to B.R. Haydon March
From Taylor's _Life of Haydon_.
410 Charles Lamb to William Hone April
From the original at Rowfant.
411 Charles Lamb to Thomas Hood May
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
412 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton No date
From the original (British Museum).
413 Charles Lamb to William Hone May
From the original at Rowfant.
414 Charles Lamb to William Hone June
From the original at Rowfant.
415 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton June 11
From the original (British Museum).
416 Charles Lamb to Crabb Robinson June 26
From the original (British Museum).
417 Charles Lamb to William Hone July
From the original at Rowfant.
418 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon July 17
From the original at Rowfant.
419 Charles Lamb to P.G. Patmore July 19
From Patmore's _My Friends and Acquaintances_.
420 Charles Lamb to Mrs. Shelley July 26
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
421 Charles Lamb to Mrs. Basil Montagu Summer
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
422 Mary Lamb to Lady Stoddart Aug. 9
423 Charles Lamb to Sir John Stoddart
From the original (Messrs. Maggs).
424 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Aug. 10
From the original (British Museum).
425 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Aug. 28
From the original (British Museum).
426 Charles Lamb to P.G. Patmore Sept.
From _My Friends and Acquaintances_.
427 Charles Lamb to John Bates Dibdin Sept. 5
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.W. Dibdin.
428 Charles Lamb to John Bates Dibdin Sept. 13
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.W. Dibdin.
429 Charles Lamb to John Bates Dibdin Sept. 18
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.W. Dibdin.
430 Charles Lamb to Thomas Hood Sept. 18
From the facsimile in Mrs. Balmanno's
_Pen and Pencil_.
431 Charles Lamb to Henry Colburn Sept. 25
From the original (South Kensington).
432 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon ?Sept. 26
From the original in the possession of
Mr. Henry Poulton.
433 Charles Lamb to Crabb Robinson Oct. 1
From the original (Dr. Williams' Library).
434 Charles Lamb to John Bates Dibdin Oct. 2
From the original in the possession of
Mr. R.W. Dibdin.
435 Charles Lamb to Barron Field Oct. 4
From the _Memoirs of Charles Matthews_.
436 Charles Lamb to William Hone ?Oct.
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
437 Charles Lamb to Thomas Hood No date
From the _National Review_.
438 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton No date
From the original (British Museum).
439 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Dec. 4
From the original (British Museum).
440 Charles Lamb to Leigh Hunt Dec.
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
441 Charles Lamb to William Hone Dec. 15
442 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop ?Dec.
From _Harper's Magazine_.
443 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop Dec. 20
From _Harper's Magazine_.
444 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Dec. 22
From the original at Rowfant.
445 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton End of year
From the original (British Museum).
1828.
446 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop Jan. 9
From _Harper's Magazine_ with alterations.
447 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon ?Jan.
From the original at Rowfant.
448 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Feb. 18
From the original at Rowfant.
449 Charles Lamb to Charles Cowden Clarke Feb. 25
From _Reminiscences of Writers_.
450 Charles Lamb to Crabb Robinson Feb. 26
From the original (Dr. Williams' Library).
451 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon March 19
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
452 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton April 21
From the original (British Museum).
453 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop May 1
From _Harper's Magazine_.
454 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon May 3
From the original.
455 Charles Lamb to Walter Wilson May 17
From the original (British Museum).
456 Charles Lamb to T.N. Talfourd May 20
From the original (Dr. Williams' Library).
457 Charles Lamb to William Wordsworth May
From the original (Dr. Williams' Library).
458 Charles Lamb to Mrs. Morgan June 17
459 Mary Lamb to the Thomas Hoods ?Summer
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
460 Charles Lamb to B.R. Haydon Aug.
From Taylor's _Life of Haydon_.
461 Charles Lamb to John Rickman
(_translation_) Oct. 3
462 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Oct. 11
From the original (British Museum).
463 Charles Lamb to Charles Cowden Clarke Oct.
From _Recollections of Writers_.
464 Charles Lamb to Vincent Novello Nov. 6
From _Recollections of Writers_.
465 Charles Lamb to Thomas Hood Late autumn
From _Hood's Own_.
466 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Dec.
Text from Mr. Samuel Davey.
467 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Dec. 5
From the original (British Museum).
468 Charles Lamb to Charles Cowden Clarke Dec.
From _Recollections of Writers_.
469 Charles Lamb to T.N. Talfourd End of year
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
1829.
470 Charles Lamb to George Dyer ?Jan.
From the original (British Museum).
471 Charles Lamb to B.W. Procter Jan.19
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
472 Charles Lamb to B.W. Procter Jan. 22
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn) with alterations.
473 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop Jan. 28
From _Harper's Magazine_.
474 Charles Lamb to B.W. Procter Jan. 29
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn) with alterations.
475 Charles Lamb to B.W. Procter Early in year
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn) with alterations.
476 Charles Lamb to B.W. Procter Feb. 2
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
477 Charles Lamb to Charles Cowden Clarke Feb. 2
From _Recollections of Writers_.
478 Charles Lamb to Crabb Robinson Feb. 27
From the original (Dr. Williams' Library).
479 Charles Lamb to Samuel Rogers March 22
From _Rogers and His Contemporaries_.
480 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton March 25
From the original (British Museum).
481 Charles Lamb to Miss Sarah James ?April
Text from Mr. Samuel Davey.
482 Charles Lamb to Crabb Robinson ?April
From the original (Dr. Williams' Library).
483 Charles Lamb to Crabb Robinson April 17
From the original (Dr. Williams' Library).
484 Charles Lamb to George Dyer April 29
From _The Mirror_, 1841.
485 Charles Lamb to Thomas Hood ?May
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
486 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon No date
From _The Autographic Mirror_.
487 Charles Lamb to Walter Wilson May 28
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
488 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton June 3
From the original (British Museum).
489 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton July 25
From the original (British Museum).
490 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop Late July
From _Harper's Magazine_.
491 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Sept. 22
From the original at Rowfant.
492 Charles Lamb to James Gillman Oct. 26
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
493 Charles Lamb to Vincent Novello Nov. 10
From the original (British Museum).
494 Charles Lamb to Walter Wilson Nov. 15
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
495 Charles Lamb to James Gillman ?Nov. 29
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
496 Charles Lamb to James Gillman Nov. 30
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
497 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Dec. 8
From the original (British Museum).
498 Charles Lamb to William Wordsworth
499 Mary Lamb to Dorothy Wordsworth Jan. 22
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
500 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Feb. 25
From the original (British Museum).
501 Charles Lamb to Mrs. Williams Feb. 26
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
502 Charles Lamb to Mrs. Williams March 1
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
503 Charles Lamb to Sarah Hazlitt March 4
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
504 Charles Lamb to Mrs. Williams March 5
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
505 Charles Lamb to James Gillman March 8
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
506 Charles Lamb to William Ayrton March 14
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
507 Charles Lamb to Mrs. Williams March 22
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
508 Charles Lamb to Mrs. Williams April 2
From the original in the possession of
Mr. Yates Thompson.
509 Charles Lamb to Mrs. Williams April 9
From the original.
510 Charles Lamb to James Gillman ?Spring
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
511 Charles Lamb to Jacob Vale Asbury ?April
From _The Athenaewn_.
512 Charles Lamb to Jacob Vale Asbury No date
By permission of Mr. Edward Hartley.
513 Charles Lamb to Mrs. Williams April 21
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
514 Charles Lamb to Robert Southey May 10
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
515 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon May 12
From the original at Rowfant.
516 Charles Lamb to Vincent Novello May 14
From the original (British Museum).
517 Charles Lamb to Vincent Novello May 20
From the original (British Museum).
518 Charles Lamb to William Hone May 21
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
519 Charles Lamb to Sarah Hazlitt May 24
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
520 Charles Lamb to Sarah Hazlitt June 3
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
521 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton June 28
From the original (British Museum).
522 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton Aug. 30
From the original (British Museum).
523 Charles Lamb to Samuel Rogers Oct. 5
From _Rogers and His Contemporaries_.
524 Charles Lamb to Vincent Novello Nov. 8
From _Recollections of Writers_.
525 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Nov. 12
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
9526 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon ?Dec.
From the original at Rowfant.
527 Charles Lamb to George Dyer Dec. 20
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn) with alterations.
528 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon ?Christmas
From the original (South Kensington).
1831.
529 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Feb. 3
From the original at Rowfant.
530 Charles Lamb to George Dyer Feb. 22
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
531 Charles Lamb to Bernard Barton April 30
From the original (British Museum).
532 Charles Lamb to H.F. Cary May 6
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
533 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon July 14
From the original at Rowfant.
534 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Early Aug.
From the original at Rowfant.
535 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Aug. 5
From the original at Rowfant.
536 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Sept. 5
From the original at Rowfant.
537 Charles Lamb to William Hazlitt, junior Sept. 13
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_Lamb and Hazlitt_).
538 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Oct. 24
From the original at Rowfant.
539 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Dec. 15
From the original at Rowfant.
1832.
540 Charles Lamb to Joseph Hume's daughters No date
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
541 Charles Lamb to C.W. Dilke March 5
From Sir Charles Dilke's original.
542 Charles Lamb to S.T. Coleridge April 14
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
543 Charles Lamb to James Sheridan Knowles ?April
From the original (South Kensington).
544 Charles Lamb to John Forster ?Late April
From the original (South Kensington).
545 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon? June 1
From the original (South Kensington).
546 Charles Lamb to Thomas Allsop July 2
From _Harper's Magazine_.
547 Charles Lamb to Walter Wilson Aug.
From the original in the Bodleian.
548 Charles Lamb to Crabb Robinson ?Early Oct.
From the original (South Kensington).
549 Charles Lamb to Walter Savage Landor Oct.
From the original (South Kensington).
550 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Late in year
From the original at Rowfant.
551 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Winter
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bonn).
552 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Dec.
From the original (South Kensington).
553 Charles Lamb to John Forster. Dec. 23
From the original (South Kensington).
1833.
554 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Jan.
From Sir Charles Dilke's original.
555 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Jan. 3
From the original at Rowfant.
556 Charles Lamb to John Forster No date
From the original (South Kensington).
557 Charles Lamb to John Forster No date
From the original (South Kensington).
558 Charles Lamb to John Forster No date
From the original (South Kensington).
559 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Jan. 24
From the original at Rowfant.
560 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Feb. 11
From the original (South Kensington).
561 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Feb.
From the original (South Kensington).
562 Charles Lamb to T.N. Talfourd Feb.
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
563 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon No date
From the original in the possession of
Mr. Henry Poulton.
564 Charles Lamb to C.W. Dilke Feb.
From Sir Charles Dilke's original.
565 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Early in year
From the original at Rowfant.
566 Charles Lamb to B.W. Procter. No date
From Procter's Autobiographical Fragment.
567 Charles Lamb to William Hone March 6
From the original (National Portrait Gallery).
568 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon March 19
From the original (South Kensington).
569 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon ?Spring
From the original (South Kensington).
570 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon March 30
From the original at Rowfant.
571 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Spring
From the original at Rowfant.
572 Charles Lamb to John Forster ?March
From the original (South Kensington).
573 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon ?April 10
From the original at Rowfant.
574 Charles Lamb to C.W. Dilke April
From Sir Charles Dilke's original.
575 Charles Lamb to Mrs. William Ayrton April 16
From the original, lately in the possession
of Mr. Edward Ayrton.
576 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon April 25
From the original at Rowfant.
577 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon April 27
From the original at Rowfant.
578 Charles Lamb to the Rev. James Gillman May 7
579 Charles Lamb to John Forster May
From the original (South Kensington).
580 Charles Lamb to John Forster May 12
From the original (South Kensington).
581 Charles Lamb to William Wordsworth End of May
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
582 Charles Lamb to Sarah Hazlitt May 31
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn) with alterations.
583 Charles Lamb to Mary Betham June 5
From _A House of Letters_.
584 Charles Lamb to Matilda Betham June 5
From _Fraser's Magazine_.
585 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon July 14
From the original at Rowfant.
586 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon July 24
From the original at Rowfant.
587 Charles and Mary Lamb to Edward
and Emma Moxon ?July 31
From the original at Rowfant.
588 Charles Lamb to H.F. Cary Sept. 9
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
589 Charles and Mary Lamb to Edward Moxon Sept. 26
From the original at Rowfant.
590 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Oct. 17
From the original at Rowfant.
591 Charles Lamb to Edward and Emma Moxon Nov. 29
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
592 Charles Lamb to C.W. Dilke Mid. Dec.
From Sir Charles Dilke's original.
593 Charles Lamb to Samuel Rogers Dec. 21
From _Rogers and His Contemporaries_.
594 Charles Lamb to C.W. Dilke No date
From Sir Charles Dilke's original.
595 Charles Lamb to C.W. Dilke No date
From Sir Charles Dilke's original.
1834.
596 Charles Lamb to the printer of
_The Athenaeum_ No date
From Sir Charles Dilke's original.
597 Charles Lamb to Mary Betham Jan. 24
From the original in the possession of
Mr. B.B. Macgeorge.
598 Charles Lamb to Edward Moxon Jan. 28
From the original (South Kensington).
599 Charles Lamb to Miss Fryer Feb. 14
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
600 Charles Lamb to Miss Fryer No date
From the original in the possession of
Mr. A.M.S. Methuen.
601 Charles Lamb to William Wordsworth Feb. 22
From Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's original.
602 Charles Lamb to T.N. Talfourd No date
603 Charles Lamb to Charles Cowden Clarke
(_fragment_) End of June
From the _Life and Labours of Vincent Novello._
604 Charles Lamb to John Forster June 25
From the original (South Kensington).
605 Charles Lamb to J. Fuller Russell Summer
From _Notes and Queries_.
606 Charles Lamb to J. Fuller Russell Summer
From _Notes and Queries_.
607 Charles Lamb to C.W. Dilke End of July
From Sir Charles Dilke's original.
608 Charles Lamb to the Rev. James Gillman Aug. 5
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
609 Charles and Mary Lamb to H.F. Cary Sept. 12
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
610 Charles Lamb to H.F. Cary Oct.
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
611 Charles Lamb to H.F. Cary Oct. 18
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
612 Charles Lamb to Mr. Childs ?Dec.
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
613 Charles Lamb to Mr. Childs No date
614 Charles Lamb to Mrs. George Dyer Dec. 22
Mr. Hazlitt's text (Bohn).
615 Mary Lamb to Jane Norris Dec. 25
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
616 Mary Lamb to Jane Norris Oct. 3 1842.
Mr. Hazlitt's text (_The Lambs_).
Last letter. Miss James to Jane Norris July 25 1843.
APPENDIX
Barton's "Spiritual Law"
Barton's "Translation of Enoch"
Talfourd's "Verses in Memory of a Child named after Charles Lamb"
FitzGerald's "Meadows in Spring"
Montgomery's "The Common Lot"
Barry Cornwall's "Epistle to Charles Lamb"
ALPHABETICAL LIST OF LETTERS
INDEX
FRONTISPIECE
CHARLES LAMB (aged 51).
From the painting by Henry Meyer at the India Office.
THE LETTERS OF CHARLES AND MARY LAMB
1821-1834
LETTER 264
CHARLES LAMB TO DOROTHY WORDSWORTH
[P.M. January 8, 1821.]
Mary perfectly approves of the appropriat'n of the _feathers_, and
wishes them Peacocks for your fair niece's sake!
Dear Miss Wordsworth, I had just written the above endearing words when
Monkhouse tapped me on the shoulder with an invitation to cold goose
pye, which I was not Bird of that sort enough to decline. Mrs. M. I am
most happy to say is better. Mary has been tormented with a Rheumatism,
which is leaving her. I am suffering from the festivities of the season.
I wonder how my misused carcase holds it out. I have play'd the
experimental philosopher on it, that's certain. Willy shall be welcome
to a mince pye, and a bout at Commerce, whenever he comes. He was in our
eye. I am glad you liked my new year's speculations. Everybody likes
them, except the Author of the Pleasures of Hope. Disappointment attend
him! How I like to be liked, and _what I do_ to be liked! They flatter
me in magazines, newspapers, and all the minor reviews. The Quarterlies
hold aloof. But they must come into it in time, or their leaves be waste
paper. Salute Trinity Library in my name. Two special things are worth
seeing at Cambridge, a portrait of Cromwell at Sidney, and a better of
Dr. Harvey (who found out that blood was red) at Dr. Davy's. You should
see them.
Coleridge is pretty well, I have not seen him, but hear often of him
from Alsop, who sends me hares and pheasants twice a week. I can hardly
take so fast as he gives. I have almost forgotten Butcher's meat, as
Plebeian. Are you not glad the Cold is gone? I find winters not so
agreeable as they used to be, when "winter bleak had charms for me." I
cannot conjure up a kind similitude for those snowy flakes--Let them
keep to Twelfth Cakes.
Mrs. Paris, our Cambridge friend, has been in Town. You do not know the
Watfords? in Trumpington Street--they are capital people.
Ask any body you meet, who is the biggest woman in Cambridge--and I'll
hold you a wager they'll say Mrs. Smith.
She broke down two benches in Trinity Gardens, one on the confines of
St. John's, which occasioned a litigation between the societies as to
repairing it. In warm weather she retires into an ice-cellar
(literally!) and dates the returns of the years from a hot Thursday some
20 years back. She sits in a room with opposite doors and windows, to
let in a thorough draught, which gives her slenderer friends
tooth-aches. She is to be seen in the market every morning at 10,
cheapening fowls, which I observe the Cambridge Poulterers are not
sufficiently careful to stump.
Having now answered most of the points containd in your Letter, let me
end with assuring you of our very best kindness, and excuse Mary from
not handling the Pen on this occasion, especially as it has fallen into
so much better hands! Will Dr. W. accept of my respects at the end of a
foolish Letter.
C.L.
[Miss Wordsworth was visiting her brother, Christopher Wordsworth, the
Master of Trinity.
Willy was William Wordsworth, junr.
Lamb's New Year speculations were contained in his _Elia_ essay "New
Year's Eve," in the _London Magazine_ for January, 1821. There is no
evidence that Campbell disapproved of the essay. Canon Ainger suggests
that Lamb may have thus alluded playfully to the pessimism of his
remarks, so opposed to the pleasures of hope. When the _Quarterly_ did
"come in," in 1823, it was with cold words, as we shall see.
"Trinity Library." It is here that are preserved those MSS. of Milton,
which Lamb in his essay "Oxford in the Vacation," in the _London
Magazine_ for October, 1820, says he regrets to have seen.
"Cromwell at Sidney." See Mary Lamb's letter to Miss Hutchinson, August
20, 1815.
"Harvey ... at Dr. Davy's"--Dr. Martin Davy, Master of Caius.
"Alsop." This is the first mention of Thomas Allsop (1795-1880),
Coleridge's friend and disciple, who, meeting Coleridge in 1818, had
just come into Lamb's circle. We shall meet him frequently. Allsop's
_Letters, Conversations and Recollections of Samuel Taylor Coleridge_
contain much matter concerning Lamb.
"Winter bleak had charms for me." I could not find this for the large
edition. It is from Burns' "Epistle to William Simpson," stanza 13.
Mrs. Paris was a sister of William Ayrton and the mother of John Ayrton
Paris, the physician. It was at her house at Cambridge that the Lambs
met Emma Isola, whom we are soon to meet.
"Mrs. Smith." Lamb worked up this portion of his letter into the little
humorous sketch "The Gentle Giantess," printed in the _London Magazine_
for December, 1822 (see Vol. I. of the present edition), wherein Mrs.
Smith of Cambridge becomes the Widow Blacket of Oxford.
"Dr. W."--Dr. Christopher Wordsworth.]
LETTER 265
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[No date. 1821.]
Dear Sir--The _hairs_ of our head are numbered, but those which emanate
from your heart defy arithmetic. I would send longer thanks but your
young man is blowing his fingers in the Passage.
Yours gratefully C.L.
[The date of this scrap is unimportant; but it comes well here in
connection with the reference in the preceding letter.
In _Harper's Magazine_ for December, 1859, were printed fifty of Lamb's
notes to Allsop, all of which are reproduced in at least two editions of
Lamb's letters. I have selected only those which say anything, as for
the most part Lamb was content with the merest message; moreover, the
date is often so uncertain as to be only misleading.
Crabb Robinson says of Allsop, "I believe his acquaintance with Lamb
originated in his sending Coleridge a present of £100 in admiration of
his genius."]
LETTER 266
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[No date. 1821.]
D'r Sir--Thanks for the Birds and your kindness. It was but yesterd'y. I
was contriving with Talf'd to meet you 1/2 way at his chamber. But night
don't do so well at present. I shall want to be home at Dalston by
Eight.
I will pay an afternoon visit to you when you please. I dine at a
chop-house at ONE always, but I can spend an hour with you after that.
Yours truly
C.L.
Would Saturdy serve?
LETTER 267
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. WILLIAM AYRTON
[Dated at end: Jan. 23, 1821.]
Dear Mrs. Ayrton, my sister desires me, as being a more expert penman
than herself, to say that she saw Mrs. Paris yesterday, and that she is
very much out of spirits, and has expressed a great wish to see your son
William, and Fanny--
I like to write that word _Fanny_. I do not know but it was one reason
of taking upon me this pleasing task--
Moreover that if the said William and Frances will go and sit an hour
with her at any time, she will engage that no one else shall see them
but herself, and the servant who opens the door, she being confined to
her private room. I trust you and the Juveniles will comply with this
reasonable request.
& am
Dear Mrs. Ayrton
your's and yours'
Truly
C. LAMB.
Cov. Gar.
23 Jan. 1821.
[Mrs. Ayrton (_née_ Arnold) was the wife of William Ayrton, the musical
critic.]
LETTER 268
CHARLES LAMB TO MISS HUMPHREYS
London 27 Jan'y. 1821.
Dear Madam, Carriages to Cambridge are in such request, owing to the
Installation, that we have found it impossible to procure a conveyance
for Emma before Wednesday, on which day between the hours of 3 and 4 in
the afternoon you will see your little friend, with her bloom somewhat
impaired by late hours and dissipation, but her gait, gesture, and
general manners (I flatter myself) considerably improved by--_somebody
that shall be nameless_. My sister joins me in love to all true
Trumpingtonians, not specifying any, to avoid envy; and begs me to
assure you that Emma has been a very good girl, which, with certain
limitations, I must myself subscribe to. I wish I could cure her of
making dog's ears in books, and pinching them on poor Pompey, who, for
one, I dare say, will heartily rejoyce at her departure.
Dear Madam,
Yours truly
foolish C.L.
[Addressed to "Miss Humphreys, with Mrs. Paris, Trumpington Street,
Cambridge." Franked by J. Rickman.
This letter contains the first reference in the correspondence to Emma
Isola, daughter of Charles Isola, Esquire Bedell of Cambridge
University, and granddaughter of Agostino Isola, the Italian critic and
teacher, of Cambridge, among whose pupils had been Wordsworth. Miss
Humphreys was Emma Isola's aunt. Emma seems to have been brought to
London by Mrs. Paris and left with the Lambs.
Pompey seems to have been the Lamb's first dog. Later, as we shall see,
they adopted Dash.]
LETTER 269
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. WILLIAM AYRTON
[Dated at end: March 15, 1821.]
Dear Madam, We are out of town of necessity till Wednesday next, when we
hope to see one of you at least to a rubber. On some future Saturday we
shall most gladly accept your kind offer. When I read your delicate
little note, I am ashamed of my great staring letters.
Yours most truly
CHARLES LAMB.
Dalston near Hackney
15 Mar. 1821.
[In my large edition I give a facsimile of this letter.]
LETTER 270
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
30 March, 1821.
My dear Sir--If you can come next Sunday we shall be equally glad to see
you, but do not trust to any of Martin's appointments, except on
business, in future. He is notoriously faithless in that point, and we
did wrong not to have warned you. Leg of Lamb, as before; hot at 4. And
the heart of Lamb ever.
Yours truly, C.L.
LETTER 271
CHARLES LAMB TO LEIGH HUNT
_Indifferent Wednesday_ [April 18], 1821.
Dear Hunt,--There was a sort of side talk at Mr. Novello's about our
spending _Good Friday_ at Hampstead, but my sister has got so bad a
cold, and we both want rest so much, that you shall excuse our putting
off the visit some little time longer. Perhaps, after all, you know
nothing of it.--
Believe me, yours truly, C. LAMB.
LETTER 272
CHARLES LAMB TO S.T. COLERIDGE
May 1st [1821],
Mr. Gilman's, Highgate.
Mr. C.--I will not fail you on Friday by six, and Mary, perhaps,
earlier. I very much wish to meet "Master Mathew," and am much obliged
to the G----s for the opportunity. Our kind respects to them
always.--ELIA.
Extract from a MS. note of S.T.C. in my Beaumont and Fletcher, dated
April 17th 1807.
_Midnight_.
"God bless you, dear Charles Lamb, I am dying; I feel I have not many
weeks left."
[Master Mathew is in Ben Jonson's "Every Man in His Humour."
Lamb's "Beaumont and Fletcher" is in the British Museum. The note quoted
by Lamb is not there, or perhaps it is one that has been crossed out.
This still remains: "N.B. I shall not be long here, Charles! I gone, you
will not mind my having spoiled a book in order to leave a Relic.
S.T.C., Oct. 1811."]
LETTER 273
CHARLES LAMB TO JAMES GILLMAN
[Dated at end: 2 May, 1821.]
Dear Sir--You dine so late on Friday, it will be impossible for us to go
home by the eight o'clock stage. Will you oblige us by securing us beds
at some house from which a stage goes to the Bank in the morning? I
would write to Coleridge, but cannot think of troubling a dying man with
such a request.
Yours truly, C. LAMB.
If the beds in the town are all engaged, in consequence of Mr. Mathews's
appearance, a hackney-coach will serve. Wednes'y. 2 May '21.
We shall neither of us come much before the time.
[Mrs. Mathews (who was half-sister of Fanny Kelly) described this
evening in her _Memoirs_ of her husband, 1839. Her account of Lamb is
interesting:--
Mr. Lamb's first approach was not prepossessing. His figure was
small and mean; and no man certainly was ever less beholden to his
tailor. His "bran" new _suit_ of black cloth (in which he affected
several times during the day to take great pride, and to cherish as
a novelty that he had long looked for and wanted) was drolly
contrasted with his very rusty silk stockings, shown from his knees,
and his much too large _thick_ shoes, without polish. His shirt
rejoiced in a wide ill-plaited frill, and his very small, tight,
white neckcloth was hemmed to a fine point at the ends that formed
part of the little bow. His hair was black and sleek, but not
formal, and his face the gravest I ever saw, but indicating great
intellect, and resembling very much the portraits of King Charles I.
Mr. Coleridge was very anxious about his _pet_ Lamb's first
impression upon my husband, which I believe his friend saw; and
guessing that he had been extolled, he mischievously resolved to
thwart his panegyrist, disappoint the strangers, and altogether to
upset the suspected plan of showing him off.
The Mathews' were then living at Ivy Cottage, only a short distance from
the Grove, Highgate, where the famous Mathews collection of pictures was
to be seen of which Lamb subsequently wrote in the _London Magazine_.
Here should come a note to Ayrton saying that Madame Noblet is the least
graceful dancer that Lamb ever "did not see."]
LETTER 274
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN PAYNE COLLIER
May 16, 1821.
Dear J.P.C.,--Many thanks for the "Decameron:" I have not such a
gentleman's book in my collection: it was a great treat to me, and I got
it just as I was wanting something of the sort. I take less pleasure in
books than heretofore, but I like books about books. In the second
volume, in particular, are treasures--your discoveries about "Twelfth
Night," etc. What a Shakespearian essence that speech of Osrades for
food!--Shakespeare is coarse to it--beginning "Forbear and eat no more."
Osrades warms up to that, but does not set out ruffian-swaggerer. The
character of the Ass with those three lines, worthy to be set in gilt
vellum, and worn in frontlets by the noble beasts for ever--
"Thou would, perhaps, he should become thy foe,
And to that end dost beat him many times:
He cares not for himself, much less thy blow."
Cervantes, Sterne, and Coleridge, have said positively nothing for asses
compared with this.
I write in haste; but p. 24, vol. i., the line you cannot appropriate is
Gray's sonnet, specimenifyed by Wordsworth in first preface to L.B., as
mixed of bad and good style: p. 143, 2nd vol., you will find last poem
but one of the collection on Sidney's death in Spenser, the line,
"Scipio, Caesar, Petrarch of our time."
This fixes it to be Raleigh's: I had guess'd it to be Daniel's. The last
after it, "Silence augmenteth rage," I will be crucified if it be not
Lord Brooke's. Hang you, and all meddling researchers, hereafter, that
by raking into learned dust may find me out wrong in my conjecture!
Dear J.P.C., I shall take the first opportunity of personally thanking
you for my entertainment. We are at Dalston for the most part, but I
fully hope for an evening soon with you in Russell or Bouverie Street,
to talk over old times and books. Remember _us_ kindly to Mrs. J.P.C.
Yours very kindly, CHARLES LAMB. I write in misery.
N.B.--The best pen I could borrow at our butcher's: the ink, I verily
believe, came out of the kennel.
[Collier's _Poetical Decameron_, in two volumes, was published in 1820:
a series of imaginary conversations on curious and little-known books.
His "Twelfth Night" discoveries will be found in the Eighth
Conversation; Collier deduces the play from Barnaby Rich's _Farewell to
Military Profession_, 1606. He also describes Thomas Lodge's
"Rosalynde," the forerunner of "As You Like It," in which is the
character Rosader, whom Lamb calls Osrades. His speech for food runs
thus:--
It hapned that day that _Gerismond_, the lawfull king of _France_
banished by _Torismond_, who with a lustie crew of outlawes liued in
that Forrest, that day in honour of his birth, made a feast to all
his bolde yeomen, and frolickt it with store of wine and venison,
sitting all at a long table vnder the shadow of Limon trees: to that
place by chance fortune conducted Rosader, who seeing such a crew of
braue men, hauing store of that for want of which hee and Adam
perished, hee slept boldly to the boords end, and saluted the
Company thus.--Whatsoeuer thou be that art maister of these lustie
squires, I salute thee as graciously as a man in extreame distresse
may: knowe that I and a fellow friend of mine, are here famished in
the forrest for want of foode: perish we must, vnlesse relieued by
thy fauours. Therefore if thou be a Gentleman, giue meate to men,
and such as are euery way worthie of life: let the proudest Squire
that sits at thy table rise and encounter with me in any honourable
point of activitie whatsoeuer, and if he and thou proue me not a
man, send mee away comfortlesse: if thou refuse this, as a niggard
of thy cates, I will haue amongst you with my sword, for rather wil
I die valiantly, then perish with so cowardly an extreame (Collier's
_Poetical Decameron_, 174, Eighth Conversation).
Lamb compares with that the passage in "As You Like It," II., 7, 88,
beginning with Orlando's "Forbear, and eat no more." The character of
the ass is quoted by Collier from an old book, _The Noblenesse of the
Asse_, 1595, in the Third Conversation:--
Thou wouldst (perhaps) he should become thy foe,
And to that end doost beat him many times;
He cares not for himselfe, much lesse thy blowe.
Lamb wrote more fully of this passage in an article on the ass
contributed to Hone's _Every-Day Book_ in 1825 (see Vol. I. of the
present edition).
The line from Gray's sonnet on the death of Mr. Richard West was this:--
And weep the more because I weep in vain.
"Scipio, Caesar," etc. This line runs, in the epitaph on Sidney,
beginning "To praise thy life"--
Scipio, Cicero, and Petrarch of our time!
It is generally supposed to be by Raleigh. The next poem, "Silence
Augmenteth Grief," is attributed by Malone to Sir Edward Dyer, and by
Hannah to Raleigh.]
LETTER 275
CHARLES LAMB TO B.W. PROCTER
[No date. ?Summer, 1821.]
Dear Sir, The _Wits_ (as Clare calls us) assemble at my Cell (20 Russell
St. Cov.-Gar.) this evening at 1/4 before 7. Cold meat at 9. Puns at--a
little after. Mr. Cary wants to see you, to scold you. I hope you will
not fail. Yours &c. &c. &c.
C. LAMB.
Thursday.
I am sorry the London Magazine is going to be given up.
[I assume the date of this note to be summer, 1821, because it was then
that Baldwin, Cradock & Joy, the _London Magazine's_ first publishers,
gave it up. The reason was the death of John Scott, the editor, and
probably to a large extent the originator, of the magazine. It was sold
to Taylor & Hessey, their first number being dated July, 1821.
Scott had become involved in a quarrel with _Blackwood_, which reached
such a pitch that a duel was fought, between Scott and Christie, a
friend of Lockhart's. The whole story, which is involved, and indeed not
wholly clear, need not be told here: it will be found in Mr. Lang's
memoir of Lockhart. The meeting was held at Chalk Farm on February 16,
1821. Peter George Patmore, sub-editor of the _London_, was Scott's
second. Scott fell, wounded by a shot which Christie fired purely in
self-defence. He died on February 27.
Mr. Cary. Henry Francis Cary the translator of Dante and a contributor
to the _London Magazine_.
The _London Magazine_ had four periods. From 1820 to the middle of 1821,
when it was Baldwin, Cradock & Joy's. From 1821 to the end of 1824, when
it was Taylor & Hessey's at a shilling. From January, 1825, to August of
that year, when it was Taylor & Hessey's at half-a-crown; and from
September, l825, to the end, when it was Henry Southern's, and was
published by Hunt & Clarke.]
LETTER 276
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN TAYLOR
Margate, June 8, 1821.
Dear Sir,--I am extremely sorry to be obliged to decline the article
proposed, as I should have been flattered with a Plate accompanying it.
In the first place, Midsummer day is not a topic I could make anything
of--I am so pure a Cockney, and little read, besides, in May games and
antiquities; and, in the second, I am here at Margate, spoiling my
holydays with a Review I have undertaken for a friend, which I shall
barely get through before my return; for that sort of work is a hard
task to me. If you will excuse the shortness of my first
contribution-and I _know_ I can promise nothing more for July--I will
endeavour a longer article for _our next_. Will you permit me to say
that I think Leigh Hunt would do the article you propose in a masterly
manner, if he has not outwrit himself already upon the subject. I do not
return the proof--to save postage--because it is correct, with ONE
EXCEPTION. In the stanza from Wordsworth, you have changed DAY into AIR
for rhyme-sake: DAY is the right reading, and I IMPLORE you to restore
it.
The other passage, which you have queried, is to my ear correct. Pray
let it stand.
D'r S'r, yours truly, C. LAMB.
On second consideration, I do enclose the proof.
[John Taylor (1781-1864), the publisher, with Hessey, of the _London
Magazine_ was, in 1813, the first publicly to identify Sir Philip
Francis with Junius. Taylor acted as editor of the _London Magazine_
from 1821 to 1824, assisted by Thomas Hood. Later his interests were
centred in currency questions.
"I am here at Margate." I do not know what review Lamb was writing. If
written and published it has not been reprinted. It was on this visit to
Margate that Lamb met Charles Cowden Clarke.
"My first contribution." The first number to bear Taylor & Hessey's name
was dated July, but they had presumably acquired the rights in the
magazine before then. Lamb's first contribution to the _London Magazine_
had been in August, 1820, "The South-Sea House."
The proof which Lamb returned was that of the _Elia_, essay on "Mackery
End in Hertfordshire," printed in the July number of the _London
Magazine_, in which he quoted a stanza from Wordsworth's "Yarrow
Visited":--
But thou, that didst appear so fair
To fond imagination,
Dost rival in the light of day
Her delicate creation.
Here should come a scrap from Lamb to Ayrton, dated July 17, 1821,
referring to the Coronation. Lamb says that in consequence of this event
he is postponing his Wednesday evening to Friday.]
LETTER 277
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN TAYLOR
July 21, 1821.
D'r Sir,--The _Lond. Mag._ is chiefly pleasant to me, because some of my
friends write in it. I hope Hazlitt intends to go on with it, we cannot
spare Table Talk. For myself I feel almost exhausted, but I will try my
hand a little longer, and shall not at all events be written out of it
by newspaper paragraphs. Your proofs do not seem to want my helping
hand, they are quite correct always. For God's sake change _Sisera_ to
_Jael_. This last paper will be a choke-pear I fear to some people, but
as you do not object to it, I can be under little apprehension of your
exerting your Censorship too rigidly.
Thanking you for your extract from M'r. E.'s letter,
I remain, D'r Sir,
Your obliged,
C. LAMB.
[Hazlitt continued his Table Talk in the _London Magazine_ until
December, 1821.
Lamb seems to have been treated foolishly by some newspaper critic; but
I have not traced the paragraphs in question.
The proof was that of the _Elia_ essay "Imperfect Sympathies," which was
printed (with a fuller title) in the number for August, 1821. The
reference to Jael is in the passage on Braham and the Jewish character.
I do not identify Mr. E. Possibly Elton. See next letter.
Here should come a further letter to Taylor, dated July 30, 1821, in
which Lamb refers to some verses addressed to him by "Olen" (Charles
Abraham Elton: see note to next letter) in the _London Magazine_ for
August, remonstrating with him for the pessimism of the _Elia_ essay
"New Year's Eve" (see Vol. II. of this edition).
Lamb also remarks that he borrowed the name Elia (pronounced Ellia) from
an old South-Sea House clerk who is now dead.
Elia has recently been identified by Mr. R.W. Goulding, the librarian at
Welbeck Abbey, as F. Augustus Elia, author of a French tract entitled
_Considération sur l'état actuel de la France au mois de Juin 1815. Par
une anglais_. It is privately reprinted in _Letters from the originals
at Welbeck Abbey_, 1909.]
LETTER 278
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES ABRAHAM ELTON
India House
to which place all letters addressed to C.L. commonly come.
[August 17, 1821 (?).]
My dear Sir, You have overwhelmed me with your favours. I have received
positively a little library from Baldwyn's. I do not know how I have
deserved such a bounty. We have been up to the ear in the classics ever
since it came. I have been greatly pleased, but most, I think, with the
Hesiod,--the Titan battle quite amazed me. Gad, it was no child's
play--and then the homely aphorisms at the end of the works--how
adroitly you have turned them! Can he be the same Hesiod who did the
Titans? the latter is--
"-----wine
Which to madness does incline."
But to read the Days and Works, is like eating nice brown bread, homely
sweet and nutritive. Apollonius was new to me. I had confounded him with
the conjuror of that name. Medea is glorious; but I cannot give up Dido.
She positively is the only Fine Lady of Antiquity: her courtesy to the
Trojans is altogether queen-like. Eneas is a most disagreeable person.
Ascanius a pretty young master. Mezentius for my money. His dying speech
shames Turpin--not the Archbishop I mean, but the roadster of that name.
I have been ashamed to find how many names of classics (and more than
their names) you have introduced me to, that before I was ignorant of.
Your commendation of Master Chapman arrideth me. Can any one read the
pert modern Frenchify'd notes, &c., in Pope's translation, and contrast
them with solemn weighty prefaces of Chapman, writing in full faith, as
he evidently does, of the plenary inspiration of his author--worshipping
his meanest scraps and relics as divine--without one sceptical misgiving
of their authenticity, and doubt which was the properest to expound
Homer to their countrymen. Reverend Chapman! you have read his hymn to
Pan (the Homeric)--why, it is Milton's blank verse clothed with rhyme.
Paradise Lost could scarce lose, could it be so accoutred.
I shall die in the belief that he has improved upon Homer, in the
Odyssey in particular--the disclosure of Ulysses of himself, to
Alcinous, his previous behaviour at the song of the stern strife arising
between Achilles and himself (how it raises him above the _Iliad_
Ulysses!) but you know all these things quite as well as I do. But what
a deaf ear old C. would have turned to the doubters in Homer's real
personality! They might as well have denied the appearance of J.C. in
the flesh.--He apparently believed all the fables of H.'s birth, &c.
Those notes of Bryant have caused the greatest disorder in my brain-pan.
Well, I will not flatter when I say that we have had two or three long
evening's _good reading_ out of your kind present.
I will say nothing of the tenderest parts in your own little volume, at
the end of such a slatternly scribble as this, but indeed they cost us
some tears. I scrawl away because of interruptions every moment. You
guess how it is in a busy office--papers thrust into your hand when your
hand is busiest--and every anti-classical disavocation.
[_Conclusion cut away_.]
[Sir Charles Abraham Elton (1778-1853) seems to have sent Lamb a number
of his books, principally his _Specimens of the Classical_ _Poets ...
from Homer to Tryphiodorus translated into English Verse_, Baldwin,
1814, in three volumes. Lamb refers first to the passage from Hesiod's
_Theogony_, and then to his _Works and Days_ (which Chapman
translated)--"Dispensation of Providence to the Just and Unjust."
Apollonius Rhodius was the author of _The Argonautics_. Lamb then passes
on to Virgil. For the death of Mezentius see the _Aeneid_, Book X., at
the end. The makers of broadsides had probably credited Dick Turpin with
a dying speech.
"Those notes of Bryant." Lamb possibly refers to Jacob Bryant's _Essay
on the Original Genius and Writings of Homer_, 1775, or his pamphlet on
the Trojan War, 1795, 1799.
"Your own little volume." Probably _The Brothers and Other Poems_, by
Elton, 1820.]
LETTER 279
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE
[Summer, 1821.]
My dear Sir--Your letter has lain in a drawer of my desk, upbraiding me
every time I open the said drawer, but it is almost impossible to answer
such a letter in such a place, and I am out of the habit of replying to
epistles otherwhere than at office. You express yourself concerning H.
like a true friend, and have made me feel that I have somehow neglected
him, but without knowing very well how to rectify it. I live so remote
from him--by Hackney--that he is almost out of the pale of visitation at
Hampstead. And I come but seldom to Cov't Gard'n this summer time--and
when I do, am sure to pay for the late hours and pleasant Novello
suppers which I incur. I also am an invalid. But I will hit upon some
way, that you shall not have cause for your reproof in future. But do
not think I take the hint unkindly. When I shall be brought low by any
sickness or untoward circumstance, write just such a letter to some
tardy friend of mine--or come up yourself with your friendly Henshaw
face--and that will be better. I shall not forget in haste our casual
day at Margate. May we have many such there or elsewhere! God bless you
for your kindness to H., which I will remember. But do not show N. this,
for the flouting infidel doth mock when Christians cry God bless us.
Yours and _his, too_, and all our little circle's most affect'e.
C. LAMB.
Mary's love included.
[Charles Cowden Clarke (1787-1877) was the son of a schoolmaster who had
served as usher with George Dyer at Northampton. Afterwards he
established a school at Enfield, where Keats was one of the scholars.
Charles Cowden Clarke, at this time a bookseller, remained one of Keats'
friends and was a friend also of Leigh Hunt's, on whose behalf he seems
to have written to Lamb. Later he became a partner of Alfred Novello,
the musical publisher, son of Vincent Novello. In 1828 he married Mary
Victoria Novello.
"Friendly Henshaw face." I cannot explain this.
Leigh Hunt left England for Italy in November, 1821, to join Shelley and
Byron.
Here should come a brief note to Allan Cunningham asking him to an
evening party of _London Magazine_ contributors at 20 Russell St., given
in the Boston Bibliophile edition.]
LETTER 280
MARY LAMB TO MRS. WILLIAM AYRTON
[No date. ?1821.]
Thursday Morning.
MY dear friend,
The kind interest you took in my perplexities of yesterday makes me feel
that you will be well pleased to hear I got through my complicated
business far better than I had ventured to hope I should do. In the
first place let me thank you, my good friend, for your good advice; for,
had I not gone to Martin first he would have sent a senseless letter to
Mr. Rickman, and _now_ he is coming here to-day in order to frame one in
conjunction with my brother.
What will be Mr. Rickman's final determination I know not, but he and
Mrs. Rickman both gave me a most kind reception, and a most patient
hearing, and then Mr. R. walked with me as far as Bishopsgate Street,
conversing the whole way on the same unhappy subject. I will see you
again the very first opportunity till when farewel with grateful thanks.
How senseless I was not to make you go back in that empty coach. I never
have but one idea in my poor head at a time.
Yours affectionately
M. LAMB.
at Mr. Coston's
No. 14 Kingsland Row Dalston.
[The explanation of this letter is found in an entry in Crabb Robinson's
_Diary_, the unpublished portion, which tells us that owing to certain
irregularities Rickman, who was Clerk Assistant at the table of the
House of Commons, had been obliged to discharge Martin Burney, who was
one of his clerks.
Here should come another scrap from Lamb to Ayrton, dated August 14,
stating that at to-morrow's rubber the windows will be closed on account
of Her Majesty's death. Her Majesty was Queen Caroline, whom Lamb had
championed. She died on August 7.]
LETTER 281
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
Oct. 21, 1819.
My dear Sir, I have to thank you for a fine hare, and unless I am
mistaken for _two_, the first I received a week since, the account given
with it was that it came from Mr. Alfourd--I have no friend of that
name, but two who come near it
Mr. Talfourd
Mr. Alsop
so my gratitude must be divided between you, till I know the true
sender. We are and shall be some time, I fear, at Dalston, a distance
which does not improve hares by the circuitous route of Cov't Garden,
though for the sweetness of _this last_ I will answer. We dress it
to-day. I suppose you know my sister has been & is ill. I do not see
much hopes, though there is a glimmer, of her speedy recovery. When we
are all well, I hope to come among our town friends, and shall have
great pleasure in welcoming you from Beresford Hall.
Yours, & old Mr. Walton's, & honest Mr. Cotton's Piscatorum Amicus, C.L.
India House 19 Oct. 21
LETTER 282
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM AYRTON
[Oct. 27, 1821.]
I Come, Grimalkin! Dalston, near Hackney, 27th Oct'r. One thousand 8
hundred and twenty one years and a wee-bit since you and I were
redeemed. I doubt if _you_ are done properly yet.
[A further letter to Ayrton, dated from Dalston, October 30, is printed
by Mr. Macdonald, in which Lamb speaks of his sister's illness and the
death of his brother John, who died on October 26, aged fifty-eight. It
is reasonable to suppose that Lamb, when the above note was written, was
unaware of his brother's death (see note to Letter 284 on page 610). On
October 26, however, he had written to the editor of the _London
Magazine_ saying that he was most uncomfortably situated at home and
expecting some trouble which might prevent further writing for some
time--which may have been an allusion to his brother's illness or to
signs of Mary Lamb's approaching malady.
Here should come a note to William Hone, evidently in reply to a comment
on Lamb's essay on "Saying Grace."
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Rickman, dated November 20, 1821,
referring to Admiral Burney's death. "I have been used to death lately.
Poor Jim White's departure last year first broke the spell. I had been
so fortunate as to have lost no friends in that way for many long years,
and began to think people did not die." He says that Mary Lamb has
recovered from a long illness and is pretty well resigned to John Lamb's
death.]
LETTER 283
CHARLES LAMB TO S.T. COLERIDGE
March 9th, 1822.
Dear C.,--It gives me great satisfaction to hear that the pig turned out
so well--they are interesting creatures at a certain age--what a pity
such buds should blow out into the maturity of rank bacon! You had all
some of the crackling --and brain sauce--did you remember to rub it with
butter, and gently dredge it a little, just before the crisis? Did the
eyes come away kindly with no Oedipean avulsion? Was the crackling the
colour of the ripe pomegranate? Had you no complement of boiled neck of
mutton before it, to blunt the edge of delicate desire? Did you flesh
maiden teeth in it? Not that I sent the pig, or can form the remotest
guess what part Owen could play in the business. I never knew him give
anything away in my life. He would not begin with strangers. I suspect
the pig, after all, was meant for me; but at the unlucky juncture of
time being absent, the present somehow went round to Highgate. To
confess an honest truth, a pig is one of those things I could never
think of sending away. Teals, wigeons, snipes, barn-door fowl, ducks,
geese--your tame villatic things--Welsh mutton, collars of brawn,
sturgeon, fresh or pickled, your potted char, Swiss cheeses, French
pies, early grapes, muscadines, I impart as freely unto my friends as to
myself. They are but self-extended; but pardon me if I stop
somewhere--where the fine feeling of benevolence giveth a higher smack
than the sensual rarity--there my friends (or any good man) may command
me; but pigs are pigs, and I myself therein am nearest to myself. Nay, I
should think it an affront, an undervaluing done to Nature who bestowed
such a boon upon me, if in a churlish mood I parted with the precious
gift. One of the bitterest pangs of remorse I ever felt was when a
child--when my kind old aunt had strained her pocketstrings to bestow a
sixpenny whole plum-cake upon me. In my way home through the Borough, I
met a venerable old man, not a mendicant, but thereabouts--a
look-beggar, not a verbal petitionist; and in the coxcombry of
taught-charity I gave away the cake to him. I walked on a little in all
the pride of an Evangelical peacock, when of a sudden my old aunt's
kindness crossed me--the sum it was to her--the pleasure she had a right
to expect that I--not the old impostor --should take in eating her
cake--the cursed ingratitude by which, under the colour of a Christian
virtue, I had frustrated her cherished purpose. I sobbed, wept, and took
it to heart so grievously, that I think I never suffered the like--and I
was right. It was a piece of unfeeling hypocrisy, and proved a lesson to
me ever after. The cake has long been masticated, consigned to dunghill
with the ashes of that unseasonable pauper.
But when Providence, who is better to us all than our aunts, gives me a
pig, remembering my temptation and my fall, I shall endeavour to act
towards it more in the spirit of the donor's purpose.
Yours (short of pig) to command in everything. C.L.
[This letter probably led to the immediate composition of the _Elia_
essay "A Dissertation on Roast Pig" (see Vol. II. of the present
edition), which was printed in the _London Magazine_ for September,
1822. See also "Thoughts on Presents of Game," Vol. I. of this edition.
"Owen." Lamb's landlord in Russell Street.
"My kind old aunt... the Borough." This is rather perplexing. Lamb, to
the best of our knowledge, never as a child lived anywhere but in the
Temple. His only aunt of whom we know anything lived with the family
also in the Temple. But John Lamb's will proves Lamb to have had two
aunts. The reference to the Borough suggests therefore that the aunt in
question was not Sarah Lamb (Aunt Hetty) but her sister.]
LETTER 284
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
20th March, 1822.
My dear Wordsworth--A letter from you is very grateful, I have not seen
a Kendal postmark so long! We are pretty well save colds and rheumatics,
and a certain deadness to every thing, which I think I may date from
poor John's Loss, and another accident or two at the same time, that has
made me almost bury myself at Dalston, where yet I see more faces than I
could wish. Deaths over-set one and put one out long after the recent
grief. Two or three have died within this last two twelvem'ths, and so
many parts of me have been numbed. One sees a picture, reads an
anecdote, starts a casual fancy, and thinks to tell of it to this person
in preference to every other--the person is gone whom it would have
peculiarly suited. It won't do for _another_. Every departure destroys a
class of sympathies. There's Capt. Burney gone!--what fun has whist now?
what matters it what you lead, if you can no longer fancy him looking
over you? One never hears any thing, but the image of the particular
person occurs with whom alone almost you would care to share the
intelligence. Thus one distributes oneself about--and now for so many
parts of me I have lost the market. Common natures do not suffice me.
Good people, as they are called, won't serve. I want individuals. I am
made up of queer points and I want so many answering needles. The going
away of friends does not make the remainder more precious. It takes so
much from them as there was a common link. A. B. and C. make a party. A.
dies. B. not only loses A. but all A.'s part in C. C. loses A.'s part in
B., and so the alphabet sickens by subtraction of interchangeables. I
express myself muddily, capite dolente. I have a dulling cold. My theory
is to enjoy life, but the practice is against it. I grow ominously tired
of official confinement. Thirty years have I served the Philistines, and
my neck is not subdued to the yoke. You don't know how wearisome it is
to breathe the air of four pent walls without relief day after day, all
the golden hours of the day between 10 and 4 without ease or
interposition. Taedet me harum quotidianarum formarum, these
pestilential clerk faces always in one's dish. O for a few years between
the grave and the desk! they are the same, save that at the latter you
are outside the machine. The foul enchanter--letters four do form his
name--Busirane is his name in hell--that has curtailed you of some
domestic comforts, hath laid a heavier hand on me, not in present
infliction, but in taking away the hope of enfranchisement. I dare not
whisper to myself a Pension on this side of absolute incapacitation and
infirmity, till years have sucked me dry. Otium cum indignitate. I had
thought in a green old age (O green thought!) to have retired to
Ponder's End--emblematic name how beautiful! in the Ware road, there to
have made up my accounts with Heaven and the Company, toddling about
between it and Cheshunt, anon stretching on some fine Izaac Walton
morning to Hoddesdon or Amwell, careless as a Beggar, but walking,
walking ever, till I fairly walkd myself off my legs, dying walking!
The hope is gone. I sit like Philomel all day (but not singing) with my
breast against this thorn of a Desk, with the only hope that some
Pulmonary affliction may relieve me. Vide Lord Palmerston's report of
the Clerks in the war office (Debates, this morning's Times) by which it
appears in 20 years, as many Clerks have been coughd and catarrhd out of
it into their freer graves.
Thank you for asking about the Pictures. Milton hangs over my fire side
in Covt. Card, (when I am there), the rest have been sold for an old
song, wanting the eloquent tongue that should have set them off!
You have gratifyd me with liking my meeting with Dodd. For the Malvolio
story--the thing is become in verity a sad task and I eke it out with
any thing. If I could slip out of it I sh'd be happy, but our chief
reputed assistants have forsaken us. The opium eater crossed us once
with a dazzling path, and hath as suddenly left us darkling; and in
short I shall go on from dull to worse, because I cannot resist the
Bookseller's importunity--the old plea you know of authors, but I
believe on my part sincere.
Hartley I do not so often see, but I never see him in unwelcome hour. I
thoroughly love and honor him.
I send you a frozen Epistle, but it is winter and dead time of the year
with me. May heaven keep something like spring and summer up with you,
strengthen your eyes and make mine a little lighter to encounter with
them, as I hope they shall yet and again, before all are closed.
Yours, with every kind rem'be.
C.L.
I had almost forgot to say, I think you thoroughly right about
presentation copies. I should like to see you print a book I should
grudge to purchase for its size. D----n me, but I would have it though!
[John Lamb's will left everything to his brother. We must suppose that
his widow was independently provided for. I doubt if the brothers had
seen each other except casually for some time. The _Elia_ essay "My
Relations" contains John Lamb's full-length portrait under the name of
James Elia.
Captain Burney died on November 17, 1821,
"The foul enchanter--letters four do form his name." From Coleridge's
war eclogue, "Fire, Famine and Slaughter," where the letters form the
name of Pitt. Here they stand for Joseph Hume, not Lamb's friend, but
Joseph Hume, M.P. (1777-1855), who had attacked with success abuses in
the East India Company; had revised economically the system of
collecting the revenue, thus touching Wordsworth as Distributor of
Stamps; and had opposed Vansittart's scheme for the reduction of pension
charges.
"_Vide_ Lord Palmerston's report." In the _Times_ of March 21 is the
report of a debate on the estimates. Palmerston proved a certain amount
of reduction of salary in the War Office. Incidentally he remarked that
"since 1810 not fewer than twenty-six clerks had died of pulmonary
complaints, and disorders arising from sedentary habits."
Milton was the portrait, already described, which had been left to Lamb.
Lamb gave it as a dowry to Emma Isola when she became Mrs. Moxon.
"My meeting with Dodd ... Malvolio story." In the essay "The Old
Actors," in the London Magazine for February, 1822 (see Vol. II. of this
edition).
"Our chief reputed assistants." Hazlitt had left the _London Magazine_;
Scott, the original editor, was dead.
De Quincey, whose _Confessions of an Opium-Eater_ were appearing in its
pages, has left a record of a visit to the Lambs about this time. See
his "London Reminiscences."
"Hartley." Hartley Coleridge, then a young man of twenty-five, was
living in London after the unhappy sudden termination of his Oxford
career.
Here should come a brief note to Mrs. Norris, dated March 26, 1822,
given in the Boston Bibliophile edition.
Here should come a letter from Lamb to William Godwin, dated April 13,
in which Lamb remarks that he cannot think how Godwin, who in his
writings never expresses himself disrespectfully of any one but his
Maker, can have given offence to Rickman. This reminds one of Godwin's
remark about Coleridge, "God bless him--to use a vulgar expression," as
recorded by Coleridge in one of his letters. Lamb also said of Godwin
(and to him) that he had read more books that were not worth reading
than any man in England.]
LETTER 285
CHARLES LAMB TO W. HARRISON AINSWORTH
[Dated at end: May 7, 1822.]
Dear Sir,--I have read your poetry with pleasure. The tales are pretty
and prettily told, the language often finely poetical. It is only
sometimes a little careless, I mean as to redundancy. I have marked
certain passages (in pencil only, which will easily obliterate) for your
consideration. Excuse this liberty. For the distinction you offer me of
a dedication, I feel the honor of it, but I do not think it would
advantage the publication. I am hardly on an eminence enough to warrant
it. The Reviewers, who are no friends of mine--the two big ones
especially who make a point of taking no notice of anything I bring
out--may take occasion by it to decry us both. But I leave you to your
own judgment. Perhaps, if you wish to give me a kind word, it will be
more appropriate _before your republication of Tourneur_.
The "Specimens" would give a handle to it, which the poems might seem to
want. But I submit it to yourself with the old recollection that
"beggars should not be chusers" and remain with great respect and
wishing success to both your publications
Your obe't. Ser't.
C. LAMB.
No hurry at all for Tourneur.
Tuesday 7 May '22.
[William Harrison Ainsworth (1805-1882), afterwards known as a novelist,
was then articled to a Manchester solicitor, but had begun his literary
career. The book to which Lamb refers was called _The Works of Cheviot
Tichburn_, 1822, and was dedicated to him in the following terms:--"To
my friend Charles Lamb, as a slight mark of gratitude for his kindness
and admiration of his character, these poems are inscribed."
Ainsworth was meditating an edition of the works of Cyril Tourneur,
author of "The Atheist's Tragedy," to whom Lamb had drawn attention in
the _Dramatic Specimens_, 1808. The book was never published.]
LETTER 286
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM GODWIN
May 16, 1822.
Dear Godwin--I sincerely feel for all your trouble. Pray use the
enclosed £50, and pay me when you can. I shall make it my business to
see you very shortly.
Yours truly
C. LAMB.
[Owing largely to a flaw in the title-deed of his house at 41 Skinner
Street, which he had to forfeit, Godwin had come upon poverty greater
than any he had previously suffered, although he had been always more or
less necessitous. Lamb now lent him £50. In the following year, after
being mainly instrumental in putting on foot a fund for Godwin's
benefit, he transformed this loan into a gift. An appeal was issued in
1823 asking for; £600, the following postscript to which, in Lamb's
hand, is preserved at the South Kensington Museum:--
"There are few circumstances belonging to the case which are not
sufficiently adverted to in the above letter.
"Mr. Godwin's opponent declares himself determined to act against him
with the last degree of hostility: the law gives him the power the first
week in November to seize upon Mr. Godwin's property, furniture, books,
&c. together with all his present sources of income for the support of
himself and his family. Mr. Godwin has at this time made considerable
progress in a work of great research, and requiring all the powers of
his mind, to the completion of which he had lookd for future pecuniary
advantage. His mind is at this moment so entirely occupied in this work,
that he feels within himself the firmness and resolution that no
_prospect_ of evil or calamity shall draw him off from it or suspend his
labours. But the _calamity itself_, if permitted to arrive, will produce
the physical impossibility for him to proceed. His books and the
materials of his work, as well as his present sources of income, will be
taken from him. Those materials have been the collection of several
years, and it would require a long time to replace them, if they could
ever be replaced.
"The favour of an early answer is particularly requested, that the
extent of the funds supplied may as soon as possible be ascertained,
particularly as any aid, however kindly intended, will, after the lapse
of a very few weeks, become useless to the purpose in view."
The signatories to the appeal were: Crabb Robinson (£30), William Ayrton
(£10), John Murray (£10 10s.), Charles Lamb (£50), Lord Francis
Leveson-Gower (£10), Lord Dudley (£50), the Hon. W. Lamb (£20) and Sir
James Macintosh (£10). Other contributions were: Lord Byron, £26 5s.;
T.M. Alsager, £10; and "A B C, by Charles Lamb," £10. A B C was Sir
Walter Scott.
The work on which Godwin was then labouring was his _History of the
Commonwealth_, 1824-1828. His new home was in the Strand. In 1833 he
received the post of Yeoman Usher of the Exchequer, which he held till
his death in 1836, although its duties had vanished ere then.]
LETTER 287
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. JOHN LAMB
22 May 1822.
Dear Mrs. Lamb, A letter has come to Arnold for Mrs. Phillips, and, as I
have not her address, I take this method of sending it to you. That old
rogue's name is Sherwood, as you guessed, but as I named the shirts to
him, I think he must have them. Your character of him made me almost
repent of the bounty.
You must consider this letter as Mary's--for writing letters is such a
trouble and puts her to such twitters (family modesty, you know; it is
the way with me, but I try to get over it) that in pity I offer to do it
for her.--
We hold our intention of seeing France, but expect to see you here
first, as we do not go till the 20th of next month. A steam boat goes to
Dieppe, I see.--
Christie has not sent to me, and I suppose is in no hurry to settle the
account. I think in a day or two (if I do not hear from you to the
contrary) I shall refresh his memory.
I am sorry I made you pay for two Letters. I Peated it, and re-peated
it.
Miss Wright is married, and I am a hamper in her debt, which I hope will
now not be remembered. She is in great good humour, I hear, and yet out
of spirits.
Where shall I get such full flavor'd Geneva again?
Old Mr. Henshaw died last night precisely at 1/2 past 11.--He has been
open'd by desire of Mrs. McKenna; and, where his heart should have been,
was found a stone. Poor Arnold is inconsolable; and, not having shaved
since, looks deplorable.
With our kind remembrances to Caroline and your friends
We remain yours affectionaly C.L. AND M. LAMB.
[_Occupying the entire margin up the left-hand side of the letter is, in
Mary Lamb's hand_:--]
I thank you for your kind letter, and owe you one in return, but Charles
is in such a hurry to send this to be franked.
Your affectionate sister
M. LAMB.
[_On the right-hand margin, beside the paragraph about Mr. Henshaw, is
written in the same hand, underlined_:--]
He is not dead.
[John Lamb's widow had been a Mrs. Dowden, with an unmarried daughter,
probably the Caroline referred to. The letter treats of family matters
which could not now be explained even if it were worth while. The Lambs
were arranging a visit to Versailles, to the Kenneys. Mr. Henshaw was
Lamb's godfather, a gunsmith.]
LETTER 288
(_Fragment_)
CHARLES LAMB TO MARY LAMB (in Paris).
[August, 1822.]
Then you must walk all along the Borough side of the Seine facing the
Tuileries. There is a mile and a half of print shops and book stalls. If
the latter were but English. Then there is a place where the Paris
people put all their dead people and bring em flowers and dolls and
ginger bread nuts and sonnets and such trifles. And that is all I think
worth seeing as sights, except that the streets and shops of Paris are
themselves the best sight.
[The Lambs had left England for France in June. While they were there
Mary Lamb was taken ill again--in a diligence, according to Moore--and
Lamb had to return home alone, leaving a letter, of which this is the
only portion that has been preserved, for her guidance on her recovery.
It is also the only writing from Lamb to his sister that exists. Mary
Lamb, who had taken her nurse with her in case of trouble, was soon well
again, and in August had the company of Crabb Robinson in Paris. Mrs.
Aders was also there, and Foss, the bookseller in Pall Mall, and his
brother. And it was on this visit that the Lambs met John Howard Payne,
whom we shall shortly see.]
LETTER 289
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN CLARE
India House, 31 Aug., 1822.
Dear Clare--I thank you heartily for your present. I am an inveterate
old Londoner, but while I am among your choice collections, I seem to be
native to them, and free of the country. The quantity of your
observation has astonished me. What have most pleased me have been
Recollections after a Ramble, and those Grongar Hill kind of pieces in
eight syllable lines, my favourite measure, such as Cowper Hill and
Solitude. In some of your story-telling Ballads the provincial phrases
sometimes startle me. I think you are too profuse with them. In poetry
_slang_ of every kind is to be avoided. There is a rustick Cockneyism,
as little pleasing as ours of London. Transplant Arcadia to Helpstone.
The true rustic style, the Arcadian English, I think is to be found in
Shenstone. Would his Schoolmistress, the prettiest of poems, have been
better, if he had used quite the Goody's own language? Now and then a
home rusticism is fresh and startling, but where nothing is gained in
expression, it is out of tenor. It may make folks smile and stare, but
the ungenial coalition of barbarous with refined phrases will prevent
you in the end from being so generally tasted, as you deserve to be.
Excuse my freedom, and take the same liberty with my _puns_.
I send you two little volumes of my spare hours. They are of all sorts,
there is a methodist hymn for Sundays, and a farce for Saturday night.
Pray give them a place on your shelf. Pray accept a little volume, of
which I have [a] duplicate, that I may return in equal number to your
welcome presents.
I think I am indebted to you for a sonnet in the London for August.
Since I saw you I have been in France, and have eaten frogs. The nicest
little rabbity things you ever tasted. Do look about for them. Make Mrs.
Clare pick off the hind quarters, boil them plain, with parsley and
butter. The fore quarters are not so good. She may let them hop off by
themselves.
Yours sincerely,
CHAS. LAMB.
[John Clare (1793-1864) was the Northamptonshire poet whom the _London
Magazine_ had introduced to fame. Octavius Gilchrist had played to him
the same part that Capell Lofft had to Bloomfield. His first volume,
_Poems Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery_, was published in January,
1820; his next, _The Village Minstrel_, in September of the next year.
These he had probably sent to Lamb. Helpstone was Clare's birthplace.
Lamb's two little return volumes were his _Works_. The sonnet in the
August _London Magazine_ was not signed by Clare. It runs thus:--
TO ELlA
ELIA, thy reveries and vision'd themes
To Care's lorn heart a luscious pleasure prove;
Wild as the mystery of delightful dreams,
Soft as the anguish of remember'd love:
Like records of past days their memory dances
Mid the cool feelings Manhood's reason brings,
As the unearthly visions of romances
Peopled with sweet and uncreated things;--
And yet thy themes thy gentle worth enhances!
Then wake again thy wild harp's tenderest strings,
Sing on, sweet Bard, let fairy loves again
Smile in thy dreams, with angel ecstacies;
Bright o'er our souls will break the heavenly strain
Through the dull gloom of earth's realities.
Clare addressed to Lamb a sonnet on his _Dramatic Specimens_ which was
printed in Hone's _Year Book_ in 1831.
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Ayrton dated Sept. 5, 1822,
referring to the writer's "drunken caput" and loss of memory.
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Mrs. James Kenney, dated Sept.
11, 1822, in which Lamb says that Mary Lamb had reached home safely from
France, and that she failed to smuggle Crabb Robinson's waistcoat. He
adds that the Custom House people could not comprehend how a waistcoat,
marked Henry Robinson, could be a part of Miss Lamb's wearing apparel.
At the end of the letter is a charming note to Mrs. Kenney's little
girl, Sophy, whom Lamb calls his dear wife. He assures her that the few
short days of connubial felicity which he passed with her among the
pears and apricots of Versailles were some of the happiest of his life.]
LETTER 290
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
India House, 11 Sept. 1822.
Dear Sir--You have misapprehended me sadly, if you suppose that I meant
to impute any inconsistency (in your writing poetry) with your religious
profession. I do not remember what I said, but it was spoken sportively,
I am sure. One of my levities, which you are not so used to as my older
friends. I probably was thinking of the light in which your so indulging
yourself would appear to _Quakers_, and put their objection in my own
foolish mouth. I would eat my words (provided they should be written on
not very coarse paper) rather than I would throw cold water upon your,
and my once, harmless occupation. I have read Napoleon and the rest with
delight. I like them for what they are, and for what they are not. I
have sickened on the modern rhodomontade & Byronism, and your plain
Quakerish Beauty has captivated me. It is all wholesome cates, aye, and
toothsome too, and withal Quakerish. If I were George Fox, and George
Fox Licenser of the Press, they should have my absolute IMPRIMATUR. I
hope I have removed the impression.
I am, like you, a prisoner to the desk. I have been chained to that
gally thirty years, a long shot. I have almost grown to the wood. If no
imaginative poet, I am sure I am a figurative one. Do "Friends" allow
puns? _verbal_ equivocations?--they are unjustly accused of it, and I
did my little best in the "imperfect Sympathies" to vindicate them.
I am very tired of clerking it, but have no remedy. Did you see a sonnet
to this purpose in the Examiner?--
"Who first invented Work--and tied the free
And holy-day rejoycing spirit down
To the ever-haunting importunity
Of business, in the green fields, and the town--
To plough--loom--anvil--spade--&, oh, most sad,
To this dry drudgery of the desk's dead wood?
Who but the Being Unblest, alien from good,
Sabbathless Satan! he who his unglad
Task ever plies 'mid rotatory burnings,
That round and round incalculably reel--
For wrath Divine hath made him like a wheel--
In that red realm from whence are no returnings;
Where toiling and turmoiling ever and aye
He, and his Thoughts, keep pensive worky-day."
C.L.
I fancy the sentiment exprest above will be nearly your own, the
expression of it probably would not so well suit with a follower of John
Woolman. But I do not know whether diabolism is a part of your creed, or
where indeed to find an exposition of your creed at all. In feelings and
matters not dogmatical, I hope I am half a Quaker. Believe me, with
great respect, yours
C. LAMB.
I shall always be happy to see, or hear from you.--
[This is the first of the letters to Bernard Barton (1784-1849), a clerk
in a bank at Woodbridge, in Suffolk, who was known as the Quaker poet.
Lamb had met him at a _London Magazine_ dinner at 13 Waterloo Place, and
had apparently said something about Quakers and poetry which Barton, on
thinking it over, had taken too seriously. Bernard Barton was already
the author of four volumes of poetry, of which _Napoleon and other
Poems_ was the latest, published in 1822. Lamb's essay on "Imperfect
Sympathies" had been printed in the _London Magazine_ for August, 1821.
For John Woolman, see note on page 93. The sonnet "Work" had been
printed in the _Examiner_, August 29, 1819.]
LETTER 291
CHARLES LAMB TO BARRON FIELD
Sept. 22, 1822.
My dear F.,--I scribble hastily at office. Frank wants my letter
presently. I & sister are just returned from Paris!! We have eaten
frogs. It has been such a treat! You know our monotonous general Tenor.
Frogs are the nicest little delicate things--rabbity-flavoured. Imagine
a Lilliputian rabbit! They fricassee them; but in my mind, drest
seethed, plain, with parsley and butter, would have been the decision of
Apicius. Shelley the great Atheist has gone down by water to eternal
fire! Hunt and his young fry are left stranded at Pisa, to be adopted by
the remaining duumvir, Lord Byron--his wife and 6 children & their maid.
What a cargo of Jonases, if they had foundered too! The only use I can
find of friends, is that they do to borrow money of you. Henceforth I
will consort with none but rich rogues. Paris is a glorious picturesque
old City. London looks mean and New to it, as the town of Washington
would, seen after _it_. But they have no St. Paul's or Westminster
Abbey. The Seine, so much despised by Cockneys, is exactly the size to
run thro' a magnificent street; palaces a mile long on one side, lofty
Edinbro' stone (O the glorious antiques!): houses on the other. The
Thames disunites London & Southwark. I had Talma to supper with me. He
has picked up, as I believe, an authentic portrait of Shakspere. He paid
a broker about £40 English for it. It is painted on the one half of a
pair of bellows--a lovely picture, corresponding with the Folio head.
The bellows has old carved wings round it, and round the visnomy is
inscribed, near as I remember, not divided into rhyme--I found out the
rhyme--
"Whom have we here,
Stuck on this bellows,
But the Prince of good fellows,
Willy Shakspere?"
At top--
"O base and coward luck!
To be here stuck.--POINS."
At bottom--
"Nay! rather a glorious lot is to him assign'd,
Who, like the Almighty, rides upon the wind.--PISTOL."
This is all in old carved wooden letters. The countenance smiling,
sweet, and intellectual beyond measure, even as He was immeasurable. It
may be a forgery. They laugh at me and tell me Ireland is in Paris, and
has been putting off a portrait of the Black Prince. How far old wood
may be imitated I cannot say. Ireland was not found out by his
parchments, but by his poetry. I am confident no painter on either side
the Channel could have painted any thing near like the face I saw.
Again, would such a painter and forger have expected £40 for a thing, if
authentic, worth £4000? Talma is not in the secret, for he had not even
found out the rhymes in the first inscription. He is coming over with
it, and, my life to Southey's Thalaba, it will gain universal faith.
The letter is wanted, and I am wanted. Imagine the blank filled up with
all kind things.
Our joint hearty remembrances to both of you. Yours as ever,
C. LAMB.
[Frank was Francis John Field, Barron Field's brother, in the India
House.
Shelley was drowned on July 8, 1822.
Talma was François Joseph Talma (1763-1826), the great French tragedian.
Lamb, introduced by John Howard Payne, saw him in "Regulus," but not
understanding French was but mildly interested. "Ah," said Talma in the
account by James Kenney printed in Henry Angelo's _Pic Nic_, "I was not
very happy to-night; you must see me in 'Scylla.'" "Incidit in Scyllam,"
said Lamb, "qui vult vitare Charybdiro." "Ah, you are a rogue; you are a
great rogue," was Talma's reply. Talma had bought a pair of bellows with
Shakespeare's head on it. Lamb's belief in the authenticity of this
portrait was misplaced, as the following account from _Chambers'
Journal_ for September 27, 1856, will show:--
About the latter part of the last century, one Zincke, an artist of
little note, but grandson of the celebrated enameller of that name,
manufactured fictitious Shakespeares by the score.... The most famous of
Zincke's productions is the well-known Talma Shakespeare, which gentle
Charles Lamb made a pilgrimage to Paris to see; and when he did see,
knelt down and kissed with idolatrous veneration. Zincke painted it on a
larger panel than was necessary for the size of the picture, and then
cut away the superfluous wood, so as to leave the remainder in the shape
of a pair of bellows.... Zincke probably was thinking of "a muse of
fire" when he adopted this strange method of raising the wind; but he
made little by it, for the dealer into whose hands the picture passed,
sold it as a curiosity, not an original portrait, for £5. The buyer,
being a person of ingenuity, and fonder of money than curiosities,
fabricated a series of letters to and from Sir Kenelm Digby, and,
passing over to France, _planted_--the slang term used among the less
honest of the curiosity-dealing fraternity--the picture and the letters
in an old château near Paris. Of course a confederate managed to
discover the _plant_, in the presence of witnesses, and great was the
excitement that ensued. Sir Kenelm Digby had been in France in the reign
of Charles I., and the fictitious correspondence _proved_ that the
picture was an original, and had been painted by Queen Elizabeth's
command, on the lid of her favourite pair of bellows!
It really would seem that the more absurd a deception is, the better it
succeeds. All Paris was in delight at possessing an original
Shakespeare, while the London amateurs were in despair at such a
treasure being lost to England. The ingenious person soon found a
purchaser, and a high price recompensed him for his trouble. But more
remains to be told. The happy purchaser took his treasure to Ribet, the
first Parisian picture-cleaner of the day, to be cleaned. Ribet set to
work; but we may fancy his surprise as the superficial _impasto_ of
Zincke washed off beneath the sponge, and Shakespeare became a female in
a lofty headgear adorned with blue ribbons.
In a furious passion the purchaser ran to the seller. "Let us talk over
the affair quietly," said the latter; "I have been cheated as well as
you: let us keep the matter secret; if we let the public know it, all
Paris and even London too, will be laughing at us. I will return you
your money, and take back the picture, if you will employ Ribet to
restore it to the same condition as it was in when you received it."
This fair proposition was acceded to, and Ribet restored the picture;
but as he was a superior artist to Zincke, he greatly improved it, and
this improvement was attributed to his skill as a cleaner. The secret
being kept, and the picture, improved by cleaning, being again in the
market, Talma, the great Tragedian, purchased it at even a higher price
than that given by the first buyer. Talma valued it highly, enclosed it
in a case of morocco and gold, and subsequently refused 1000 Napoleons
for it; and even when at last its whole history was disclosed, he still
cherished it as a genuine memorial of the great bard.
By kind permission of Mr. B.B. MacGeorge, the owner both of the letter
and bellows, I was enabled to give a reproduction of the portrait in my
large edition.
Ireland was the author of "Vortigern," the forged play attributed to
Shakespeare.]
LETTER 292
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN HOWARD PAYNE
[Autumn, 1822.]
Dear Payne--A friend and fellow-clerk of mine, Mr. White (a good fellow)
coming to your parts, I would fain have accompanied him, but am forced
instead to send a part of me, verse and prose, most of it from 20 to 30
years old, such as I then was, and I am not much altered.
Paris, which I hardly knew whether I liked when I was in it, is an
object of no small magnitude with me now. I want to be going, to the
Jardin des Plantes (is that right, Louisa?) with you to Pere de la
Chaise, La Morgue, and all the sentimentalities. How is Talma, and his
(my) dear Shakspeare?
N.B.--My friend White knows Paris thoroughly, and does not want a guide.
We did, and had one. We both join in thanks. Do you remember a Blue-Silk
Girl (English) at the Luxembourg, that did not much seem to attend to
the Pictures, who fell in love with you, and whom I fell in love
with--an inquisitive, prying, curious Beauty--where is she?
_Votre Très Humble Serviteur_,
CHARLOIS AGNEAU,
_alias_ C. LAMB.
Guichy is well, and much as usual. He seems blind to all the
distinctions of life, except to those of sex. Remembrance to Kenny and
Poole.
[John Howard Payne (1792-1852) was born in New York. He began life as an
actor in 1809 as Young Norval in "Douglas," and made his English _début_
in 1813 in the same part. For several years he lived either in London or
Paris, where among his friends were Washington Irving and Talma. He
wrote a number of plays, and in one of them, "Clari, or the Maid of
Milan," is the song "Home, Sweet Home," with Bishop's music, on which
his immortality rests. Payne died in Tunis, where he was American
Consul, in 1852, and when in 1883 he was reinterred at Washington, it
was as the author of "Home, Sweet Home." He seems to have been a
charming but ill-starred man, whom to know was to love.
Mr. White was Edward White of the India House, by whom Lamb probably
sent a copy of the 1818 edition of his _Works_. Louisa was Louisa
Holcroft. Guichy was possibly the Frenchman, mentioned by Crabb
Robinson, with whom the Lambs had travelled to France. Poole was, I
imagine, John Poole, the dramatist, author of burlesque plays in the
_London Magazine_ and later of "Paul Pry," which, it is quite likely, he
based on Lamb's sketch "Tom Pry."]
LETTER 293
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[Dated at end: 9 October 1822.]
Dear Sir--I am asham'd not sooner to have acknowledged your letter and
poem. I think the latter very temperate, very serious and very
seasonable. I do not think it will convert the club at Pisa, neither do
I think it will satisfy the bigots on our side the water. Something like
a parody on the song of Ariel would please them better.
Full fathom five the Atheist lies,
Of his bones are hell-dice made.--
I want time, or fancy, to fill up the rest. I sincerely sympathise with
you on your doleful confinement. Of Time, Health, and Riches, the first
in order is not last in excellence. Riches are chiefly good, because
they give us Time. What a weight of wearisome prison hours have [I] to
look back and forward to, as quite cut out [of] life--and the sting of
the thing is, that for six hours every day I have no business which I
could not contract into two, if they would let me work Task-work. I
shall be glad to hear that your grievance is mitigated.
Shelly I saw once. His voice was the most obnoxious squeak I ever was
tormented with, ten thousand times worse than the Laureat's, whose voice
is the worst part about him, except his Laureatcy. Lord Byron opens upon
him on Monday in a Parody (I suppose) of the "Vision of Judgment," in
which latter the Poet I think did not much show _his_. To award his
Heaven and his Hell in the presumptuous manner he has done, was a piece
of immodesty as bad as Shelleyism.
I am returning a poor letter. I was formerly a great Scribbler in that
way, but my hand is out of order. If I said my head too, I should not be
very much out, but I will tell no tales of myself. I will therefore end
(after my best thanks, with a hope to see you again some time in
London), begging you to accept this Letteret for a Letter--a Leveret
makes a better present than a grown hare, and short troubles (as the old
excuse goes) are best.
I hear that C. Lloyd is well, and has returned to his family. I think
this will give you pleasure to hear.
I remain, dear Sir, yours truly
C. LAMB.
E.I.H.
9 Oct. 22.
[Barton had just published his _Verses on the Death of P.B. Shelley_, a
lament for misapplied genius. The club at Pisa referred particularly to
Byron, Leigh Hunt, and Trelawney. Trelawney placed three lines from
Ariel's song in "The Tempest" on Shelley's monument; but whether Lamb
knew this, or his choice of rival lines is a coincidence, I do not know.
Trelawney chose the lines:--
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
There is no other record of Lamb's meeting with Shelley, who, by the
way, admired Lamb's writings warmly, particularly _Mrs. Leicester's
School_ (see the letter to Barton, August 17, 1824).
Byron's _Vision of Judgment_, a burlesque of Southey's poem of the same
name, was printed in _The Liberal_ for 1822.]
LETTER 294
CHARLES LAMB TO B.R. HAYDON
India House, 9th October, 1822.
Dear Haydon, Poor Godwin has been turned out of his house and business
in Skinner Street, and if he does not pay two years' arrears of rent, he
will have the whole stock, furniture, &c., of his new house (in the
Strand) seized when term begins. We are trying to raise a subscription
for him. My object in writing this is simply to ask you, if this is a
kind of case which would be likely to interest Mrs. Coutts in his
behalf; and who in your opinion is the best person to speak with her on
his behalf. Without the aid of from £300 to £400 by that time, early in
November, he must be ruined. You are the only person I can think of, of
her acquaintance, and can, perhaps, if not yourself, recommend the
person most likely to influence her. Shelley had engaged to clear him of
all demands, and he has gone down to the deep insolvent.
Yours truly,
C. LAMB.
Is Sir Walter to be applied to, and by what channel?
[Mrs. Coutts was probably Harriot Mellon, the actress, widow of the
banker, Thomas Coutts, and afterwards Duchess of St. Albans. She had
played the part of the heroine Melesinda in "Mr. H."]
LETTER 295
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN HOWARD PAYNE
Thursday [Oct. 22], 1822.
"Ali Pacha" will do. I sent my sister the first night, not having been
able to go myself, and her report of its effect was most favourable. I
saw it last night--the third night--and it was most satisfactorily
received. I have been sadly disappointed in Talfourd, who does the
critiques in the "Times," and who promised his strenuous services; but
by some damn'd arrangement he was sent to the wrong house, and a most
iniquitous account of Ali substituted for his, which I am sure would
have been a kind one. The "Morning Herald" did it ample justice, without
appearing to puff it. It is an abominable misrepresentation of the
"Times," that Farren played Ali like Lord Ogilby. He acted infirmity of
body, but not of voice or purpose. His manner was even grand. A grand
old gentleman. His falling to the earth when his son's death was
announced was fine as anything I ever saw. It was as if he had been
blasted. Miss Foote looked helpless and beautiful, and greatly helped
the piece. It is going on steadily, I am sure, for _many nights_. Marry,
I was a little disappointed with Hassan, who tells us he subsists by
cracking court jests before Hali, but he made none. In all the rest,
scenery and machinery, it was faultless. I hope it will bring you here.
I should be most glad of that. I have a room for you, and you shall
order your own dinner three days in the week. I must retain my own
authority for the rest. As far as magazines go, I can answer for
Talfourd in the "New Monthly." He cannot be put out there. But it is
established as a favourite, and can do without these expletives. I long
to talk over with you the Shakspeare Picture. My doubts of its being a
forgery mainly rest upon the goodness of the picture. The bellows might
be trumped up, but where did the painter spring from? Is Ireland a
consummate artist--or any of Ireland's accomplices?--but we shall confer
upon it, I hope. The "New Times," I understand was favorable to "Ali,"
but I have not seen it. I am sensible of the want of method in this
letter, but I have been deprived of the connecting organ, by a practice
I have fallen into since I left Paris, of taking too much strong spirits
of a night. I must return to the Hotel de l'Europe and Macon.
How is Kenney? Have you seen my friend White? What is Poole about, &c.?
Do not write, but come and answer me.
The weather is charming, and there is a mermaid to be seen in London.
You may not have the opportunity of inspecting such a _Poisarde_ once
again in ten centuries.
My sister joins me in the hope of seeing you.
Yours truly,
C. LAMB.
[Lamb had met John Howard Payne, the American dramatist, at Kenney's, in
France. "Ali Pacha," a melodrama in two acts, was produced at Covent
Garden on October 19, 1822. It ran altogether sixteen nights. William
Farren played the hero. Lord Ogleby, an antiquated fop, is a character
in "The Clandestine Marriage" by Colman and Garrick. Miss Foote played
Helena. See notes to the letter above for other references.]
LETTER 296
CHARLES LAMB TO B.R. HAYDON
Tuesday, 29th [October, 1822].
Dear H., I have written a very respectful letter to Sir W.S. Godwin did
not write, because he leaves all to his committee, as I will explain to
you. If this rascally weather holds, you will see but one of us on that
day.
Yours, with many thanks,
C. LAMB.
LETTER 297
CHARLES LAMB TO SIR WALTER SCOTT
East India House, London,
29th October 1822.
Dear Sir,--I have to acknowledge your kind attention to my application
to Mr. Haydon. I have transmitted your draft to Mr. G[odwin]'s committee
as an anonymous contribution through me. Mr. Haydon desires his thanks
and best respects to you, but was desirous that I should write to you on
this occasion. I cannot pass over your kind expressions as to myself. It
is not likely that I shall ever find myself in Scotland, but should the
event ever happen, I should be proud to pay my respects to you in your
own land. My disparagement of heaths and highlands--if I said any such
thing in half earnest,--you must put down as a piece of the old Vulpine
policy. I must make the most of the spot I am chained to, and console
myself for my flat destiny as well as I am able. I know very well our
mole-hills are not mountains, but I must cocker them up and make them
look as big and as handsome as I can, that we may both be satisfied.
Allow me to express the pleasure I feel on an occasion given me of
writing to you, and to subscribe myself, dear sir, your obliged and
respectful servant,
CHARLES LAMB.
[See note to the letter to Godwin above. Lamb and Scott never met.
Talfourd, however, tells us that "he used to speak with gratitude and
pleasure of the circumstances under which he saw him once in
Fleet-street. A man, in the dress of a mechanic, stopped him just at
Inner Temple-gate, and said, touching his hat, 'I beg your pardon, sir,
but perhaps you would like to see Sir Walter Scott; that is he just
crossing the road;' and Lamb stammered out his hearty thanks to his
truly humane informer."
Mr. Lang has recently discovered that also in 1818 or thereabouts Sir
Walter invited Lamb to Abbotsford.]
LETTER 298
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ROBINSON
[Dated at end: Nov. 11, 1822.]
Dear Sir, We have to thank you, or Mrs. Robinson-- for I think her name
was on the direction--for the best pig, which myself, the warmest of
pig-lovers, ever tasted. The dressing and the sauce were pronounced
incomparable by two friends, who had the good fortune to drop in to
dinner yesterday, but I must not mix up my cook's praises with my
acknowledgments; let me but have leave to say that she and we did your
pig justice. I should dilate on the crackling--done to a turn--but I am
afraid Mrs. Clarkson, who, I hear, is with you, will set me down as an
Epicure. Let it suffice, that you have spoil'd my appetite for boiled
mutton for some time to come. Your brother Henry partook of the cold
relics--by which he might give a good guess at what it had been _hot_.
With our thanks, pray convey our kind respects to Mrs. Robinson, and the
Lady before mentioned.
Your obliged Ser't
CHARLES LAMB.
India House
11 Nov. 22.
[This letter is addressed to R. Robinson, Esq., Bury, Suffolk, but I
think there is no doubt that Thomas Robinson was the recipient.
Thomas Robinson of Bury St. Edmunds was Henry Crabb Robinson's brother.
Lamb's "Dissertation on Roast Pig" had been printed in the _London
Magazine_ in September, 1822, and this pig was one of the first of many
such gifts that came to him.]
LETTER 299
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN HOWARD PAYNE
Wednesday, 13 November, '22.
Dear P.--Owing to the inconvenience of having two lodgings, I did not
get your letter quite so soon as I should. The India House is my proper
address, where I am sure for the fore part of every day. The instant I
got it, I addressed a letter, for Kemble to see, to my friend Henry
Robertson, the Treasurer of Covent Garden Theatre. He had a conference
with Kemble, and the result is, that Robertson, in the name of the
management, recognized to me the full ratifying of your bargain: £250
for Ali, the Slaves, and another piece which they had not received. He
assures me the whole will be paid you, or the proportion for the two
former, as soon as ever the Treasury will permit it. He offered to write
the same to you, if I pleased. He thinks in a month or so they will be
able to liquidate it. He is positive no trick could be meant you, as Mr.
Planche's alterations, which were trifling, were not at all considered
as affecting your bargain. With respect to the copyright of Ali, he was
of opinion no money would be given for it, as Ali is quite laid aside.
This explanation being given, you would not think of printing the two
copies together by way of recrimination. He told me the secret of the
two Galley Slaves at Drury Lane. Elliston, if he is informed right,
engaged Poole to translate it, but before Poole's translation arrived,
finding it coming out at Cov. Gar., he procured copies of two several
translations of it in London. So you see here are four translations,
reckoning yours. I fear no copyright would be got for it, for anybody
may print it and anybody has. Your's has run seven nights, and R. is of
opinion it will not exceed in number of nights the nights of Ali,--about
thirteen. But your full right to your bargain with the management is in
the fullest manner recognized by him officially. He gave me every hope
the money will be spared as soon as they can spare it. He said _a month
or two_, but seemed to me to mean about _a month_. A new lady is coming
out in Juliet, to whom they look very confidently for replenishing their
treasury. Robertson is a very good fellow and I can rely upon his
statement. Should you have any more pieces, and want to get a copyright
for them, I am the worst person to negotiate with any bookseller, having
been cheated by all I have had to do with (except Taylor and
Hessey,--but they do not publish theatrical pieces), and I know not how
to go about it, or who to apply to. But if you had no better negotiator,
I should know the minimum you expect, for I should not like to make a
bargain out of my own head, being (after the Duke of Wellington) the
worst of all negotiators. I find from Robertson you have written to
Bishop on the subject. Have you named anything of the copyright of the
Slaves. R. thinks no publisher would pay for it, and you would not
risque it on your own account. This is a mere business letter, so I will
just send my love to my little wife at Versailles, to her dear mother,
etc.
Believe me, yours truly, C.L.
[Payne's translation of the French play was produced at Covent Garden on
November 6, 1822, under the title "The Soldier's Daughter." On the same
night appeared a rival version at Drury Lane entitled "Two Galley
Slaves." Payne's was played eleven times. The new lady as Juliet was the
other Fanny Kelly not Lamb's: Fanny H. Kelly, from Dublin. The revival
began on November 14. Planché was James Robinson Planché (1796-1880),
the most prolific of librettists. Robert William Elliston, of whom Lamb
later wrote so finely, was then managing Drury Lane.
"Having been cheated." Lamb's particular reference was to Baldwin (see
the letter to Barton, Jan. 9, 1823).
"The Duke of Wellington." A reference to the Duke's failure in
representing England at the Congress of Powers in Vienna and Verona.
Lamb's "dear little wife" was Sophy Kenney.]
LETTER 300
MARY LAMB TO MRS. JAMES KENNEY
[No date. ?Early December, 1822.]
My dear Friend,--How do you like Harwood? Is he not a noble boy? I
congratulate you most heartily on this happy meeting, and only wish I
were present to witness it. Come back with Harwood, I am dying to see
you--we will talk, that is, you shall talk and I will listen from ten in
the morning till twelve at night. My thoughts are often with you, and
your children's dear faces are perpetually before me. Give them all one
additional kiss every morning for me. Remember there's one for Louisa,
one to Ellen, one to Betsy, one to Sophia, one to James, one to Teresa,
one to Virginia, and one to Charles. Bless them all! When shall I ever
see them again? Thank you a thousand times for all your kindness to me.
I know you will make light of the trouble my illness gave you; but the
recollection of it often sits heavy on my heart. If I could ensure my
health, how happy should I be to spend a month with you every summer!
When I met Mr. Kenney there, I sadly repented that I had not dragged you
on to Dieppe with me. What a pleasant time we should have spent there!
You shall not be jealous of Mr. Payne. Remember he did Charles and I
good service without grudge or grumbling. Say to him how much I regret
that we owe him unreturnable obligations; for I still have my old fear
that we shall never see him again. I received great pleasure from seeing
his two successful pieces. My love to your boy Kenney, my boy James, and
all my dear girls, and also to Rose; I hope she still drinks wine with
you. Thank Lou-Lou for her little bit of letter. I am in a fearful
hurry, or I would write to her. Tell my friend the Poetess that I expect
some French verses from her shortly. I have shewn Betsy's and Sophy's
letters to all who came near me, and they have been very much admired.
Dear Fanny brought me the bag. Good soul you are to think of me! Manning
has promised to make Fanny a visit this morning, happy girl! Miss James
I often see, I think never without talking of you. Oh the dear long
dreary Boulevards! how I do wish to be just now stepping out of a Cuckoo
into them!
Farewel, old tried friend, may we meet again! Would you could bring your
house with all its noisy inmates, and plant it, garden, gables and all,
in the midst of Covent Garden.
Yours ever most affectionately,
M. LAMB.
My best respects to your good neighbours.
[Harwood was Harwood Holcroft.
"Louisa," etc. Mrs. Kenney's children by her first marriage were Louisa,
Ellen, Betsy and Sophia. By her second, with Kenney, the others. Charles
was named Charles Lamb Kenney.
"Payne's two successful pieces"--"Ali Pacha" and "The Soldier's
Daughter."
Fanny was Fanny Holcroft, Mrs. Kenney's stepdaughter.
Miss Kelly has added to this letter a few words of affection to Mrs.
Kenney from "the real old original Fanny Kelly."
Charles Lamb also contributed to this letter a few lines to James
Kenney, expressing his readiness to meet Moore the poet. He adds that he
made a hit at him as Little in the _London Magazine_, which though no
reason for not meeting him was a reason for not volunteering a visit to
him. The reference is to the sonnet to Barry Cornwall in the _London
Magazine_ for September, 1820, beginning--
Let hate, or grosser heats, their foulness mask
Neath riddling Junius, or in L----e's name.
The second line was altered in Lamb's _Album Verses_, 1830, to--
Under the vizor of a borrowed name.]
LETTER 301
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN TAYLOR
[Dated: Dec. 7, 1822.]
Dear Sir,--I should like the enclosed Dedication to be printed, unless
you dislike it. I like it. It is in the olden style. But if you object
to it, put forth the book as it is. Only pray don't let the Printer
mistake the word _curt_ for _curst_.
C.L.
Dec. 7, 1822.
DEDICATION
TO THE FRIENDLY AND JUDICIOUS READER,
Who will take these Papers, as they were meant; not understanding every
thing perversely in the absolute and literal sense, but giving fair
construction as to an after-dinner conversation; allowing for the
rashness and necessary incompleteness of first thoughts; and not
remembering, for the purpose of an after taunt, words spoken
peradventure after the fourth glass. The Author wishes (what he would
will for himself) plenty of good friends to stand by him, good books to
solace him, prosperous events to all his honest undertakings, and a
candid interpretation to his most hasty words and actions. The other
sort (and he hopes many of them will purchase his book too) he greets
with the curt invitation of Timon, "Uncover, dogs, and lap:" or he
dismisses them with the confident security of the philosopher, "you beat
but on the case of ELIA."
C.L.
Dec. 7, 1822.
[_Elia. Essays which have appeared under that signature in the London
Magazine_ was just about to be published. The book came out with no
preface.
"You beat but on the case." When Anaxarchus, the philosopher, was being
pounded to death in a mortar, by command of Alexander the Great, he made
use of this phrase. After these words, in Canon Ainger's transcript,
Lamb remarks:--"On better consideration, pray omit that Dedication. The
Essays want no Preface: they are _all Preface_. A Preface is nothing but
a talk with the reader; and they do nothing else. Pray omit it.
"There will be a sort of Preface in the next Magazine, which may act as
an advertisement, but not proper for the volume.
"Let ELIA come forth bare as he was born."
The sort of Preface in the next magazine (January, 1823) was the
"Character of the Late Elia," used as a preface to the _Last Essays_ in
1833.]
LETTER 302
CHARLES LAMB TO WALTER WILSON
E.I.H. 16 dec. 22.
Dear Wilson
_Lightening_ I was going to call you--
You must have thought me negligent in not answering your letter sooner.
But I have a habit of never writing letters, but at the office--'tis so
much time cribbed out of the Company--and I am but just got out of the
thick of a Tea Sale, in which most of the Entry of Notes, deposits &c.
usually falls to my share. Dodwell is willing, but alas! slow. To
compare a pile of my notes with his little hillock (which has been as
long a building), what is it but to compare Olympus with a mole-hill.
Then Wadd is a sad shuffler.--
I have nothing of Defoe's but two or three Novels, and the Plague
History. I can give you no information about him. As a slight general
character of what I remember of them (for I have not look'd into them
latterly) I would say that "in the appearance of _truth_ in all the
incidents and conversations that occur in them they exceed any works of
fiction I am acquainted with. It is perfect illusion. The _Author_ never
appears in these self-narratives (for so they ought to be called or
rather Autobiographies) but the _narrator_ chains us down to an implicet
belief in every thing he says. There is all the minute detail of a
log-book in it. Dates are painfully pressed upon the memory. Facts are
repeated over and over in varying phrases, till you cannot chuse but
believe them. It is like reading Evidence given in a Court of Justice.
So anxious the story-teller seems, that the truth should be clearly
comprehended, that when he has told us a matter of fact, or a motive, in
a line or two farther down he _repeats_ it with his favorite figure of
speech, 'I say' so and so,--though he had made it abundantly plain
before. This is in imitation of the common people's way of speaking, or
rather of the way in which they are addressed by a master or mistress,
who wishes to impress something upon their memories; and has a wonderful
effect upon matter-of-fact readers. Indeed it is to such principally
that he writes. His style is elsewhere beautiful, but plain _& homely_.
Robinson Crusoe is delightful to all ranks and classes, but it is easy
to see that it is written in phraseology peculiarly adapted to the lower
conditions of readers: hence it is an especial favorite with seafaring
men, poor boys, servant maids &c. His novels are capital
kitchen-reading, while they are worthy from their deep interest to find
a shelf in the Libraries of the wealthiest, and the most learned. His
passion for _matter of fact narrative_ sometimes betrayed him into a
long relation of common incidents which might happen to any man, and
have no interest but the intense appearance of truth in them, to
recommend them. The whole latter half, or two thirds, of Colonel Jack is
of this description. The beginning of Colonel Jack is the most affecting
natural picture of a young thief that was ever drawn. His losing the
stolen money in the hollow of a tree, and finding it again when he was
in despair, and then being in equal distress at not knowing how to
dispose of it, and several similar touches in the early history of the
Colonel, evince a deep knowledge of human nature; and, putting out of
question the superior _romantic_ interest of the latter, in my mind very
much exceed Crusoe. Roxana (1st Edition) is the next in Interest, though
he left out the best part of it**in** subsequent Editions from a foolish
hypercriticism of his friend, Southerne. But Moll Flanders, the account
of the Plague &c. &c. are all of one family, and have the same stamp of
character."--
[_At the top of the first page is added:--_]
_Omitted at the end_ ... believe me with friendly recollections,
_Brother_ (as I used to call you) Yours C. LAMB.
[_Below the "Dear Wilson" is added in smaller writing:--_]
The review was not mine, nor have I seen it.
[Lamb's friend Walter Wilson was beginning his _Memoirs of the Life and
Times of Daniel Defoe_, 1830. The passage sent to him in this letter by
Lamb he printed in Vol. III., page 428. Some years later Lamb sent
Wilson a further criticism. See also letter below for the reference to
_Roxana_.
Dodwell we have met. Of Wadd we have no information, except, according
to Crabb Robinson's _Diary_, that he once accidentally discharged a pen
full of ink into Lamb's eye and that Lamb wrote this epigram upon him:--
What Wadd knows, God knows,
But God knows _what_ Wadd knows.]
LETTER 303
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[Dated at end: 23 December 1822.]
Dear Sir--I have been so distracted with business and one thing or
other, I have not had a quiet quarter of an hour for epistolary
purposes. Christmas too is come, which always puts a rattle into my
morning scull. It is a visiting unquiet un-Quakerish season. I get more
and more in love with solitude, and proportionately hampered with
company. I hope you have some holydays at this period. I have one day,
Christmas day, alas! too few to commemorate the season. All work and no
play dulls me. Company is not play, but many times hard work. To play,
is for a man to do what he pleases, or to do nothing--to go about
soothing his particular fancies. I have lived to a time of life, to have
outlived the good hours, the nine o'Clock suppers, with a bright hour or
two to clear up in afterwards. Now you cannot get tea before that hour,
and then sit gaping, music-bothered perhaps, till half-past 12 brings up
the tray, and what you steal of convivial enjoyment after, is heavily
paid for in the disquiet of to-morrow's head.
I am pleased with your liking John Woodvil, and amused with your
knowledge of our drama being confined to Shakspeare and Miss Bailly.
What a world of fine territory between Land's End and Johnny Grots have
you missed traversing. I almost envy you to have so much to read. I feel
as if I had read all the Books I want to read. O to forget Fielding,
Steele, &c., and read 'em new.
Can you tell me a likely place where I could pick up, cheap, Fox's
Journal? There are no Quaker Circulating Libraries? Ellwood, too, I must
have. I rather grudge that S[outhe]y has taken up the history of your
People. I am afraid he will put in some Levity. I am afraid I am not
quite exempt from that fault in certain magazine Articles, where I have
introduced mention of them. Were they to do again, I would reform them.
Why should not you write a poetical Account of your old Worthies,
deducing them from Fox to Woolman?--but I remember you did talk of
something in that kind, as a counterpart to the Ecclesiastical Sketches.
But would not a Poem be more consecutive than a string of Sonnets? You
have no Martyrs _quite to the Fire_, I think, among you. But plenty of
Heroic Confessors, Spirit-Martyrs--Lamb-Lions.--Think of it.
It would be better than a series of Sonnets on "Eminent Bankers."--I
like a hit at our way of life, tho' it does well for me, better than
anything short of _all one's time to one's self_, for which alone I
rankle with envy at the rich. Books are good, and Pictures are good, and
Money to buy them therefore good, but to buy _TIME!_ in other words,
LIFE--
The "compliments of the time to you" should end my letter; to a Friend I
suppose I must say the "sincerity of the season;" I hope they both mean
the same. With excuses for this hastily penn'd note, believe me with
great respect--
C. LAMB.
23 dec. 22.
[Miss Bailly would be Joanna Baillie (1762-1851), author of _Plays on
the Passions_.
The copy of Fox's _Journal_, 1694, which was lent to Lamb is now in the
possession of the Society of Friends. In it is written:
"This copy of George Fox's Journal, being the earliest edition of that
work, the property of John T. Shewell of Ipswich, is lent for six months
to Charles Lamb, at the request of Sam'l Alexander of Needham, Ipswich,
1st mo. 4 1823." Lamb has added: "Returned by Charles Lamb, within the
period, with many thanks to the Lender for the very great satisfaction
which he has derived from the perusal of it."
Southey was meditating a Life of George Fox and corresponded with Barton
on the subject. He did not write the book.
Barton had a plan to provide Wordsworth's Ecclesiastical Sonnets with a
Quaker pendant. He did not carry it out.
Here might come an undated and unpublished letter from Lamb to Basil
Montagu, which is of little interest except as referring to Miss James,
Mary Lamb's nurse. Lamb says that she was one of four sisters, daughters
of a Welsh clergyman, who all became nurses at Mrs. Warburton's, Hoxton,
whither, I imagine, Mary Lamb had often retired. Mrs. Parsons, one of
the sisters, became Mary Lamb's nurse when, some time after Lamb's
death, she moved to 41 Alpha Road, Mrs. Parsons' house. The late John
Hollingshead, great-nephew of these ladies, says in his interesting
book, _My Lifetime_, that their father was rector of Beguildy, in
Shropshire.]
LETTER 304
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN HOWARD PAYNE
[January, 1823.]
Dear Payne--Your little books are most acceptable. 'Tis a delicate
edition. They are gone to the binder's. When they come home I shall have
two--the "Camp" and "Patrick's Day"--to read for the first time. I may
say three, for I never read the "School for Scandal." "_Seen_ it I have,
and in its happier days." With the books Harwood left a truncheon or
mathematical instrument, of which we have not yet ascertained the use.
It is like a telescope, but unglazed. Or a ruler, but not smooth enough.
It opens like a fan, and discovers a frame such as they weave lace upon
at Lyons and Chambery. Possibly it is from those parts. I do not value
the present the less, for not being quite able to detect its purport.
When I can find any one coming your way I have a volume for you, my
Elias collected. Tell Poole, his Cockney in the Lon. Mag. tickled me
exceedingly. Harwood is to be with us this evening with Fanny, who comes
to introduce a literary lady, who wants to see me,--and whose portentous
name is _Plura_, in English "many things." Now, of all God's creatures,
I detest letters-affecting, authors-hunting ladies. But Fanny "will have
it so." So Miss Many Things and I are to have a conference, of which you
shall have the result. I dare say she does not play at whist. Treasurer
Robertson, whose coffers are absolutely swelling with pantomimic
receipts, called on me yesterday to say he is going to write to you, but
if I were also, I might as well say that your last bill is at the
Banker's, and will be honored on the instant receipt of the third Piece,
which you have stipulated for. If you have any such in readiness, strike
while the iron is hot, before the Clown cools. Tell Mrs. Kenney, that
the Miss F.H. (or H.F.) Kelly, who has begun so splendidly in Juliet, is
the identical little Fanny Kelly who used to play on their green before
their great Lying-Inn Lodgings at Bayswater. Her career has stopt short
by the injudicious bringing her out in a vile new Tragedy, and for a
third character in a stupid old one,--the Earl of Essex. This is
Macready's doing, who taught her. Her recitation, &c. (_not her voice or
person_), is masculine. It is so clever, it seemed a male _Debut_. But
cleverness is the bane of Female Tragedy especially. Passions uttered
logically, &c. It is bad enough in men-actors. Could you do nothing for
little Clara Fisher? Are there no French Pieces with a Child in them? By
Pieces I mean here dramas, to prevent male-constructions. Did not the
Blue Girl remind you of some of Congreve's women? Angelica or Millamant?
To me she was a vision of Genteel Comedy realized. Those kind of people
never come to see one. _N'import_--havn't I Miss Many Things coming?
Will you ask Horace Smith to----[_The remainder of this letter has been
lost_.]
[Payne seems to have sent Lamb an edition of Sheridan. "The Camp" and
"St. Patrick's Day" are among Sheridan's less known plays.
Poole was writing articles on France in the _London Magazine_. Lamb
refers to "A Cockney's Rural Sports," in the number for December, 1822.
Fanny was Fanny Holcroft. Plura I do not identify.
The new tragedy in which Miss Kelly had to play was probably "The
Huguenot," produced December 11, 1822. "The Earl of Essex" was revived
December 30, 1822. Macready played in both.
"Cleverness is the bane." See Lamb's little article on "The New Acting"
in Vol. I.
The Blue Girl seems to refer to the lady mentioned at the end of the
first letter to Payne.
Angelica is in Congreve's "Love for Love"; Millamant in his "Way of the
World."]
LETTER 305
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
[No date. January, 1823.]
Dear Wordsworth, I beg your acceptance of ELIA, detached from any of its
old companions which might have been less agreeable to you. I hope your
eyes are better, but if you must spare them, there is nothing in my
pages which a Lady may not read aloud without indecorum, _which is more
than can be said of Shakspeare_.
What a nut this last sentence would be for Blackwood!
You will find I availed myself of your suggestion, in curtailing the
dissertation on Malvolio.
I have been on the Continent since I saw you.
I have eaten frogs.
I saw Monkhouse tother day, and Mrs. M. being too poorly to admit of
company, the annual goosepye was sent to Russell Street, and with its
capacity has fed "A hundred head" (not of Aristotle's) but "of Elia's
friends."
Mrs. Monkhouse is sadly confined, but chearful.--
This packet is going off, and I have neither time, place nor solitude
for a longer Letter.
Will you do me the favor to forward the other volume to Southey?
Mary is perfectly well, and joins me in kindest rememb'ces to you all.
[_Signature cut away_.]
["What a nut... for Blackwood." To help on Maga's great cause against
Cockney arrogance.
"The dissertation on Malvolio." In Elia the essays on the Old Actors
were much changed and rearranged (see Appendix to Vol. II. in this
edition).]
LETTER 306
CHARLES LAMB TO MR. AND MRS. J.D. COLLIER
Twelfth Day [January 6], 1823.
THE pig was above my feeble praise. It was a dear pigmy. There was some
contention as to who should have the ears, but in spite of his obstinacy
(deaf as these little creatures are to advice) I contrived to get at one
of them.
It came in boots too, which I took as a favor. Generally those petty
toes, pretty toes! are missing. But I suppose he wore them, to look
taller.
He must have been the least of his race. His little foots would have
gone into the silver slipper. I take him to have been Chinese, and a
female.--
If Evelyn could have seen him, he would never have farrowed two such
prodigious volumes, seeing how much good can be contained in--how small
a compass!
He crackled delicately.
John Collier Jun has sent me a Poem which (without the smallest bias
from the aforesaid present, believe me) I pronounce _sterling_.
I set about Evelyn, and finished the first volume in the course of a
natural day. To-day I attack the second--Parts are very interesting.--
I left a blank at top of my letter, not being determined _which_ to
address it to, so Farmer and Farmer's wife will please to divide our
thanks. May your granaries be full, and your rats empty, and your
chickens plump, and your envious neighbors lean, and your labourers
busy, and you as idle and as happy as the day is long!
VIVE L'AGRICULTURE!
Frank Field's marriage of course you have seen in the papers, and that
his brother Barron is expected home.
How do you make your pigs so little?
They are vastly engaging at that age.
I was so myself.
Now I am a disagreeable old hog--
A middle-aged-gentleman-and-a-half.
My faculties, thank God, are not much impaired. I have my sight,
hearing, taste, pretty perfect; and can read the Lord's Prayer in the
common type, by the help of a candle, without making many mistakes.
Believe me, while my faculties last, a proper appreciator of your many
kindnesses in this way; and that the last lingering relish of past
flavors upon my dying memory will be the smack of that little Ear. It
was the left ear, which is lucky. Many happy returns (not of the Pig)
but of the New Year to both.--
Mary for her share of the Pig and the memoirs desires to send the same--
D'r. M'r. C. and M'rs. C.--
Yours truly
C. LAMB.
[This letter is usually supposed to have been addressed by Lamb to Mr.
and Mrs. Bruton of Mackery End. The address is, however, Mrs. Collier,
Smallfield Place, East Grinstead, Sussex.
"If Evelyn could have seen him." John Evelyn's _Diary_ had recently been
published, in 1818 and 1819, in two large quarto volumes.]
LETTER 307
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES ADERS
[Jan. 8, 1823.]
Dear Sir--We shall have great pleasure in surprising Mrs. Aders on her
Birthday--You will perceive how cunningly I have contrived the direction
of this note, _to evade postage_.
Yours truly
C. LAMB.
8 Jan. '23.
[This note is sent to me by Mr. G. Dunlop of Kilmarnock. It is the only
note to Aders, a friend of Crabb Robinson, to whose house Lamb often
went for talk and whist. Aders had a fine collection of German pictures.
See the verses to him in Vol. IV. The cunning in the address consisted
apparently in obtaining the signature of an India House colleague to
certify that it was "official."]
LETTER 308
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
9 Jan., 1823.
"Throw yourself on the world without any rational plan of support,
beyond what the chance employ of Booksellers would afford you"!!!
Throw yourself rather, my dear Sir, from the steep Tarpeian rock,
slap-dash headlong upon iron spikes. If you had but five consolatory
minutes between the desk and the bed, make much of them, and live a
century in them, rather than turn slave to the Booksellers. They are
Turks and Tartars, when they have poor Authors at their beck. Hitherto
you have been at arm's length from them. Come not within their grasp. I
have known many authors for bread, some repining, others envying the
blessed security of a Counting House, all agreeing they had rather have
been Taylors, Weavers, what not? rather than the things they were. I
have known some starved, some to go mad, one clear friend literally
dying in a workhouse. You know not what a rapacious, dishonest set those
booksellers are. Ask even Southey, who (a single case almost) has made a
fortune by book drudgery, what he has found them. O you know not, may
you never know! the miseries of subsisting by authorship. 'Tis a pretty
appendage to a situation like yours or mine, but a slavery worse than
all slavery to be a book-seller's dependent, to drudge your brains for
pots of ale and breasts of mutton, to change your free thoughts and
voluntary numbers for ungracious TASK-WORK. Those fellows hate _us_. The
reason I take to be, that, contrary to other trades, in which the Master
gets all the credit (a Jeweller or Silversmith for instance), and the
Journeyman, who really does the fine work, is in the background, in
_our_ work the world gives all the credit to Us, whom _they_ consider
as
_their_ Journeymen, and therefore do they hate us, and cheat us, and
oppress us, and would wring the blood of us out, to put another sixpence
in their mechanic pouches. I contend, that a Bookseller has a _relative
honesty_ towards Authors, not like his honesty to the rest of the world.
B[aldwin], who first engag'd me as Elia, has not paid me up yet (nor any
of us without repeated mortifying applials), yet how the Knave fawned
while I was of service to him! Yet I dare say the fellow is punctual in
settling his milk-score, &c. Keep to your Bank, and the Bank will keep
you. Trust not to the Public, you may hang, starve, drown yourself, for
anything that worthy _Personage_ cares. I bless every star that
Providence, not seeing good to make me independent, has seen it next
good to settle me upon the stable foundation of Leadenhall. Sit down,
good B.B., in the Banking Office; what, is there not from six to Eleven
P.M. 6 days in the week, and is there not all Sunday? Fie, what a
superfluity of man's time,--if you could think so! Enough for
relaxation, mirth, converse, poetry, good thoughts, quiet thoughts. O
the corroding torturing tormenting thoughts, that disturb the Brain of
the unlucky wight, who must draw upon it for daily sustenance.
Henceforth I retract all my fond complaints of mercantile employment,
look upon them as Lovers' quarrels. I was but half in earnest. Welcome,
dead timber of a desk, that makes me live. A little grumbling is a
wholesome medicine for the spleen; but in my inner heart do I approve
and embrace this our close but unharassing way of life. I am quite
serious. If you can send me Fox, I will not keep it six _weeks_, and
will return it, with warm thanks to yourself and friend, without blot or
dog's ear. You much oblige me by this kindness.
Yours truly,
C. LAMB.
Please to direct to me at India Ho. in future. [? I am] not always at
Russell St.
[Barton had long been meditating the advisability of giving up his place
in the bank at Woodbridge and depending upon his pen. Lamb's letter of
dissuasion is not the only one which he received. Byron had written to
him in 1812: "You deserve success; but we knew, before Addison wrote his
Cato, that desert does not always command it. But suppose it attained--
'You know what ills the author's life assail--
Toil, envy, want, the _patron_, and the jail.'
Do not renounce writing, but never trust entirely to authorship. If you
have a profession, retain it; it will be like Prior's fellowship, a last
and sure resource." Barton had now broken again into dissatisfaction
with his life. He did not, however, leave the bank.
Southey made no "fortune" by his pen. He almost always had to forestall
his new works.]
LETTER 309
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN HOWARD PAYNE
23 January, '23.
Dear Payne--I have no mornings (my day begins at 5 P.M.) to transact
business in, or talents for it, so I employ Mary, who has seen
Robertson, who says that the Piece which is to be Operafied was sent to
you six weeks since by a Mr. Hunter, whose journey has been delayed, but
he supposes you have it by this time. On receiving it back properly
done, the rest of your dues will be forthcoming. You have received £30
from Harwood, I hope? Bishop was at the theatre when Mary called, and he
has put your other piece into C. Kemble's hands (the piece you talk of
offering Elliston) and C.K. sent down word that he had not yet had time
to read it. So stand your affairs at present. Glossop has got the
Murderer. Will you address him on the subject, or shall I--that is,
Mary? She says you must write more _showable_ letters about these
matters, for, with all our trouble of crossing out this word, and giving
a cleaner turn to th' other, and folding down at this part, and
squeezing an obnoxious epithet into a corner, she can hardly communicate
their contents without offence. What, man, put less gall in your ink, or
write me a biting tragedy!
C. LAMB.
[Here should come a letter from Lamb to Ayrton asking him to meet the
Burneys and Paynes on Wednesday at half-past four.]
LETTER 310
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN HOWARD PAYNE
February [9], 1823.
My dear Miss Lamb--I have enclosed for you Mr. Payne's piece called
Grandpapa, which I regret to say is not thought to be of the nature that
will suit this theatre; but as there appears to be much merit in it, Mr.
Kemble strongly recommends that you should send it to the English Opera
House, for which it seems to be excellently adapted. As you have already
been kind enough to be our medium of communication with Mr. Payne, I
have imposed this trouble upon you; but if you do not like to act for
Mr. Payne in the business, and have no means of disposing of the piece,
I will forward it to Paris or elsewhere as you think he may prefer.
Very truly yours,
HENRY ROBERTSON.
T.R.C.G., 8 Feb. 1823.
Dear P---- We have just received the above, and want your instructions.
It strikes me as a very merry little piece, that should be played by
_very young actors_. It strikes me that Miss Clara Fisher would play the
_boy_ exactly. She is just such a forward chit. No young _man_ would do
it without its appearing absurd, but in a girl's hands it would have
just all the reality that a short dream of an act requires. Then for the
sister, if Miss Stevenson that was, were Miss Stevenson and younger,
they two would carry it off. I do not know who they have got in that
young line, besides Miss C.F., at Drury, nor how you would like Elliston
to have it--has he not had it? I am thick with Arnold, but I have always
heard that the very slender profits of the English Opera House do not
admit of his giving above a trifle, or next to none, for a piece of this
kind. Write me what I should do, what you would ask, &c. The music
(printed) is returned with the piece, and the French original. Tell Mr.
Grattan I thank him for his book, which as far as I have read it is a
very _companionable one_. I have but just received it. It came the same
hour with your packet from Cov. Gar., i.e. yester-night late, to my
summer residence, where, tell Kenney, the cow is quiet. Love to all at
Versailles. Write quickly.
C.L.
I have no acquaintance with Kemble at all, having only met him once or
twice; but any information, &c., I can get from R., who is a good
fellow, you may command. I am sorry the rogues are so dilitory, but I
distinctly believe they mean to fulfill their engagement. I am sorry you
are not here to see to these things. I am a poor man of business, but
command me to the short extent of my tether. My sister's kind
remembrance ever.
C.L.
[The "Grandpapa" was eventually produced at Drury Lane, May 25, 1825,
and played thrice. Miss Stevenson was an actress praised by Lamb in _The
Examiner_ (see Vol. I. of this edition). C.F. was Clara Fisher,
mentioned above.
Samuel James Arnold was manager of the Lyceum, then known as the English
Opera House; he was the brother of Mrs. William Ayrton, Lamb's friend.
Mr. Grattan was Thomas Colley Grattan (1792-1864), who was then living
in Paris. His book would be _Highways and Byways_, first series, 1823.
There is one other note to Payne in the _Century Magazine_, unimportant
and undated, suggesting a walk one Sunday.]
LETTER 311
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. February 17, 1823.]
My dear Sir--I have read quite through the ponderous folio of G.F. I
think Sewell has been judicious in omitting certain parts, as for
instance where G.F. _has_ revealed to him the natures of all the
creatures in their names, as Adam had. He luckily turns aside from that
compendious study of natural history, which might have superseded
Buffon, to his proper spiritual pursuits, only just hinting what a
philosopher he might have been. The ominous passage is near the
beginning of the Book. It is clear he means a physical knowledge,
without trope or figure. Also, pretences to miraculous healing and the
like are more frequent than I should have suspected from the epitome in
Sewell. He is nevertheless a great spiritual man, and I feel very much
obliged by your procuring me the Loan of it. How I like the Quaker
phrases--though I think they were hardly completed till Woolman. A
pretty little manual of Quaker language (with an endeavour to explain
them) might be gathered out of his Book. Could not you do it? I have
read through G.F. without finding any explanation of the term _first
volume_ in the title page. It takes in all, both his life and his death.
Are there more Last words of him? Pray, how may I venture to return it
to Mr. Shewell at Ipswich? I fear to send such a Treasure by a Stage
Coach. Not that I am afraid of the Coachman or the Guard _reading_ it.
But it might be lost. Can you put me in a way of sending it in safety?
The kind hearted owner trusted it to me for six months. I think I was
about as many days in getting through it, and I do not think that I
skipt a word of it. I have quoted G.F. in my Quaker's meeting, as having
said he was "lifted up in spirit" (which I felt at the time to be not a
Quaker phrase), "and the Judge and Jury were as dead men under his
feet." I find no such words in his Journal, and I did not get them from
Sewell, and the latter sentence I am sure I did not mean to invent. I
must have put some other Quaker's words into his mouth. Is it a fatality
in me, that every thing I touch turns into a Lye? I once quoted two
Lines from a translation of Dante, which Hazlitt very greatly admired,
and quoted in a Book as proof of the stupendous power of that poet, but
no such lines are to be found in the translation, which has been
searched for the purpose. I must have dreamed them, for I am quite
certain I did not forge them knowingly. What a misfortune to have a
Lying memory.--Yes, I have seen Miss Coleridge, and wish I had just such
a--daughter. God love her--to think that she should have had to toil
thro' five octavos of that cursed (I forget I write to a Quaker)
Abbeypony History, and then to abridge them to 3, and all for £113. At
her years, to be doing stupid Jesuits' Latin into English, when she
should be reading or writing Romances. Heaven send her Uncle do not
breed her up a Quarterly Reviewer!--which reminds me, that he has spoken
very respectfully of you in the last number, which is the next thing to
having a Review all to one's self. Your description of Mr. Mitford's
place makes me long for a pippin and some carraways and a cup of sack in
his orchard, when the sweets of the night come in.
Farewell.
C. LAMB.
[In the 1694 folio of George Fox's _Journal_ the revelation of the names
of creatures occurs twice, once under Notts in 1647 and again under
Mansfield in 1648.
"Sewell." _The History of the Rise, Increase and Progress of the
Christian People called Quakers_, 1722. By William Sewell (1654-1720).
"In my Quaker's meeting"--the _Elia_ essay (see Vol. II.).
"I once quoted two Lines." Possibly, Mr. A.R. Waller suggests to me, the
lines:--
Because on earth their names
In Fame's eternal volume shine for aye,
quoted by Hazlitt in his _Round Table_ essay "On Posthumous Fame," and
again in one of his _Edinburgh Review_ articles. They are presumably
based upon the _Inferno_, Canto IV. (see Haselfoot's translation, second
edition, 1899, page 21, lines 74-78). But the "manufacturer" of them
must have had Spenser's line in his mind, "On Fame's eternall bead-roll
worthie to be fyled" (_Faerie Queene_, Bk. IV., Canto II., Stanza 32).
They have not yet been found in any translation of Dante. This
explanation would satisfy Lamb's words "quoted in a book," i.e., _The
Round Table_, published in 1817.
"Miss Coleridge"--Coleridge's daughter Sara, born in 1802, who had been
brought up by her uncle, Southey. She had translated Martin
Dobrizhoffer's Latin history of the Abipones in order to gain funds for
her brother Derwent's college expenses. Her father considered the
translation "unsurpassed for pure mother English by anything I have read
for a long time." Sara Coleridge married her cousin, Henry Nelson
Coleridge, in 1829. She edited her father's works and died in 1852. At
the present time she and her mother were visiting the Gillmans.
Mr. Mitford was John Mitford (1781-1859), rector of Benhall, in Suffolk,
and editor of old poets. Later he became editor of the _Gentleman's
Magazine_. He was a cousin of Mary Russell Mitford. In the _Gentleman's
Magazine_ for May, 1838, is a review of Talfourd's edition of Lamb's
_Letters_, probably from his pen, in which he records a visit to the
Lambs in 1827.]
LETTER 312
CHARLES LAMB TO WALTER WILSON
[Dated at end: February 24, 1823.]
Dear W.--I write that you may not think me neglectful, not that I have
any thing to say. In answer to your questions, it was at _your_ house I
saw an edition of Roxana, the preface to which stated that the author
had left out that part of it which related to Roxana's daughter
persisting in imagining herself to be so, in spite of the mother's
denial, from certain hints she had picked up, and throwing herself
continually in her mother's way (as Savage is said to have done in
_his_, prying in at windows to get a glimpse of her), and that it was by
advice of Southern, who objected to the circumstances as being untrue,
when the rest of the story was founded on fact; which shows S. to have
been a stupid-ish fellow. The incidents so resemble Savage's story, that
I taxed Godwin with taking Falconer from his life by Dr. Johnson. You
should have the edition (if you have not parted with it), for I saw it
never but at your place at the Mews' Gate, nor did I then read it to
compare it with my own; only I know the daughter's curiosity is the best
part of _my_ Roxana. The prologue you speak of was mine, so named, but
not worth much. You ask me for 2 or 3 pages of verse. I have not written
so much since you knew me. I am altogether prosaic. May be I may touch
off a sonnet in time. I do not prefer Col. Jack to either Rob. Cr. or
Roxana. I only spoke of the beginning of it, his childish history. The
rest is poor. I do not know anywhere any good character of De Foe
besides what you mention. I do not know that Swift mentions him. Pope
does. I forget if D'Israeli has. Dunlop I think has nothing of him. He
is quite new ground, and scarce known beyond Crusoe. I do not know who
wrote Quarll. I never thought of Quarll as having an author. It is a
poor imitation; the monkey is the best in it, and his pretty dishes made
of shells. Do you know the Paper in the Englishman by Sir Rd. Steele,
giving an account of Selkirk? It is admirable, and has all the germs of
Crusoe. You must quote it entire. Captain G. Carleton wrote his own
Memoirs; they are about Lord Peterborough's campaign in Spain, & a good
Book. Puzzelli puzzles me, and I am in a cloud about Donald M'Leod. I
never heard of them; so you see, my dear Wilson, what poor assistances I
can give in the way of information. I wish your Book out, for I shall
like to see any thing about De Foe or from you.
Your old friend,
C. LAMB.
From my and your old compound. 24 Feb. '23.
[With this letter compare the letter on September 9, 1801, to Godwin,
and the letter on December 16, 1822, to Wilson.
Defoe's _Roxana_, first edition, does not, as a matter of fact, contain
the episode of the daughter which Lamb so much admired. Later editions
have it. Godwin says in his Preface to "Faulkener," 1807, the play to
which Lamb wrote a prologue in praise of Defoe (see Vol. IV.), that the
only accessible edition of _Roxana_ in which the story of Susannah is
fully told is that of 1745.
Richard Savage was considered to be the natural son of the Countess of
Macclesfield and Earl Rivers. His mother at first disowned him, but
afterwards, when this became impossible, repulsed him. Johnson says in
his "Life of Savage," that it was his hero's "practice to walk in the
dark evenings for several hours before her door in hopes of seeing her
as she might come by accident to the window or cross her apartment with
a candle in her hand."
Swift and Defoe were steady enemies, although I do not find that either
mentions the other by name. But Swift in _The Examiner_ often had Defoe
in mind, and Defoe in one of his political writings refers to Swift,
_apropos_ Wood's halfpence, as "the copper farthing author."
Pope referred to Defoe twice in the _Dunciad_: once as standing high,
fearless and unabashed in the pillory, and once, libellously, as the
father of Norton, of the _Flying Post_.
_Philip Quarll_ was the first imitation of _Robinson Crusoe_. It was
published in 1727, purporting to be the narrative of one Dorrington, a
merchant, and Quarll's discoverer. The title begins, _The Hermit; or,
The Unparalleled Sufferings and Surprising Adventures of Mr. Philip
Quarll, an Englishman_ ... Lamb says in his essay on Christ's Hospital
that the Blue-Coat boys used to read the book. The authorship of the
book is still unknown.
Steele's account of Selkirk is in _The Englishman_, No. 26, Dec. 1,
1713. Wilson quoted it.
Defoe's fictitious _Military Memoirs of Capt. George Carleton_ was
published in 1728.
I cannot explain Puzzelli or Donald M'Leod. Later Lamb sent Wilson, who
seems to have asked for some verse about Defoe, the "Ode to the
Treadmill," but Wilson did not use it.
"My old compound." Robinson's _Diary_ (Vol. I., page 333) has this: "The
large room in the accountant's office at the East India House is divided
into boxes or compartments, in each of which sit six clerks, Charles
Lamb himself in one. They are called Compounds. The meaning of the word
was asked one day, and Lamb said it was 'a collection of simples.'"]
LETTER 313
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[Dated at end: March 11, 1823.]
Dear Sir--The approbation of my little book by your sister is very
pleasing to me. The Quaker incident did not happen to me, but to
Carlisle the surgeon, from whose mouth I have twice heard it, at an
interval of ten or twelve years, with little or no variation, and have
given it as exactly as I could remember it. The gloss which your sister,
or you, have put upon it does not strike me as correct. Carlisle drew no
inference from it against the honesty of the Quakers, but only in favour
of their surprising coolness--that they should be capable of committing
a good joke, with an utter insensibility to its being any jest at all. I
have reason to believe in the truth of it, because, as I have said, I
heard him repeat it without variation at such an interval. The story
loses sadly in print, for Carlisle is the best story teller I ever
heard. The idea of the discovery of roasting pigs, I also borrowed, from
my friend Manning, and am willing to confess both my plagiarisms.
Should fate ever so order it that you shall be in town with your sister,
mine bids me say that she shall have great pleasure in being introduced
to her. I think I must give up the cause of the Bank--from nine to nine
is galley-slavery, but I hope it is but temporary. Your endeavour at
explaining Fox's insight into the natures of animals must fail, as I
shall transcribe the passage. It appears to me that he stopt short in
time, and was on the brink of falling with his friend Naylor, my
favourite.--The book shall be forthcoming whenever your friend can make
convenient to call for it.
They have dragged me again into the Magazine, but I feel the spirit of
the thing in my own mind quite gone. "Some brains" (I think Ben Jonson
says it) "will endure but one skimming." We are about to have an
inundation of poetry from the Lakes, Wordsworth and Southey are coming
up strong from the North. The she Coleridges have taken flight, to my
regret. With Sara's own-made acquisitions, her unaffectedness and
no-pretensions are beautiful. You might pass an age with her without
suspecting that she knew any thing but her mother's tongue. I don't mean
any reflection on Mrs. Coleridge here. I had better have said her
vernacular idiom. Poor C. I wish he had a home to receive his daughter
in. But he is but as a stranger or a visitor in this world. How did you
like Hartley's sonnets? The first, at least, is vastly fine. Lloyd has
been in town a day or two on business, and is perfectly well. I am
ashamed of the shabby letters I send, but I am by nature anything but
neat. Therein my mother bore me no Quaker. I never could seal a letter
without dropping the wax on one side, besides scalding my fingers. I
never had a seal too of my own. Writing to a great man lately, who is
moreover very Heraldic, I borrowed a seal of a friend, who by the female
side quarters the Protectorial Arms of Cromwell. How they must have
puzzled my correspondent!--My letters are generally charged as double at
the Post office, from their inveterate clumsiness of foldure. So you
must not take it disrespectful to your self if I send you such ungainly
scraps. I think I lose £100 a year at the India House, owing solely to
my want of neatness in making up Accounts. How I puzzle 'em out at last
is the wonder. I have to do with millions. _I?_
It is time to have done my incoherences.
Believe me Yours Truly
C. LAMB.
Tuesd 11 Ma 23.
[Lamb had sent _Elia_ to Woodbridge. Bernard Barton's sister was Maria
Hack, author of many books for children. The Quaker incident is in the
essay "Imperfect Sympathies." Carlisle was Sir Anthony Carlisle.
"Your endeavour at explaining Fox's insight." See letter above. James
Nayler (1617?-1660), an early Quaker who permitted his admirers to look
upon him as a new Christ. He went to extremes totally foreign to the
spirit of the Society. Barton made a paraphrase of Nayler's "Last
Testimony."
"They have dragged me again." Lamb had been quite ready to give up
_Elia_ with the first essays. "Old China," one of his most charming
papers, was in the March _London Magazine_.
"Some brains ..." I had to give this up in my large edition. I now find
that Swift says it, not Ben Jonson. "There is a brain that will endure
but one scumming." Preface to _Battle of the Books_.
"Hartley's sonnets." Four sonnets by Hartley Coleridge were printed in
the _London Magazine_ for February, 1823, addressed to R.S. Jameson.
"Writing to a great man lately." This was Sir Walter Scott (see page
626). Barron Field would be the friend with the seal.
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Ayrton saying that there will be
cards and cold mutton in Russell St. from 8 to 9 and gin and jokes from
9.30 to 12.]
LETTER 314
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. 5 April 1823.]
Dear Sir--You must think me ill mannered not to have replied to your
first letter sooner, but I have an ugly habit of aversion from letter
writing, which makes me an unworthy correspondent. I have had no spring,
or cordial call to the occupation of late. I have been not well lately,
which must be my lame excuse. Your poem, which I consider very
affecting, found me engaged about a humorous Paper for the London, which
I had called a "Letter to an _Old Gentleman_ whose Education had been
neglected"--and when it was done Taylor and Hessey would not print it,
and it discouraged me from doing any thing else, so I took up Scott,
where I had scribbled some petulant remarks, and for a make shift
father'd them on Ritson. It is obvious I could not make your Poem a part
of them, and as I did not know whether I should ever be able to do to my
mind what you suggested, I thought it not fair to keep back the verses
for the chance. Mr. Mitford's sonnet I like very well; but as I also
have my reasons against interfering at all with the Editorial
arrangement of the London, I transmitted it (not in my own hand-writing)
to them, who I doubt not will be glad to insert it. What eventual
benefit it can be to you (otherwise than that a kind man's wish is a
benefit) I cannot conjecture. Your Society are eminently men of
Business, and will probably regard you as an idle fellow, possibly
disown you, that is to say, if you had put your own name to a sonnet of
that sort, but they cannot excommunicate Mr. Mitford, therefore I
thoroughly approve of printing the said verses. When I see any Quaker
names to the Concert of Antient Music, or as Directors of the British
Institution, or bequeathing medals to Oxford for the best classical
themes, etc.--then I shall begin to hope they will emancipate you. But
what as a Society can they do for you? you would not accept a Commission
in the Army, nor they be likely to procure it; Posts in Church or State
have they none in their giving; and then if they disown you--think--you
must live "a man forbid."
I wishd for you yesterday. I dined in Parnassus, with Wordsworth,
Coleridge, Rogers, and Tom Moore--half the Poetry of England
constellated and clustered in Gloster Place! It was a delightful Even!
Coleridge was in his finest vein of talk, had all the talk, and let 'em
talk as evilly as they do of the envy of Poets, I am sure not one there
but was content to be nothing but a listener. The Muses were dumb, while
Apollo lectured on his and their fine Art. It is a lie that Poets are
envious, I have known the best of them, and can speak to it, that they
give each other their merits, and are the kindest critics as well as
best authors. I am scribbling a muddy epistle with an aking head, for we
did not quaff Hippocrene last night. Many, it was Hippocras rather. Pray
accept this as a letter in the mean time, and do me the favor to mention
my respects to Mr. Mitford, who is so good as to entertain good thoughts
of Elia, but don't show this almost impertinent scrawl. I will write
more respectfully next time, for believe me, if not in words, in
feelings, yours most so.
["Your poem." Barton's poem was entitled "A Poet's Thanks," and was
printed in the _London Magazine_ for April, 1823, the same number that
contained Lamb's article on Ritson and Scott. It is one of his best
poems, an expression of contentment in simplicity. The "Letter to an Old
Gentleman," a parody of De Quincey's series of "Letters to a Young
Gentleman" in the _London Magazine_, was not published until January,
1825. Scott was John Scott of Amwell (Barton's predecessor as the Quaker
poet), who had written a rather foolish book of prose, _Critical Essays
on the English Poets_. Ritson was Joseph Ritson, the critic and
antiquarian. See Vol. I. of the present edition for the essay. Barton
seems to have suggested to Lamb that he should write an essay around the
poem "A Poet's Thanks." Mitford's sonnet, which was printed in the
_London Magazine_ for June, 1823, was addressed commiseratingly to
Bernard Barton. It began:--
What to thy broken Spirit can atone,
Unhappy victim of the Tyrant's fears;
and continued in the same strain, the point being that Barton was the
victim of his Quaker employers, who made him "prisoner at once and
slave." Lamb's previous letter shows us that Barton was being worked
from nine till nine, and we must suppose also that an objection to his
poetical exercises had been lodged or suggested. The matter righted
itself in time.
"I dined in Parnassus." This dinner, at Thomas Monkhouse's, No. 34
Gloucester Place, is described both by Moore and by Crabb Robinson, who
was present. Moore wrote in his _Journal_:--
"Dined at Mr. Monkhouse's (a gentleman I had never seen before) on
Wordsworth's invitation, who lives there whenever he comes to town. A
singular party. Coleridge, Rogers, Wordsworth and wife, Charles Lamb
(the hero at present of the _London Magazine_), and his sister (the poor
woman who went mad in a diligence on the way to Paris), and a Mr.
Robinson, one of the _minora sidera_ of this constellation of the Lakes;
the host himself, a Maecenas of the school, contributing nothing but
good dinners and silence. Charles Lamb, a clever fellow, certainly, but
full of villainous and abortive puns, which he miscarries of every
minute. Some excellent things, however, have come from him."
Lamb told Moore that he had hitherto always felt an antipathy to him,
but henceforward should like him.
Crabb Robinson writes:--
"_April 4th_.--Dined at Monkhouse's. Our party consisted of Wordsworth,
Coleridge, Lamb, Moore, and Rogers. Five poets of very unequal worth and
most disproportionate popularity, whom the public probably would arrange
in the very inverse order, except that it would place Moore above
Rogers. During this afternoon, Coleridge alone displayed any of his
peculiar talent. He talked much and well. I have not for years seen him
in such excellent health and spirits. His subjects metaphysical
criticism--Wordsworth he chiefly talked to. Rogers occasionally let fall
a remark. Moore seemed conscious of his inferiority. He was very
attentive to Coleridge, but seemed to relish Lamb, whom he sat next. L.
was in a good frame--kept himself within bounds and was only cheerful at
last.... I was at the bottom of the table, where I very ill performed my
part.... I walked home late with Lamb."
Many years later Robinson sent to The Athenaeum (June 25, 1853) a
further and fuller account of the evening.]
LETTER 315
CHARLES LAMB TO B.W. PROCTER
April 13th, 1823.
Dear Lad,--You must think me a brute beast, a rhinoceros, never to have
acknowledged the receipt of your precious present. But indeed I am none
of those shocking things, but have arrived at that indisposition to
letter-writing, which would make it a hard exertion to write three lines
to a king to spare a friend's life. Whether it is that the Magazine
paying me so much a page, I am loath to throw away composition--how much
a sheet do you give your correspondents? I have hung up Pope, and a gem
it is, in my town room; I hope for your approval. Though it accompanies
the "Essay on Man," I think that was not the poem he is here meditating.
He would have looked up, somehow affectedly, if he were just conceiving
"Awake, my St. John." Neither is he in the "Rape of the Lock" mood
exactly. I think he has just made out the last lines of the "Epistle to
Jervis," between gay and tender,
"And other beauties envy Worsley's eyes."
I'll be damn'd if that isn't the line. He is brooding over it, with a
dreamy phantom of Lady Mary floating before him. He is thinking which is
the earliest possible day and hour that she will first see it. What a
miniature piece of gentility it is! Why did you give it me? I do not
like you enough to give you anything so good.
I have dined with T. Moore and breakfasted with Rogers, since I saw you;
have much to say about them when we meet, which I trust will be in a
week or two. I have been over-watched and over-poeted since Wordsworth
has been in town. I was obliged for health sake to wish him gone: but
now he is gone I feel a great loss. I am going to Dalston to recruit,
and have serious thoughts--of altering my condition, that is, of taking
to sobriety. What do you advise me?
T. Moore asked me your address in a manner which made me believe he
meant to call upon you.
Rogers spake very kindly of you, as every body does, and none with so
much reason as your
C.L.
[This is the first important letter to Bryan Waller Procter, better
known as Barry Cornwall, who was afterwards to write, in his old age, so
pleasant a memoir of Lamb. He was then thirty-five, was practising law,
and had already published _Marcian Colonna_ and _A Sicilian Story_.
The Epistle to Mr. Jervas (with Mr. Dryden's translation of Fresnoy's
_Art of Painting_) did not end upon this line, but some eighteen lines
later. I give the portrait in my large edition.
"Lady Mary." By Lady Mary Lamb means, as Pope did in the first edition,
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. But after his quarrel with that lady Pope
altered it to Worsley, signifying Lady Frances Worsley, daughter of the
Duke of Marlborough and wife of Sir Robert Worsley.]
LETTER 316
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HUTCHINSON
[P.M. April 25, 1823.]
Dear Miss H----, Mary has such an invincible reluctance to any
epistolary exertion, that I am sparing her a mortification by taking the
pen from her. The plain truth is, she writes such a pimping, mean,
detestable hand, that she is ashamed of the formation of her letters.
There is an essential poverty and abjectness in the frame of them. They
look like begging letters. And then she is sure to omit a most
substantial word in the second draught (for she never ventures an
epistle, without a foul copy first) which is obliged to be interlined,
which spoils the neatest epistle, you know [_the word "epistle" is
underlined_). Her figures, 1, 2, 3, 4, &c., where she has occasion to
express numerals, as in the date (25 Apr 1823), are not figures, but
Figurantes. And the combined posse go staggering up and down shameless
as drunkards in the day time. It is no better when she rules her paper,
her lines are "not less erring" than her words--a sort of unnatural
parallel lines, that are perpetually threatening to meet, which you know
is quite contrary to Euclid [_here Lamb has ruled lines grossly
unparallel_]. Her very blots are not bold like this [_here a bold
blot_], but poor smears [_here a poor smear_] half left in and half
scratched out with another smear left in their place. I like a clean
letter. A bold free hand, and a fearless flourish. Then she has always
to go thro' them (a second operation) to dot her i s, and cross her t s.
I don't think she can make a cork screw, if she tried--which has such a
fine effect at the end or middle of an epistle--and fills up--
[_Here Lamb has made a corkscrew two inches long_.]
There is a corkscrew, one of the best I ever drew. By the way what
incomparable whiskey that was of Monkhouse's. But if I am to write a
letter, let me begin, and not stand flourishing like a fencer at a fair.
It gives me great pleasure (the letter now begins) to hear that you got
down smoothly, and that Mrs. Monkhouse's spirits are so good and
enterprising. It shews, whatever her posture may be, that her mind at
least is not supine. I hope the excursion will enable the former to keep
pace with its out-stripping neighbor. Pray present our kindest wishes to
her, and all. (That sentence should properly have come in the Post
Script, but we airy Mercurial Spirits, there is no keeping us in).
Time--as was said of one of us--toils after us in vain. I am afraid our
co-visit with Coleridge was a dream. I shall not get away before the end
(or middle) of June, and then you will be frog-hopping at Boulogne. And
besides I think the Gilmans would scarce trust him with us, I have a
malicious knack at cutting of apron strings. The Saints' days you speak
of have long since fled to heaven, with Astraea, and the cold piety of
the age lacks fervor to recall them--only Peter left his key--the iron
one of the two, that shuts amain--and that's the reason I am lockd up.
Meanwhile of afternoons we pick up primroses at Dalston, and Mary
corrects me when I call 'em cowslips. God bless you all, and pray
remember me euphoneously to Mr. Gnwellegan. That Lee Priory must be a
dainty bower, is it built of flints, and does it stand at Kingsgate? Did
you remem
[_This is apparently the proper end of the letter. At least there is no
indication of another sheet_.]
[Addressed to "Miss Hutchinson, 17 Sion Hill, Ramsgate, Kent," where she
was staying with Mrs. Monkhouse. I give a facsimile of it in my large
edition.
"'Time'--as was said of one of us." Johnson wrote of Shakespeare, in the
Prologue at the opening of Drury Lane Theatre in 1747:--
And panting Time toil'd after him in vain.
"The Saints' days." See note to the letter to Mrs. Wordsworth, Feb. 18,
1818.
"Mr. Gnwellegan." Probably Lamb's effort to write the name of Edward
Quillinan, afterwards Wordsworth's son-in-law, whose first wife had been
a Miss Brydges of Lee Priory.
"Lee Priory"--the home of Sir Egerton Brydges, at Ickham, near
Canterbury, for some years. He had, however, now left, and the private
press was closed.
In _Notes and Queries_, November 11, 1876, was printed the following
scrap, a postscript by Charles Lamb to a letter from Mary Lamb to Miss
H. I place it here, having no clue as to date, nor does it matter:--]
LETTER 317
(_Fragment_)
CHARLES LAMB TO MISS HUTCHINSON (?)
A propos of birds--the other day at a large dinner, being call'd upon
for a toast, I gave, as the best toast I knew, "Wood-cock toast," which
was drunk with 3 cheers.
Yours affect'y
C. LAMB.
LETTER 318
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN BATES DIBDIN
[No date. Probably 1823.]
It is hard when a Gentleman cannot remain concealed, who affecteth
obscurity with greater avidity than most do seek to have their good
deeds brought to light--to haye a prying inquisitive finger, (to the
danger of its own scorching), busied in removing the little peck measure
(scripturally a bushel) under which one had hoped to bury his small
candle. The receipt of fern-seed, I think, in this curious age, would
scarce help a man to walk invisible.
Well, I am discovered--and thou thyself, who thoughtest to shelter under
the pease-cod of initiality (a stale and shallow device), art no less
dragged to light--Thy slender anatomy--thy skeletonian D---- fleshed and
sinewed out to the plump expansion of six characters--thy tuneful
genealogy deduced--
By the way, what a name is Timothy!
Lay it down, I beseech thee, and in its place take up the properer sound
of Timotheus--
Then mayst thou with unblushing fingers handle the Lyre "familiar to the
D----n name."
With much difficulty have I traced thee to thy lurking-place. Many a
goodly name did I run over, bewildered between Dorrien, and Doxat, and
Dover, and Dakin, and Daintry--a wilderness of D's--till at last I
thought I had hit it--my conjectures wandering upon a melancholy
Jew--you wot the Israelite upon Change--Master Daniels--a contemplative
Hebrew-- to the which guess I was the rather led, by the consideration
that most of his nation are great readers--
Nothing is so common as to see them in the Jews' Walk, with a bundle of
script in one hand, and the Man of Feeling, or a volume of Sterne, in
the other--
I am a rogue if I can collect what manner of face thou carriest, though
thou seemest so familiar with mine--If I remember, thou didst not dimly
resemble the man Daniels, whom at first I took thee for--a care-worn,
mortified, economical, commercio-political countenance, with an
agreeable limp in thy gait, if Elia mistake thee not. I think I sh'd
shake hands with thee, if I met thee.
[John Bates Dibdin, the son of Charles Dibdin the younger and grandson
of the great Charles Dibdin, was at this time a young man of about
twenty-four, engaged as a clerk in a shipping office in the city. I
borrow from Canon Ainger an interesting letter from a sister of Dibdin
on the beginning of the correspondence:--
My brother ... had constant occasion to conduct the giving or taking of
cheques, as it might be, at the India House. There he always selected
"the little clever man" in preference to the other clerks. At that time
the _Elia Essays_ were appearing in print. No one had the slightest
conception who "Elia" was. He was talked of everywhere, and everybody
was trying to find him out, but without success. At last, from the style
and manner of conveying his ideas and opinions on different subjects, my
brother began to suspect that Lamb was the individual so widely sought
for, and wrote some lines to him, anonymously, sending them by post to
his residence, with the hope of sifting him on the subject. Although
Lamb could not _know_ who sent him the lines, yet he looked very hard at
the writer of them the next time they met, when he walked up, as usual,
to Lamb's desk in the most unconcerned manner, to transact the necessary
business. Shortly after, when they were again in conversation, something
dropped from Lamb's lips which convinced his hearer, beyond a doubt,
that his suspicions were correct. He therefore wrote some more lines
(anonymously, as before), beginning--
"I've found thee out, O Elia!"
and sent them to Colebrook Row. The consequence was that at their next
meeting Lamb produced the lines, and after much laughing, confessed
himself to be _Elia_. This led to a warm friendship between them.
Dibdin's letter of discovery was signed D. Hence Lamb's fumbling after
his Christian name, which he probably knew all the time.]
LETTER 319
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. 3 May, 1823.]
Dear Sir--I am vexed to be two letters in your debt, but I have been
quite out of the vein lately. A philosophical treatise is wanting, of
the causes of the backwardness with which persons after a certain time
of life set about writing a letter. I always feel as if I had nothing to
say, and the performance generally justifies the presentiment. Taylor
and Hessey did foolishly in not admitting the sonnet. Surely it might
have followed the B.B. I agree with you in thinking Bowring's paper
better than the former. I will inquire about my Letter to the Old
Gentleman, but I expect it to _go in_, after those to the Young Gent'n
are completed. I do not exactly see why the Goose and little Goslings
should emblematize _a Quaker poet that has no children_. But after
all--perhaps it is a Pelican. The Mene Mene Tekel Upharsin around it I
cannot decypher. The songster of the night pouring out her effusions
amid a Silent Meeting of Madge Owlets, would be at least intelligible. A
full pause here comes upon me, as if I had not a word more left. I will
shake my brain. Once-- twice--nothing comes up. George Fox recommends
waiting on these occasions. I wait. Nothing comes. G. Fox--that sets me
off again. I have finished the Journal, and 400 more pages of the
_Doctrinals_, which I picked up for 7s. 6d. If I get on at this rate,
the Society will be in danger of having two Quaker poets--to patronise.
I am at Dalston now, but if, when I go back to Cov. Gar., I find thy
friend has not call'd for the Journal, thee must put me in a way of
sending it; and if it should happen that the Lender of it, having that
volume, has not the other, I shall be most happy in his accepting the
Doctrinals, which I shall read but once certainly. It is not a splendid
copy, but perfect, save a leaf of Index.
I cannot but think _the London_ drags heavily. I miss Janus. And O how
it misses Hazlitt! Procter too is affronted (as Janus has been) with
their abominable curtailment of his things--some meddling Editor or
other--or phantom of one --for neither he nor Janus know their busy
friend. But they always find the best part cut out; and they have done
well to cut also. I am not so fortunate as to be served in this manner,
for I would give a clean sum of money in sincerity to leave them
handsomely. But the dogs--T. and H. I mean-- will not affront me, and
what can I do? must I go on to drivelling? Poor Relations is
tolerable--but where shall I get another subject--or who shall deliver
me from the body of this death? I assure you it teases me more than it
used to please me. Ch. Lloyd has published a sort of Quaker poem, he
tells me, and that he has order'd me a copy, but I have not got it. Have
you seen it? I must leave a little wafer space, which brings me to an
apology for a conclusion. I am afraid of looking back, for I feel all
this while I have been writing nothing, but it may show I am alive.
Believe me, cordially yours C. LAMB.
[The sonnet probably was Mitford's, which was printed in the June number
(see above). Bowring, afterwards Sir John, was writing in the _London
Magazine_ on "Spanish Romances."
"The Goose and little Goslings." Possibly the design upon the seal of
Barton's last letter.
"Janus." The first mention of Thomas Griffiths Wainewright (see note
below), who sometimes wrote in the _London_ over the pseudonym Janus
Weathercock. John Taylor, Hood and perhaps John Hamilton Reynolds, made
up the magazine for press. In the May number, in addition to Lamb's
"Poor Relations," were contributions from De Quincey, Hartley Coleridge,
Cary, and Barton. But it was not what it had been.
Lloyd's Quaker poem would probably be one of those in his _Poems_, 1823,
which contains some of his most interesting work.]
LETTER 320
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN BATES DIBDIN
[P.M. May 6, 1823.]
Dear Sir--Your verses were very pleasant, and I shall like to see more
of them--I do not mean _addressed to me_.
I do not know whether you live in town or country, but if it suits your
convenience I shall be glad to see you some evening-- say Thursday--at
20 Great Russell Street, Cov't Garden. If you can come, do not trouble
yourself to write. We are old fashiond people who _drink tea_ at six, or
not much later, and give cold mutton and pickle at nine, the good old
hour. I assure you (if it suit you) we shall be glad to see you.--
Yours, etc. C. LAMB.
E.I.H., Tuesday, My love to Mr. Railton.
Some day of May 1823. The same to Mr. Rankin,
Not official. to the whole Firm indeed.
[The verses are not, I fear, now recoverable. Dibdin's firm was Railton,
Rankin & Co., in Old Jury.
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Hone, dated May 19, 1823. William
Hone (1780-1842), who then, his stormy political days over, was
publishing antiquarian works on Ludgate Hill, had sent Lamb his _Ancient
Mysteries Described_, 1823. Lamb thanks him for it, and invites him to
14 Kingsland Row, Dalston, the next Sunday: "We dine exactly at 4."]
LETTER 321
MARY LAMB TO MRS. RANDAL NORRIS
Hastings, at Mrs. Gibbs, York Cottage, Priory, No. 4. [June 18, 1823.]
My dear Friend,--Day after day has passed away, and my brother has said,
"I will write to Mrs. [? Mr.] Norris to-morrow," and therefore I am
resolved to write to _Mrs. Norris_ to-day, and trust him no longer. We
took our places for Sevenoaks, intending to remain there all night in
order to see Knole, but when we got there we chang'd our minds, and went
on to Tunbridge Wells. About a mile short of the Wells the coach stopped
at a little inn, and I saw, "Lodgings to let" on a little, very little
house opposite. I ran over the way, and secured them before the coach
drove away, and we took immediate possession: it proved a very
comfortable place, and we remained there nine days. The first evening,
as we were wandering about, we met a lady, the wife of one of the India
House clerks, with whom we had been slightly acquainted some years ago,
which slight acquaintance has been ripened into a great intimacy during
the nine pleasant days that we passed at the Wells. She and her two
daughters went with us in an open chaise to Knole, and as the chaise
held only five, we mounted Miss James upon a little horse, which she
rode famously. I was very much pleased with Knole, and still more with
Penshurst, which we also visited. We saw Frant and the Rocks, and made
much use of your Guide Book, only Charles lost his way once going by the
map. We were in constant exercise the whole time, and spent our time so
pleasantly that when we came here on Monday we missed our new friends
and found ourselves very dull. We are by the seaside in a _still less
house_, and we have exchanged a very pretty landlady for a very ugly
one, but she is equally attractive to us. We eat turbot, and we drink
smuggled Hollands, and we walk up hill and down hill all day long. In
the little intervals of rest that we allow ourselves I teach Miss James
French; she picked up a few words during her foreign Tour with us, and
she has had a hankering after it ever since.
We came from Tunbridge Wells in a Postchaise, and would have seen Battle
Abbey on the way, but it is only shewn on a Monday. We are trying to
coax Charles into a Monday's excursion. And Bexhill we are also thinking
about. Yesterday evening we found out by chance the most beautiful view
I ever saw. It is called "The Lovers' Seat."... You have been here,
therefore you must have seen [it, or] is it only Mr. and Mrs. Faint who
have visited Hastings? [Tell Mrs.] Faint that though in my haste to get
housed I d[ecided on] ... ice's lodgings, yet it comforted all th ... to
know that I had a place in view.
I suppose you are so busy that it is not fair to ask you to write me a
line to say how you are going on. Yet if any one of you have half an
hour to spare for that purpose, it will be most thankfully received.
Charles joins with me in love to you all together, and to each one in
particular upstairs and downstairs.
Yours most affectionately, M. LAMB. June 18
[Mr. Hazlitt dates this letter 1825 or 1826, and considers it to refer
to a second visit to Hastings; but I think most probably it refers to
the 1823 visit, especially as the Lovers' Seat would assuredly have been
discovered then. Miss James was Mary Lamb's nurse. Mrs. Randal Norris
had been a Miss Faint.
There is a curious similarity between a passage in this letter and in
one of Byron's, written in 1814: "I have been swimming, and eating
turbot, and smuggling neat brandies, and silk handkerchiefs ... and
walking on cliffs and tumbling down hills."
A Hastings guide book for 1825 gives Mrs. Gibbs' address as 4 York
Cottages, near Priory Bridge. Near by, in Pelham Place, a Mr. Hogsflesh
had a lodging-house.]
LETTER 322
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. 10 July, 1823.]
Dear Sir--I shall be happy to read the MS. and to forward it; but T. and
H. must judge for themselves of publication. If it prove interesting (as
I doubt not) I shall not spare to say so, you may depend upon it.
Suppose you direct it to Acco'ts. Office, India House.
I am glad you have met with some sweetening circumstances to your
unpalatable draught. I have just returned from Hastings, where are
exquisite views and walks, and where I have given up my soul to walking,
and I am now suffering sedentary contrasts. I am a long time reconciling
to Town after one of these excursions. Home is become strange, and will
remain so yet a while. Home is the most unforgiving of friends and
always resents Absence; I know its old cordial looks will return, but
they are slow in clearing up. That is one of the features of this _our_
galley slavery, that peregrination ended makes things worse. I felt out
of water (with all the sea about me) at Hastings, and just as I had
learned to domiciliate there, I must come back to find a home which is
no home. I abused Hastings, but learned its value. There are spots,
inland bays, etc., which realise the notions of Juan Fernandez.
The best thing I lit upon by accident was a small country church (by
whom or when built unknown) standing bare and single in the midst of a
grove, with no house or appearance of habitation within a quarter of a
mile, only passages diverging from it thro' beautiful woods to so many
farm houses. There it stands, like the first idea of a church, before
parishioners were thought of, nothing but birds for its congregation, or
like a Hermit's oratory (the Hermit dead), or a mausoleum, its effect
singularly impressive, like a church found in a desert isle to startle
Crusoe with a home image; you must make out a vicar and a congregation
from fancy, for surely none come there. Yet it wants not its pulpit, and
its font, and all the seemly additaments of _our_ worship.
Southey has attacked Elia on the score of infidelity, in the Quarterly,
Article, "Progress of Infidels [Infidelity]." I had not, nor have, seen
the Monthly. He might have spared an old friend such a construction of a
few careless flights, that meant no harm to religion. If all his
UNGUARDED expressions on the subject were to be collected--
But I love and respect Southey--and will not retort. I HATE HIS REVIEW,
and his being a Reviewer.
The hint he has dropped will knock the sale of the book on the head,
which was almost at a stop before.
Let it stop. There is corn in Egypt, while there is cash at Leadenhall.
You and I are something besides being Writers. Thank God.
Yours truly C.L.
[What the MS. was I do not know. Lamb recurs more fully to the
description of the little church--probably Hollingdon Rural, about three
miles north-west from the town--in later letters.
The thoughts in the second paragraph of this letter were amplified in
the _Elia_ essay "The Old Margate Hoy," in the _London Magazine_ for
July, 1823.
"Southey has attacked Elia." In an article in the _Quarterly_ for
January, 1823, in a review of a work by Grégoire on Deism in France,
under the title "The Progress of Infidelity," Southey had a reference to
_Elia_ in the following terms:--
"Unbelievers have not always been honest enough thus to express their
real feelings; but this we know concerning them, that when they have
renounced their birthright of hope, they have not been able to divest
themselves of fear. From the nature of the human mind this might be
presumed, and in fact it is so. They may deaden the heart and stupify
the conscience, but they cannot destroy the imaginative faculty. There
is a remarkable proof of this in _Elia's Essays_, a book which wants
only a sounder religious feeling, to be as delightful as it is
original."
And then Southey went on to draw attention to the case of Thornton Hunt,
the little child of Leigh Hunt, the (to Southey) notorious free-thinker,
who, as Lamb had stated in the essay "Witches and Other Night Fears,"
would wake at night in terror of images of fear.
"I will not retort." Lamb, as we shall see, changed his mind.
"Almost at a stop before." _Elia_ was never popular until long after
Lamb's death. It did not reach a second edition until 1836. There are
now several new editions every year.]
LETTER 323
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[July, 1823.]
D'r A.--I expect Proctor and Wainwright (Janus W.) this
evening; will you come? I suppose it is but a comp't
to ask Mrs. Alsop; but it is none to say that we should be
most glad to see her. Yours ever. How vexed I am at your
Dalston expedit'n. C.L.
Tuesday.
[Mrs. Allsop was a daughter of Mrs. Jordan, and had herself been an
actress.]
LETTER 324
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[Dated at end: 2 September (1823).]
Dear B.B.--What will you say to my not writing? You cannot say I do not
write now. Hessey has not used your kind sonnet, nor have I seen it.
Pray send me a Copy. Neither have I heard any more of your Friend's MS.,
which I will reclaim, whenever you please. When you come London-ward you
will find me no longer in Cov't Gard. I have a Cottage, in Colebrook
row, Islington. A cottage, for it is detach'd; a white house, with 6
good rooms; the New River (rather elderly by this time) runs (if a
moderate walking pace can be so termed) close to the foot of the house;
and behind is a spacious garden, with vines (I assure you), pears,
strawberries, parsnips, leeks, carrots, cabbages, to delight the heart
of old Alcinous. You enter without passage into a cheerful dining room,
all studded over and rough with old Books, and above is a lightsome
Drawing room, 3 windows, full of choice prints. I feel like a great
Lord, never having had a house before.
The London I fear falls off.--I linger among its creaking rafters, like
the last rat. It will topple down, if they don't get some Buttresses.
They have pull'd down three, W. Hazlitt, Proctor, and their best stay,
kind light hearted Wainwright --their Janus. The best is, neither of our
fortunes is concern'd in it.
I heard of you from Mr. Pulham this morning, and that gave a fillip to
my Laziness, which has been intolerable. But I am so taken up with
pruning and gardening, quite a new sort of occupation to me. I have
gather'd my Jargonels, but my Windsor Pears are backward. The former
were of exquisite raciness. I do now sit under my own vine, and
contemplate the growth of vegetable nature. I can now understand in what
sense they speak of FATHER ADAM. I recognise the paternity, while I
watch my tulips. I almost FELL with him, for the first day I turned a
drunken gard'ner (as he let in the serpent) into my Eden, and he laid
about him, lopping off some choice boughs, &c., which hung over from a
neighbor's garden, and in his blind zeal laid waste a shade, which had
sheltered their window from the gaze of passers by. The old gentlewoman
(fury made her not handsome) could scarcely be reconciled by all my fine
words. There was no buttering her parsnips. She talk'd of the Law. What
a lapse to commit on the first day of my happy "garden-state."
I hope you transmitted the Fox-Journal to its Owner with suitable
thanks.
Mr. Cary, the Dante-man, dines with me to-day. He is a model of a
country Parson, lean (as a Curate ought to be), modest, sensible, no
obtruder of church dogmas, quite a different man from Southey,--you
would like him.
Pray accept this for a Letter, and believe me with sincere regards
Yours C.L.
2 Sept.
["Your kind sonnet." Barton's well-known sonnet to Elia (quoted below)
had been printed in the _London Magazine_ long before--in the previous
February. I do not identify this one among his writings.
"I have a Cottage." This cottage still stands (1912). Within it is much
as in Lamb's day, but outwardly changed, for a new house has been built
on one side and it is thus no longer detached. The New River still runs
before it, but subterraneously.
Barton was so attracted by one at least of Lamb's similes that, I fancy,
he borrowed it for an account of his grandfather's house at Tottenham
which he wrote some time later; for I find that gentleman's garden
described as "equal to that of old Alcinous."
"Kind light hearted Wainwright." Lamb has caused much surprise by using
such words of one who was destined to become almost the most
cold-blooded criminal in English history; but, as Hartley Coleridge
wrote in another connection, it was Lamb's way to take things by the
better handle, and Wainewright's worst faults in those days seem to have
been extravagance and affectation. Lamb at any rate liked him and
Wainewright was proud to be on a footing with Elia and his sister, as we
know from his writings. Wainewright at this time was not quite
twenty-nine; he had painted several pictures, some of which were
accepted by the academy, and he had written a number of essays over
several different pseudonyms, chief of which was Janus Weathercock. He
lived in Great Marlborough Street in some style and there entertained
many literary men, among them Lamb. It was not until 1826 that his
criminal career began.
"Mr. Pulham"--Brook Pulham of the India House, who made the caricature
etching of Elia.
"While I watch my tulips." Lamb is, of course, embroidering here, but we
have it on the authority of George Daniel, the antiquary, that with his
removal to Colebrooke Cottage began an interest in horticulture,
particularly in roses.
"Mr. Cary." The Rev. Henry Francis Cary (1772-1844), the translator of
Dante and afterwards, 1826, Assistant-Keeper of the Printed Books in the
British Museum. A regular contributor to the _London Magazine_.]
LETTER 325
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[Dated at end: Sept. 6 (1823).]
Dear Alsop--I am snugly seated at the cottage; Mary is well but weak,
and comes home on _Monday_; she will soon be strong enough to see her
friends here. In the mean time will you dine with me at 1/2 past four
to-morrow? Ayrton and Mr. Burney are coming.
Colebrook Cottage, left hand side, end of Colebrook Row on
the western brink of the New River, a detach'd whitish house.
No answer is required but come if you can. C. LAMB.
Saturday 6th Sep.
I call'd on you on Sunday. Resp'cts to Mrs. A. & boy.
LETTER 326
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[P.M. Sept. 9, 1823.]
My dear A.--I am going to ask you to do me the greatest favour which a
man can do to another. I want to make my will, and to leave my property
in trust for my sister. _N.B._ I am not _therefore_ going to die.--Would
it be unpleasant for you to be named for one? The other two I shall beg
the same favor of are Talfourd and Proctor. If you feel reluctant, tell
me, and it sha'n't abate one jot of my friendly feeling toward you.
Yours ever, C. LAMB.
E.I. House, Aug. [_i.e_., Sept.] 9, 1823.
LETTER 327
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[P.M. September 10, 1823.]
My dear A.--Your kindness in accepting my request no words of mine can
repay. It has made you overflow into some romance which I should have
check'd at another time. I hope it may be in the scheme of Providence
that my sister may go first (if ever so little a precedence), myself
next, and my good Ex'rs survive to remembr us with kindness many years.
God bless you.
I will set Proctor about the will forthwith. C. LAMB.
[Here should come another note to Allsop dated Sept. 16, 1823, saying
that Mary Lamb is still ill at Fulham. Given in the Boston Bibliophile
edition.]
LETTER 328
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[September, 1823.]
Dear A.--Your Cheese is the best I ever tasted; Mary will tell you so
hereafter. She is at home, but has disappointed me. She has gone back
rather than improved. However, she has sense enough to value the
present, for she is greatly fond of Stilton. Yours is the delicatest
rain-bow-hued melting piece I ever flavoured. Believe me. I took it the
more kindly, following so great a kindness.
Depend upon't, yours shall be one of the first houses we shall present
ourselves at, when we have got our Bill of Health.
Being both yours and Mrs. Allsop's truly. C.L. & M.L.
[Allsop and Procter may have been named as executors of Lamb's will at
one time, but when it came to be proved the executors were Talfourd and
Ryle, a fellow-clerk in the India House.]
LETTER 329
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. September 17, 1823.]
Dear Sir--I have again been reading your stanzas on Bloomfield, which
are the most appropriate that can be imagined, sweet with Doric
delicacy. I like that
Our more chaste Theocritus--
just hinting at the fault of the Grecian. I love that stanza ending with
Words phrases fashions pass away;
But Truth and nature live through all.
But I shall omit in my own copy the one stanza which alludes to Lord
B.--I suppose. It spoils the sweetness and oneness of the feeling.
Cannot we think of Burns, or Thompson, without sullying the thought with
a reflection out of place upon Lord Rochester? These verses might have
been inscribed upon a tomb; are in fact an epitaph; satire does not look
pretty upon a tombstone. Besides, there is a quotation in it, always bad
in verse; seldom advisable in prose.
I doubt if their having been in a Paper will not prevent T. and H. from
insertion, but I shall have a thing to send in a day or two, and shall
try them. Omitting that stanza, a _very little_ alteration is want'g in
the beginn'g of the next. You see, I use freedom. How happily (I flatter
not!) you have bro't in his subjects; and, (_I suppose_) his favorite
measure, though I am not acquainted with any of his writings but the
Farmer's Boy. He dined with me once, and his manners took me
exceedingly.
I rejoyce that you forgive my long silence. I continue to estimate my
own-roof comforts highly. How could I remain all my life a lodger! My
garden thrives (I am told) tho' I have yet reaped nothing but some tiny
sallad, and withered carrots. But a garden's a garden anywhere, and
twice a garden in London.
Somehow I cannot relish that word Horkey. Cannot you supply it by
circumlocution, and direct the reader by a note to explain that it means
the Horkey. But Horkey choaks me in the Text. It raises crowds of mean
associations, Hawking and sp-----g, Gauky, Stalky, Maukin. The sound is
every thing, in such dulcet modulations 'specially. I like
Gilbert Meldrum's sterner tones,
without knowing who Gilbert Meldrum is. You have slipt in your rhymes as
if they grew there, so natural-artificially, or artificial-naturally.
There's a vile phrase.
Do you go on with your Quaker Sonnets--[to] have 'em ready with
Southey's Book of the Church? I meditate a letter to S. in the London,
which perhaps will meet the fate of the Sonnet.
Excuse my brevity, for I write painfully at office, liable to 100
callings off. And I can never sit down to an epistle elsewhere. I read
or walk. If you return this letter to the Post Office, I think they will
return 4d, seeing it is but half a one. Believe me tho' entirely yours
C.L.
[Barton's "Verses to the Memory of Bloomfield, the Suffolk Poet" (who
died in August, 1823), were printed in book form in his Poetic Vigils,
1824. This is the stanza that Lamb most liked:--
It is not quaint and local terms
Besprinkled o'er thy rustic lay,
Though well such dialect confirms
Its power unletter'd minds to sway,
It is not _these_ that most display
Thy sweetest charms, thy gentlest thrall,--
Words, phrases, fashions, pass away,
But TRUTH and NATURE live through all.
The stanza referring to Byron was not reprinted, nor was the word
Horkey, which means Harvest Home in Suffolk. Gilbert Meldrum is a
character in one of Bloomfield's _Rural Tales_.
"Quaker Sonnets." Barton did not carry out this project. Southey's _Book
of the Church_ was published in 1824.
"I meditate a letter to S." The "Letter of Elia to Mr. Southey" was
published in the _London Magazine_ for October, 1823.]
LETTER 330
(_Fragment_)
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES LLOYD
[No date. Autumn, 1823.]
Your lines are not to be understood reading on one leg. They are
_sinuous_, and to be won with wrestling. I assure you in sincerity that
nothing you have done has given me greater satisfaction. Your obscurity,
where you are dark, which is seldom, is that of too much meaning, not
the painful obscurity which no toil of the reader can dissipate; not the
dead vacuum and floundering place in which imagination finds no footing;
it is not the dimness of positive darkness, but of distance; and he that
reads and not discerns must get a better pair of spectacles. I admire
every piece in the collection; I cannot say the first is best; when I do
so, the last read rises up in judgment. To your Mother--to your
Sister--to Mary dead--they are all weighty with thought and tender with
sentiment. Your poetry is like no other:--those cursed Dryads and Pagan
trumperies of modern verse have put me out of conceit of the very name
of poetry. Your verses are as good and as wholesome as prose; and I have
made a sad blunder if I do not leave you with an impression that your
present is rarely valued.
CHARLES LAMB.
[This scrap is in _Selections from the Poems and Letters of Bernard
Barton_, 1849, edited by Edward FitzGerald and Lucy Barton. Lloyd says:
"I had a very ample testimony from C. Lamb to the character of my last
little volume. I will transcribe to you what he says, as it is but a
note, and his manner is always so original, that I am sure the
introduction of the merest trifle from his pen will well compensate for
the absence of anything of mine." The volume was _Poems_, 1823, one of
the chief of which was "Stanzas on the Difficulty with which, in Youth,
we Bring Home to our Habitual Consciousness, the Idea of Death," to
which Lloyd appended the following sentence from Elia's essay on "New
Year's Eve," as motto: "Not childhood alone, but the young man till
thirty, never feels practically that he is mortal. He knows it indeed,
and, if need were, he could preach a homily on the fragility of life;
but he brings it not home to himself, any more than in a hot June, we
can appropriate to our imagination the freezing days of December."]
LETTER 331
CHARLES LAMB TO REV. H.F. CARY
India Office, 14th Oct., 1823.
Dear Sir,--If convenient, will you give us house room on Saturday next?
I can sleep anywhere. If another Sunday suit you better, pray let me
know. We were talking of Roast _Shoulder_ of Mutton with onion sauce;
but I scorn to prescribe to the hospitalities of mine host.
With respects to Mrs. C., yours truly, C. LAMB.
LETTER 332
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[No date. ?Oct., 1823.]
Dear Sir--Mary has got a cold, and the nights are dreadful; but at the
first indication of Spring (_alias_ the first dry weather in Nov'r
early) it is our intention to surprise you early some even'g.
Believe me, most truly yours,
C.L.
The Cottage, Saturday night.
Mary regrets very much Mrs. Allsop's fruitless visit. It made her swear!
She was gone to visit Miss Hutchins'n, whom she found OUT.
LETTER 333
CHARLES LAMB TO J.B. DIBDIN
[P.M. October 28, 1823.]
My dear Sir--Your Pig was a _picture_ of a pig, and your Picture a _pig_
of a picture. The former was delicious but evanescent, like a hearty fit
of mirth, or the crackling of thorns under a pot; but the latter is an
_idea_, and abideth. I never before saw swine upon sattin. And then that
pretty strawy canopy about him! he seems to purr (rather than grunt) his
satisfaction. Such a gentlemanlike porker too! Morland's are absolutely
clowns to it. Who the deuce painted it?
I have ordered a little gilt shrine for it, and mean to wear it for a
locket; a shirt-pig.
I admire the petty-toes shrouded in a veil of something, not _mud_, but
that warm soft consistency with [? which] the dust takes in Elysium
after a spring shower--it perfectly engloves them.
I cannot enough thank you and your country friend for the delicate
double present--the Utile et Decorum--three times have I attempted to
write this sentence and failed; which shows that I am not cut out for a
pedant.
_Sir_
(as I say to Southey) will you come and see us at our poor cottage of
Colebrook to tea tomorrow evening, as early as six? I have some friends
coming at that hour--
The panoply which covered your material pig shall be forthcoming-- The
pig pictorial, with its trappings, domesticate with me.
Your greatly obliged
ELIA.
Tuesday.
["_Sir_ (as I say to Southey)." Elia's Letter to Southey in the London
Magazine began thus.]
LETTER 334
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HAZLITT
[No date. Early November, 1823.]
Dear Mrs. H.,--Sitting down to write a letter is such a painful
operation to Mary, that you must accept me as her proxy. You have seen
our house. What I now tell you is literally true. Yesterday week George
Dyer called upon us, at one o'clock (_bright noon day_) on his way to
dine with Mrs. Barbauld at Newington. He sat with Mary about half an
hour, and took leave. The maid saw him go out from her kitchen window;
but suddenly losing sight of him, ran up in a fright to Mary. G.D.,
instead of keeping the slip that leads to the gate, had deliberately,
staff in hand, in broad open day, marched into the New River. He had not
his spectacles on, and you know his absence. Who helped him out, they
can hardly tell; but between 'em they got him out, drenched thro' and
thro'. A mob collected by that time and accompanied him in. "Send for
the Doctor!" they said: and a one-eyed fellow, dirty and drunk, was
fetched from the Public House at the end, where it seems he lurks, for
the sake of picking up water practice, having formerly had a medal from
the Humane Society for some rescue. By his advice, the patient was put
between blankets; and when I came home at four to dinner, I found G.D.
a-bed, and raving, light-headed with the brandy-and-water which the
doctor had administered. He sung, laughed, whimpered, screamed, babbled
of guardian angels, would get up and go home; but we kept him there by
force; and by next morning he departed sobered, and seems to have
received no injury. All my friends are open-mouthed about having paling
before the river, but I cannot see that, because a.. lunatic chooses to
walk into a river with his eyes open at midday, I am any the more likely
to be drowned in it, coming home at midnight.
I had the honour of dining at the Mansion House on Thursday last, by
special card from the Lord Mayor, who never saw my face, nor I his; and
all from being a writer in a magazine! The dinner costly, served on
massy plate, champagne, pines, &c.; forty-seven present, among whom the
Chairman and two other directors of the India Company. There's for you!
and got away pretty sober! Quite saved my credit!
We continue to like our house prodigiously. Does Mary Hazlitt go on with
her novel, or has she begun another? I would not discourage her, tho' we
continue to think it (so far) in its present state not saleable.
Our kind remembrances to her and hers and you and yours.--
Yours truly, C. LAMB.
I am pleased that H. liked my letter to the Laureate.
[Addressed to "Mrs. Hazlitt, Alphington, near Exeter." This letter is
the first draft of the _Elia_ essay "Amicus Redivivus," which was
printed in the _London Magazine_ in December, 1823. George Dyer, who was
then sixty-eight, had been getting blind steadily for some years. A
visit to Lamb's cottage to-day, bearing in mind that the ribbon of green
between iron railings that extends along Colebrooke Row was at that time
an open stream, will make the nature of G.D.'s misadventure quite
plain.
"Mary Hazlitt"-the daughter of John Hazlitt, the essayist's brother.
"I am pleased that H. liked my letter to the Laureate." Hazlitt wrote,
in the essay "On the Pleasures of Hating," "I think I must be friends
with Lamb again, since he has written that magnanimous Letter to
Southey, and told him a piece of his mind!" Coleridge also approved of
it, and Crabb Robinson's praise was excessive.
Here should come a note from Lamb to Mrs. Shelley dated Nov. 12, 1823,
saying that Dyer walked into the New River on Sunday week at one o'clock
with his eyes open.]
LETTER 335
CHARLES LAMB TO ROBERT SOUTHEY
E.I.H., 21st November, 1823.
DEAR Southey,-The kindness of your note has melted away the mist which
was upon me. I have been fighting against a shadow. That accursed
"Quarterly Review" had vexed me by a gratuitous speaking, of its own
knowledge, that the "Confessions of a Drunkard" was a genuine
description of the state of the writer. Little things, that are not ill
meant, may produce much ill. _That_ might have injured me alive and
dead. I am in a public office, and my life is insured. I was prepared
for anger, and I thought I saw, in a few obnoxious words, a hard case of
repetition directed against me. I wished both magazine and review at the
bottom of the sea. I shall be ashamed to see you, and my sister (though
innocent) will be still more so; for the folly was done without her
knowledge, and has made her uneasy ever since. My guardian angel was
absent at that time.
I will muster up courage to see you, however, any day next week
(Wednesday excepted). We shall hope that you will bring Edith with you.
That will be a second mortification. She will hate to see us; but come
and heap embers. We deserve it, I for what I've done, and she for being
my sister.
Do come early in the day, by sun-light, that you may see my _Milton_.
I am at Colebrook Cottage, Colebrook Row, Islington. A detached whitish
house, close to the New River, end of Colebrook Terrace, left hand from
Sadler's Wells.
Will you let me know the day before?
Your penitent C. LAMB.
P.S.--I do not think your handwriting at all like Hunt's. I do not think
many things I did think.
[For the right appreciation of this letter Elia's Letter to Southey must
be read (see Vol. I. of the present edition). It was hard hitting, and
though Lamb would perhaps have been wiser had he held his hand, yet
Southey had taken an offensive line of moral superiority and rebuke, and
much that was said by Lamb was justified.
Southey's reply ran thus:--
My Dear Lamb--On Monday I saw your letter in the _London Magazine_,
which I had not before had an opportunity of seeing, and I now take
the first interval of leisure for replying to it.
Nothing could be further from my mind than any intention or
apprehension of any way offending or injuring a man concerning whom
I have never spoken, thought, or felt otherwise than with affection,
esteem, and admiration.
If you had let me know in any private or friendly manner that you
felt wounded by a sentence in which nothing but kindness was
intended--or that you found it might injure the sale of your book--I
would most readily and gladly have inserted a note in the next
Review to qualify and explain what had hurt you.
You have made this impossible, and I am sorry for it. But I will not
engage in controversy with you to make sport for the Philistines.
The provocation must be strong indeed that can rouse me to do this,
even with an enemy. And if you can forgive an unintended offence as
heartily as I do the way in which you have resented it, there will
be nothing to prevent our meeting as we have heretofore done, and
feeling towards each other as we have always been wont to do.
Only signify a correspondent willingness on your part, and send me
your address, and my first business next week shall be to reach your
door, and shake hands with you and your sister. Remember me to her
most kindly and believe me--. Yours, with unabated esteem and
regards, Robert Southey.
The matter closed with this exchange of letters, and no hostility
remained on either side.
Lamb's quarrel with the _Quarterly_ began in 1811, when in a review of
Weber's edition of Ford Lamb was described as a "poor maniac." It was
renewed in 1814, when his article on Wordsworth's _Excursion_ was
mutilated. It broke out again in 1822, as Lamb says here, when a
reviewer of Reid's treatise on _Hypochondriasis and other Nervous
Affections_ (supposed to be Dr. Gooch, a friend of Dr. Henry Southey's)
referred to Lamb's "Confessions of a Drunkard" (see Vol. I.) as being,
from his own knowledge, true. Thus Lamb's patience was naturally at
breaking point when his own friend Southey attacked _Elia_ a few numbers
later.
"I do not think your handwriting at all like Hunt's." Lamb had said, in
the Letter, of Leigh Hunt: "His hand-writing is so much the same with
your own, that I have opened more than one letter of his, hoping, nay,
not doubting, but it was from you, and have been disappointed (he will
bear with my saying so) at the discovery of my error."]
LETTER 336
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. November 22, 1823.]
Dear B.B.--I am ashamed at not acknowledging your kind little poem,
which I must needs like much, but I protest I thought I had done it at
the moment. Is it possible a letter has miscarried? Did you get one in
which I sent you an extract from the poems of Lord Sterling? I should
wonder if you did, for I sent you none such.--There was an incipient lye
strangled in the birth. Some people's conscience is so tender! But in
plain truth I thank you very much for the verses. I have a very kind
letter from the Laureat, with a self-invitation to come and shake hands
with me. This is truly handsome and noble. 'Tis worthy of my old idea of
Southey. Shall not I, think you, be covered with a red suffusion?
You are too much apprehensive of your complaint. I know many that are
always ailing of it, and live on to a good old age. I know a merry
fellow (you partly know him) who when his Medical Adviser told him he
had drunk away all _that part_, congratulated himself (now his liver was
gone) that he should be the longest liver of the two. The best way in
these cases is to keep yourself as ignorant as you can--as ignorant as
the world was before Galen--of the entire inner construction of the
Animal Man--not to be conscious of a midriff--to hold kidneys (save of
sheep and swine) to be an agreeable fiction--not to know whereabout the
gall grows--to account the circulation of the blood an idle whimsey of
Harvey's--to acknowledge no mechanism not visible. For, once fix the
seat of your disorder, and your fancies flux into it like bad humours.
Those medical gentries chuse each his favourite part--one takes the
lungs--another the aforesaid liver--and refer to _that_ whatever in the
animal economy is amiss. Above all, use exercise, take a little more
spirituous liquors, learn to smoke, continue to keep a good conscience,
and avoid tampering with hard terms of art--viscosity, schirossity, and
those bugbears, by which simple patients are scared into their grave.
Believe the general sense of the mercantile world, which holds that
desks are not deadly. It is the mind, good B.B., and not the limbs,
that taints by long sitting. Think of the patience of taylors--think how
long the Chancellor sits-- think of the Brooding Hen.
I protest I cannot answer thy Sister's kind enquiry, but I judge I shall
put forth no second volume. More praise than buy, and T. and H. are not
particularly disposed for Martyrs.
Thou wilt see a funny passage, and yet a true History, of George Dyer's
Aquatic Incursion, in the next "London." Beware his fate, when thou
comest to see me at my Colebrook Cottage. I have filled my little space
with my little thoughts. I wish thee ease on thy sofa, but not too much
indulgence on it. From my poor desk, thy fellow-sufferer this bright
November, C.L.
[Again I do not identify the kind little poem. It may have been a trifle
enclosed in a letter, which Barton did not print and Lamb destroyed.]
LETTER 337
CHARLES LAMB TO W. HARRISON AINSWORTH India-House, 9th Dec., 1823.
(If I had time I would go over this letter again, and dot all my i's.)
Dear Sir,--I should have thanked you for your Books and Compliments
sooner, but have been waiting for a revise to be sent, which does not
come, tho' I returned the proof on the receit of your letter. I have
read Warner with great pleasure. What an elaborate piece of alliteration
and antithesis! why it must have been a labour far above the most
difficult versification. There is a fine simile of or picture of
Semiramis arming to repel a siege. I do not mean to keep the Book, for I
suspect you are forming a curious collection, and I do not pretend to
any thing of the kind. I have not a Blackletter Book among mine, old
Chaucer excepted, and am not Bibliomanist enough to like Blackletter. It
is painful to read. Therefore I must insist on returning it at
opportunity, not from contumacity and reluctance to be oblig'd, but
because it must suit you better than me. The loss of a present _from_
should never exceed the gain of a present _to_. I hold this maxim
infallible in the accepting Line. I read your Magazines with
satisfaction. I throughly agree with you as to the German Faust, as far
[as] I can do justice to it from an English translation. 'Tis a
disagreeable canting tale of Seduction, which has nothing to do with the
Spirit of Faustus-- Curiosity. Was the dark secret to be explored to end
in the seducing of a weak girl, which might have been accomplished by
earthly agency? When Marlow gives _his_ Faustus a mistress, he flies him
at Helen, flower of Greece, to be sure, and not at Miss Betsy, or Miss
Sally Thoughtless.
"Cut is the branch that bore the goodly fruit,
And wither'd is Apollo's laurel tree:
Faustus is dead."
What a noble natural transition from metaphor to plain speaking! as if
the figurative had flagged in description of such a Loss, and was
reduced to tell the fact simply.--
I must now thank you for your very kind invitation. It is not out of
prospect that I may see Manchester some day, and then I will avail
myself of your kindness. But Holydays are scarce things with me, and the
Laws of attendance are getting stronger and stronger at Leadenhall. But
I shall bear it in mind. Meantime something may (more probably) bring
you to town, where I shall be happy to see you. I am always to be found
(alas!) at my desk in the forepart of the day.
I wonder why they do not send the revise. I leave late at office, and my
abode lies out of the way, or I should have seen about it. If you are
impatient, Perhaps a Line to the Printer, directing him to send it me,
at Accountant's Office, may answer. You will see by the scrawl that I
only snatch a few minutes from intermitting Business.
Your oblig. Ser., C. LAMB.
[William Harrison Ainsworth, afterwards to be known as a novelist, was
then a solicitor's pupil at Manchester, aged 18. He had sent Lamb
William Warner's _Syrinx; or, A Sevenfold History_, 1597. The book was a
gift, and is now in the Dyce and Foster library at South Kensington.
Goethe's _Faust_. Lamb, as we have seen, had read the account of the
play in Madame de Staël's _Germany_. He might also have read the
translation by Lord Francis Leveson-Gower, 1823. Hayward's translation
was not published till 1834. Goethe admired Lamb's sonnet on his family
name.]
LETTER 338
CHARLES LAMB TO W. HARRISON AINSWORTH
[Dated at end: December 29 (1823).]
My dear Sir--You talk of months at a time and I know not what
inducements to visit Manchester, Heaven knows how gratifying! but I have
had my little month of 1823 already. It is all over, and without
incurring a disagreeable favor I cannot so much as get a single holyday
till the season returns with the next year. Even our half-hour's
absences from office are set down in a Book! Next year, if I can spare a
day or two of it, I will come to Manchester, but I have reasons at home
against longer absences.--
I am so ill just at present--(an illness of my own procuring last night;
who is Perfect?)--that nothing but your very great kindness could make
me write. I will bear in mind the letter to W.W., you shall have it
quite in time, before the 12.
My aking and confused Head warns me to leave off.--With a muddled sense
of gratefulness, which I shall apprehend more clearly to-morrow, I
remain, your friend unseen,
C.L.
I.H. 29th.
Will your occasions or inclination bring _you_ to London? It will give
me great pleasure to show you every thing that Islington can boast, if
you know the meaning of that very Cockney sound. We have the New River!
I am asham'd of this scrawl: but I beg you to accept it for the present.
I am full of qualms.
A fool at 50 is a fool indeed.
[W.W. was Wordsworth.
"A fool at 50 is a fool indeed." "A fool at forty is a fool indeed" was
Young's line in Satire II. of the series on "Love of Fame." Lamb was
nearing forty-nine.]
LETTER 339
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[January 9, 1824.]
Dear B.B.--Do you know what it is to succumb under an insurmountable day
mare--a whoreson lethargy, Falstaff calls it--an indisposition to do any
thing, or to be any thing--a total deadness and distaste--a suspension
of vitality --an indifference to locality--a numb soporifical
goodfornothingness--an ossification all over--an oyster-like
insensibility to the passing events--a mind-stupor,--a brawny defiance
to the needles of a thrusting-in conscience--did you ever have a very
bad cold, with a total irresolution to submit to water gruel
processes?--this has been for many weeks my lot, and my excuse--my
fingers drag heavily over this paper, and to my thinking it is three and
twenty furlongs from here to the end of this demi-sheet--I have not a
thing to say--nothing is of more importance than another--I am flatter
than a denial or a pancake--emptier than Judge Park's wig when the head
is in it--duller than a country stage when the actors are off it --a
cypher--an O--I acknowledge life at all, only by an occasional
convulsional cough, and a permanent phlegmatic pain in the chest--I am
weary of the world--Life is weary of me-- My day is gone into Twilight
and I don't think it worth the expence of candles--my wick hath a thief
in it, but I can't muster courage to snuff it--I inhale suffocation--I
can't distinguish veal from mutton--nothing interests me--'tis 12
o'clock and Thurtell is just now coming out upon the New Drop--Jack
Ketch alertly tucking up his greasy sleeves to do the last office of
mortality, yet cannot I elicit a groan or a moral reflection-- if you
told me the world will be at end tomorrow, I should just say, "will
it?"--I have not volition enough to dot my i's --much less to comb my
EYEBROWS--my eyes are set in my head--my brains are gone out to see a
poor relation in Moorfields, and they did not say when they'd come back
again-- my scull is a Grub street Attic, to let--not so much as a joint
stool or a crackd jordan left in it--my hand writes, not I, from habit,
as chickens run about a little when their heads are off-- O for a
vigorous fit of gout, cholic, tooth ache--an earwig in my auditory, a
fly in my visual organs--pain is life--the sharper, the more evidence of
life--but this apathy, this death--did you ever have an obstinate cold,
a six or seven weeks' unintermitting chill and suspension of hope, fear,
conscience, and every thing--yet do I try all I can to cure it, I try
wine, and spirits, and smoking, and snuff in unsparing quantities, but
they all only seem to make me worse, instead of better--I sleep in a
damp room, but it does me no good; I come home late o' nights, but do
not find any visible amendment.
Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?
It is just 15 minutes after 12. Thurtell is by this time a good way on
his journey, baiting at Scorpion perhaps, Ketch is bargaining for his
cast coat and waistcoat, the Jew demurs at first at three half crowns,
but on consideration that he, may get somewhat by showing 'em in the
Town, finally closes.--
C.L.
["Judge Park's wig." Sir James Alan Park, of the Bench of Common Pleas,
who tried Thurtell, the murderer of Mr. William Weare of Lyon's Inn, in
Gill's Hill Lane, Radlett, on October 24, 1823.]
LETTER 340
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. January 23, 1824.]
My dear Sir--That peevish letter of mine, which was meant to convey an
apology for my incapacity to write, seems to have been taken by you in
too serious a light. It was only my way of telling you I had a severe
cold. The fact is I have been insuperably dull and lethargic for many
weeks, and cannot rise to the vigour of a Letter, much less an Essay.
The London must do without me for a time, a time, and half a time, for I
have lost all interest about it, and whether I shall recover it again I
know not. I will bridle my pen another time, & not teaze and puzzle you
with my aridities. I shall begin to feel a little more alive with the
spring. Winter is to me (mild or harsh) always a great trial of the
spirits. I am ashamed not to have noticed your tribute to Woolman, whom
we love so much. It is done in your good manner. Your friend Taylor
called upon me some time since, and seems a very amiable man. His last
story is painfully fine. His Book I "like." It is only too stuft with
scripture, too Parsonish. The best thing in it is the Boy's own story.
When I say it is too full of Scripture, I mean it is too full of direct
quotations; no book can have too much of SILENT SCRIPTURE in it. But the
natural power of a story is diminished when the uppermost purpose in the
writer seems to be to recommend something else, viz Religion. You know
what Horace says of the DEUS INTERSIT. I am not able to explain myself,
you must do it for me.--
My Sister's part in the Leicester School (about two thirds) was purely
her own; as it was (to the same quantity) in the Shakspeare Tales which
bear my name. I wrote only the Witch Aunt, the first going to Church,
and the final Story about a little Indian girl in a Ship.
Your account of my Black Balling amused me. _I think, as Quakers, they
did right_. There are some things hard to be understood.
The more I think the more I am vexed at having puzzled you with that
Letter, but I have been so out of Letter writing of late years, that it
is a sore effort to sit down to it, & I felt in your debt, and sat down
waywardly to pay you in bad money. Never mind my dulness, I am used to
long intervals of it. The heavens seem brass to me--then again comes the
refreshing shower. "I have been merry once or twice ere now."
You said something about Mr. Mitford in a late letter, which I believe I
did not advert to. I shall be happy to show him my Milton (it is all the
show things I have) at any time he will take the trouble of a jaunt to
Islington. I do also hope to see Mr. Taylor there some day. Pray say so
to both.
Coleridge's book is good part printed, but sticks a little for _more
copy_. It bears an unsaleable Title--Extracts from Bishop Leighton--but
I am confident there will be plenty of good notes in it, more of Bishop
Coleridge than Leighton, I hope; for what is Leighton?
Do you trouble yourself about Libel cases? The Decision against Hunt for
the "Vision of Judgment" made me sick. What is to become of the old talk
about OUR GOOD OLD KING --his personal virtues saving us from a
revolution &c. &c. Why, none that think it can utter it now. It must
stink. And the Vision is really, as to Him-ward, such a tolerant good
humour'd thing. What a wretched thing a Lord Chief Justice is, always
was, & will be!
Keep your good spirits up, dear BB--mine will return--They are at
present in abeyance. But I am rather lethargic than miserable. I don't
know but a good horse whip would be more beneficial to me than Physic.
My head, without aching, will teach yours to ache. It is well I am
getting to the conclusion. I will send a better letter when I am a
better man. Let me thank you for your kind concern for me (which I trust
will have reason soon to be dissipated) & assure you that it gives me
pleasure to hear from you.--
Yours truly C.L.
["The London must do without me." Lamb contributed nothing between
December, 1823 ("Amicus Redivivus"), and September, 1824 ("Blakesmoor in
H----shire").
Barton's tribute to Woolman was the poem "A Memorial to John Woolman,"
printed in Poetic Vigils.
Taylor was Charles Benjamin Tayler (1797-1875), the curate of Hadleigh,
in Suffolk, and the author of many religious books. Lamb refers to _May
You Like It_, 1823.
"What Horace says":--
Nec deus intersit nisi dignus vindice nodus
Inciderit.
_Ars Poetica_, 191, 192.
Neither let a god interfere, unless a difficulty worth a god's
unravelling should happen (Smart's translation).
"My Black Balling." _Elia_ had been rejected by a Book Club in
Woodbridge.
"Coleridge's book"--the _Aids to Reflection_, 1825. The first intention
had been a selection of "Beauties" from Bishop Leighton (1611-1684),
Archbishop of Glasgow, and author, among other works, of _Rules and
Instructions for a Holy Life_.
"The Decision against Hunt." John Hunt, the publisher of _The Liberal_,
in which Byron's "Vision of Judgment" had been printed in 1822, had just
been fined £100 for the libel therein contained on George III.
Here should come a note from Lamb to Charles Ollier, thanking him for a
copy of his _Inesilla; or, The Tempter: A Romance, with Other Tales_.]
LETTER 341
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. February 25, 1824.]
My dear Sir--Your title of Poetic Vigils arrides me much more than A
Volume of Verse, which is no meaning. The motto says nothing, but I
cannot suggest a better. I do not like mottoes but where they are
singularly felicitous; there is foppery in them. They are unplain,
un-Quakerish. They are good only where they flow from the Title and are
a kind of justification of it. There is nothing about watchings or
lucubrations in the one you suggest, no commentary on Vigils. By the
way, a wag would recommend you to the Line of Pope
Sleepless himself--to give his readers sleep--
I by no means wish it. But it may explain what I mean, that a neat motto
is child of the Title. I think Poetic Virgils as short and sweet as can
be desired; only have an eye on the Proof, that the Printer do not
substitute Virgils, which would ill accord with your modesty or meaning.
Your suggested motto is antique enough in spelling, and modern enough in
phrases; a good modern antique: but the matter of it is germane to the
purpose only supposing the title proposed a vindication of yourself from
the presumption of authorship. The 1st title was liable to this
objection, that if you were disposed to enlarge it, and the bookseller
insisted on its appearance in Two Tomes, how oddly it would sound--
A Volume of Verse
in Two Volumes
2d edition &c--
You see thro' my wicked intention of curtailing this Epistolet by the
above device of large margin. But in truth the idea of letterising has
been oppressive to me of late above your candour to give me credit for.
There is Southey, whom I ought to have thank'd a fortnight ago for a
present of the Church Book. I have never had courage to buckle myself in
earnest even to acknowledge it by six words. And yet I am accounted by
some people a good man. How cheap that character is acquired! Pay your
debts, don't borrow money, nor twist your kittens neck off, or disturb a
congregation, &c.-- your business is done. I know things (thoughts or
things, thoughts are things) of myself which would make every friend I
have fly me as a plague patient. I once * * *, and set a dog upon a
crab's leg that was shoved out under a moss of sea weeds, a pretty
little feeler.--Oh! pah! how sick I am of that; and a lie, a mean one, I
once told!-- I stink in the midst of respect.
I am much hypt; the fact is, my head is heavy, but there is hope, or if
not, I am better than a poor shell fish--not morally when I set the
whelp upon it, but have more blood and spirits; things may turn up, and
I may creep again into a decent opinion of myself. Vanity will return
with sunshine. Till when, pardon my neglects and impute it to the wintry
solstice.
C. LAMB.
[The motto eventually adopted for Barton's _Poetic Vigils_ was from
Vaughan's _Silex Scintillans:_--
Dear night! this world's defeat;
The stop to busie fools; care's check and curb;
The day of spirits; my soul's calm retreat
Which none disturb!]
LETTER 342
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. 24 March, 1824.]
DEAR B.B.--I hasten to say that if my opinion can strengthen you in your
choice, it is decisive for your acceptance of what has been so
handsomely offered. I can see nothing injurious to your most honourable
sense. Think that you are called to a poetical Ministry--nothing
worse--the Minister is worthy of the hire.
The only objection I feel is founded on a fear that the acceptance may
be a temptation to you to let fall the bone (hard as it is) which is in
your mouth and must afford tolerable pickings, for the shadow of
independence. You cannot propose to become independent on what the low
state of interest could afford you from such a principal as you mention;
and the most graceful excuse for the acceptance, would be, that it left
you free to your voluntary functions. That is the less _light_ part of
the scruple. It has no darker shade. I put in _darker_, because of the
ambiguity of the word light, which Donne in his admirable poem on the
Metempsychosis, has so ingeniously illustrated in his invocation
1 2 1 2
Make my _dark heavy_ poem, _light_ and _light_--
where the two senses of _light_ are opposed to different opposites. A
trifling criticism.--I can see no reason for any scruple then but what
arises from your own interest; which is in your own power of course to
solve. If you still have doubts, read over Sanderson's Cases of
Conscience, and Jeremy Taylor's Ductor Dubitantium, the first a moderate
Octavo, the latter a folio of 900 close pages, and when you have
thoroughly digested the admirable reasons pro and con which they give
for every possible Case, you will be--just as wise as when you began.
Every man is his own best Casuist; and after all, as Ephraim Smooth, in
the pleasant comedy of Wild Oats, has it, "there is no harm in a
Guinea." A fortiori there is less in 2000.
I therefore most sincerely congratulate with you, excepting so far as
excepted above. If you have fair Prospects of adding to the Principal,
cut the Bank; but in either case do not refuse an honest Service. Your
heart tells you it is not offered to bribe you _from_ any duty, but
_to_
a duty which you feel to be your vocation. Farewell heartily C.L.
[In the memoir of Barton by Edward FitzGerald, prefixed to the _Poems
and Letters_, it is stated that in this year Barton received a handsome
addition to his income. "A few members of his Society, including some of
the wealthier of his own family, raised £1200 among them for his benefit
[not 2000 guineas, as Lamb says]. It seems that he felt some delicacy at
first in accepting this munificent testimony which his own people
offered to his talents." Birton had written to Lamb on the subject.]
LETTER 343
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[(Early spring), 1824.]
I am sure I cannot fill a letter, though I should disfurnish my scull to
fill it. But you expect something, and shall have a Note-let. Is Sunday,
not divinely speaking, but humanly and holydaysically, a blessing?
Without its institution, would our rugged taskmasters have given us a
leisure day, so often, think you, as once in a month?--or, if it had not
been instituted, might they not have given us every 6th day? Solve me
this problem. If we are to go 3 times a day to church, why has Sunday
slipped into the notion of a _Holli_day? A Holyday I grant it. The
puritans, I have read in Southey's Book, knew the distinction. They made
people observe Sunday rigorously, would not let a nursery maid walk out
in the fields with children for recreation on that day. But _then_--they
gave the people a holliday from all sorts of work every second Tuesday.
This was giving to the Two Caesars that which was _his_ respective.
Wise, beautiful, thoughtful, generous Legislators! Would Wilberforce
give us our Tuesdays? No, d--n him. He would turn the six days into
sevenths,
And those 3 smiling seasons of the year
Into a Russian winter.
_Old Play_.
I am sitting opposite a person who is making strange distortions with
the gout, which is not unpleasant--to me at least. What is the reason we
do not sympathise with pain, short of some terrible Surgical operation?
Hazlitt, who boldly says all he feels, avows that not only he does not
pity sick people, but he hates them. I obscurely recognise his meaning.
Pain is probably too selfish a consideration, too simply a consideration
of self-attention. We pity poverty, loss of friends etc. more complex
things, in which the Sufferers feelings are associated with others. This
is a rough thought suggested by the presence of gout; I want head to
extricate it and plane it. What is all this to your Letter? I felt it to
be a good one, but my turn, when I write at all, is perversely to travel
out of the record, so that my letters are any thing but answers. So you
still want a motto? You must not take my ironical one, because your
book, I take it, is too serious for it. Bickerstaff might have used it
for _his_ lucubrations. What do you think of (for a Title)
RELIGIO TREMULI OR TREMEBUNDI
There is Religio-Medici and Laici.--But perhaps the volume is not quite
Quakerish enough or exclusively for it--but your own VIGILS is perhaps
the Best. While I have space, let me congratulate with you the return of
Spring--what a Summery Spring too! all those qualms about the dog and
cray-fish melt before it. I am going to be happy and _vain_ again.
A hasty farewell C. LAMB.
["Southey's Book"--_The Book of the Church_.
"Would Wilberforce give us our Tuesdays?"--William Wilberforce, the
abolitionist and the principal "Puritan" of that day.]
LETTER 344
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. THOMAS ALLSOP
[P.M. April 13, 1824.]
Dear Mrs. A.--Mary begs me to say how much she regrets we can not join
you to Reigate. Our reasons are --1st I have but one holyday namely Good
Friday, and it is not pleasant to solicit for another, but that might
have been got over. 2dly Manning is with us, soon to go away and we
should not be easy in leaving him. 3dly Our school girl Emma comes to us
for a few days on Thursday. 4thly and lastly, Wordsworth is returning
home in about a week, and out of respect to them we should not like to
absent ourselves just now. In summer I shall have a month, and if it
shall suit, should like to go for a few days of it out with you both
_any where_. In the mean time, with many acknowledgments etc. etc., I
remain yours (both) truly, C. LAMB.
India Ho. 13 Apr. Remember Sundays.
LETTER 345
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HONE [No date. April, 1824.]
Dear Sir,--Miss Hazlitt (niece to Pygmalion) begs us to send to you _for
Mr. Hardy_ a parcel. I have not thank'd you for your Pamphlet, but I
assure you I approve of it in all parts, only that I would have seen my
Calumniators at hell, before I would have told them I was a Xtian, _tho'
I am one_, I think as much as you. I hope to see you here, some day
soon. The parcel is a novel which I hope Mr. H. may sell for her. I am
with greatest friendliness
Yours C. LAMB.
Sunday.
["Pygmalion." A reference to Hazlitt's _Liber Amoris; or, The New
Pygmalion_, 1823.
Hone's pamphlet would be his _Aspersions Answered: an Explanatory
Statement to the Public at Large and Every Reader of the "Quarterly
Review_," 1824.
Here should come a note from Lamb to Thomas Hardy, dated April 24, 1824,
in which Lamb says that Miss Hazlitt's novel, which Mr. Hardy promised
to introduce to Mr. Ridgway, the publisher, is lying at Mr. Hone's.
Hardy was a bootmaker in Fleet Street.]
LETTER 346
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
May 15, 1824.
DEAR B.B.--I am oppressed with business all day, and Company all night.
But I will snatch a quarter of an hour. Your recent acquisitions of the
Picture and the Letter are greatly to be congratulated. I too have a
picture of my father and the copy of his first love verses; but they
have been mine long. Blake is a real name, I assure you, and a most
extraordinary man, if he be still living. He is the Robert [William]
Blake, whose wild designs accompany a splendid folio edition of the
"Night Thoughts," which you may have seen, in one of which he pictures
the parting of soul and body by a solid mass of human form floating off,
God knows how, from a lumpish mass (fac Simile to itself) left behind on
the dying bed. He paints in water colours marvellous strange pictures,
visions of his brain, which he asserts that he has seen. They have great
merit. He has _seen_ the old Welsh bards on Snowdon--he has seen the
Beautifullest, the strongest, and the Ugliest Man, left alone from the
Massacre of the Britons by the Romans, and has painted them from memory
(I have seen his paintings), and asserts them to be as good as the
figures of Raphael and Angelo, but not better, as they had precisely the
same retro-visions and prophetic visions with themself [himself]. The
painters in oil (which he will have it that neither of them practised)
he affirms to have been the ruin of art, and affirms that all the while
he was engaged in his Water paintings, Titian was disturbing him, Titian
the III Genius of Oil Painting. His Pictures--one in particular, the
Canterbury Pilgrims (far above Stothard's)--have great merit, but hard,
dry, yet with grace. He has written a Catalogue of them with a most
spirited criticism on Chaucer, but mystical and full of Vision. His
poems have been sold hitherto only in Manuscript. I never read them; but
a friend at my desire procured the "Sweep Song." There is one to a
tiger, which I have heard recited, beginning--
"Tiger, Tiger, burning bright,
Thro' the desarts of the night,"
which is glorious, but, alas! I have not the book; for the man is flown,
whither I know not--to Hades or a Mad House. But I must look on him as
one of the most extraordinary persons of the age. Montgomery's book I
have not much hope from. The Society, with the affected name, has been
labouring at it for these 20 years, and made few converts. I think it
was injudicious to mix stories avowedly colour'd by fiction with the sad
true statements from the parliamentary records, etc., but I wish the
little Negroes all the good that can come from it. I batter'd my brains
(not butter'd them--but it is a bad _a_) for a few verses for them, but
I could make nothing of it. You have been luckier. But Blake's are the
flower of the set, you will, I am sure, agree, tho' some of Montgomery's
at the end are pretty; but the Dream awkwardly paraphras'd from B.
With the exception of an Epilogue for a Private Theatrical, I have
written nothing now for near 6 months. It is in vain to spur me on. I
must wait. I cannot write without a genial impulse, and I have none.
'Tis barren all and dearth. No matter; life is something without
scribbling. I have got rid of my bad spirits, and hold up pretty well
this rain-damn'd May.
So we have lost another Poet. I never much relished his Lordship's mind,
and shall be sorry if the Greeks have cause to miss him. He was to me
offensive, and I never can make out his great _power_, which his
admirers talk of. Why, a line of Wordsworth's is a lever to lift the
immortal spirit! Byron can only move the Spleen. He was at best a
Satyrist,--in any other way he was mean enough. I dare say I do him
injustice; but I cannot love him, nor squeeze a tear to his memory. He
did not like the world, and he has left it, as Alderman Curtis advised
the Radicals, "If they don't like their country, damn 'em, let 'em leave
it," they possessing no rood of ground in England, and he 10,000 acres.
Byron was better than many Curtises.
Farewell, and accept this apology for a letter from one who owes you so
much in that kind.
Yours ever truly, C.L.
[Lamb's portrait of his father is reproduced in Vol. II. of my large
edition. The first love verses are no more.
William Blake was at this time sixty-six years of age. He was living in
poverty and neglect at 3 Fountain Court, Strand. Blake made 537
illustrations to Young's _Night Thoughts_, of which only forty-seven
were published. Lamb is, however, thinking of his edition of Blair's
_Grave_. The exhibition of his works was held in 1809, and it was for
this that Blake wrote the descriptive catalogue. Lamb had sent Blake's
"Sweep Song," which, like "Tiger, Tiger," is in the _Songs of
Innocence_, to James Montgomery for his _Chimney-Sweepers' Friend and
Climbing Boys' Album_, 1824, a little book designed to ameliorate the
lot of those children, in whose interest a society existed. Barton also
contributed something. It was Blake's poem which had excited Barton's
curiosity. Probably he thought that Lamb wrote it. Lamb's mistake
concerning Blake's name is curious in so far as that it was Blake's
brother Robert, who died in 1787, who in a vision revealed to the poet
the method by which the _Songs of Innocence_ were to be reproduced.
"The Dream awkwardly paraphras'd from B." The book ended with three
"Climbing-Boys' Soliloquies" by Montgomery. The second was a dream in
which the dream in Blake's song was extended and prosified.
"An Epilogue for a Private Theatrical." Probably the epilogue for the
amateur performance of "Richard II.," given by the family of Henry
Field, Barren Field's father (see Vol. IV. of the present edition).
"Another great Poet." Byron died on April 19, 1824.
"Alderman Curtis." See note above.]
LETTER 347
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
July 7th, 1824.
DEAR B.B.--I have been suffering under a severe inflammation of the
eyes, notwithstanding which I resolutely went through your very pretty
volume at once, which I dare pronounce in no ways inferior to former
lucubrations. "_Abroad_" and "_lord_" are vile rhymes notwithstanding,
and if you count you will wonder how many times you have repeated the
word _unearthly_--thrice in one poem. It is become a slang word with the
bards; avoid it in future lustily. "Time" is fine; but there are better
a good deal, I think. The volume does not lie by me; and, after a long
day's smarting fatigue, which has almost put out my eyes (not blind
however to your merits), I dare not trust myself with long writing. The
verses to Bloomfield are the sweetest in the collection. Religion is
sometimes lugged in, as if it did not come naturally. I will go over
carefully when I get my seeing, and exemplify. You have also too much of
singing metre, such as requires no deep ear to make; lilting measure, in
which you have done Woolman injustice. Strike at less superficial
melodies. The piece on Nayler is more to my fancy.
My eye runs waters. But I will give you a fuller account some day. The
book is a very pretty one in more than one sense. The decorative harp,
perhaps, too ostentatious; a simple pipe preferable.
Farewell, and many thanks. C. LAMB.
[Barton's new book was _Poetic Vigils_, 1824. It contained among other
poems "An Ode to Time," "Verses to the Memory of Bloomfield," "A
Memorial of John Woolman," beginning--
There is glory to me in thy Name,
Meek follower of Bethlehem's Child,
More touching by far than the splendour of Fame
With which the vain world is beguil'd,
and "A Memorial of James Nayler." The following "Sonnet to Elia," from
the _London Magazine_, is also in the volume: it is odd that Lamb did
not mention it:--
SONNET TO ELIA
Delightful Author! unto whom I owe
Moments and moods of fancy and of feeling,
Afresh to grateful memory now appealing,
Fain would I "bless thee--ere I let thee go!"
From month to month has the exhaustless flow
Of thy original mind, its wealth revealing,
With quaintest humour, and deep pathos healing
The World's rude wounds, revived Life's early glow:
And, mixt with this, at times, to earnest thought,
Glimpses of truth, most simple and sublime,
By thy imagination have been brought
Over my spirit. From the olden time
Of authorship thy patent should be dated,
And thou with Marvell, Brown, and Burton mated.]
LETTER 348
CHARLES LAMB TO W. MARTER [Dated at end: July 19 (1824).]
Dear Marter,--I have just rec'd your letter, having returned from a
month's holydays. My exertions for the London are, tho' not dead, in a
dead sleep for the present. If your club like scandal, Blackwood's is
your magazine; if you prefer light articles, and humorous without
offence, the New Monthly is very amusing. The best of it is by Horace
Smith, the author of the Rejected Addresses. The Old Monthly has more of
matter, information, but not so merry. I cannot safely recommend any
others, as not knowing them, or knowing them to their disadvantage. Of
Reviews, beside what you mention, I know of none except the Review on
Hounslow Heath, which I take it is too expensive for your ordering. Pity
me, that have been a Gentleman these four weeks, and am reduced in one
day to the state of a ready writer. I feel, I feel, my gentlemanly
qualities fast oozing away--such as a sense of honour, neckcloths twice
a day, abstinence from swearing, &c. The desk enters into my soul.
See my thoughts on business next Page.
SONNET
Who first invented _work?_--and bound the free
And holyday-rejoicing Spirit down
To the ever-haunting importunity
Of _Business_ in the green fields, and the Town--
To plough, loom, [anvil], spade, and (oh most sad!)
To this dry drudgery of the desk's dead wood?
Who but the Being unblest, alien from good,
Sabbathless Satan! He, who his unglad
Task ever plies 'mid rotatory burnings,
That round and round incalculably reel--
For wrath divine hath made him like a wheel--
In that red realm from whence are no returnings;
Where toiling & turmoiling ever & aye
He and his Thoughts keep pensive worky-day.
With many recollections of pleasanter times, my old compeer,
happily released before me, Adieu. C. LAMB.
E.I.H.
19 July [1824].
[Marter was an old India House clerk; we do not meet with him again. The
sonnet had been printed in _The Examiner_ in 1819. Lamb, who was fond of
it, reprinted it in _Album Verses_, 1830.]
LETTER 349
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN BATES DIBDIN
[P.M. July 28, 1824.]
My dear Sir--I must appear negligent in not having thanked you for the
very pleasant books you sent me. Arthur, and the Novel, we have both of
us read with unmixed satisfaction. They are full of quaint conceits, and
running over with good humour and good nature. I naturally take little
interest in story, but in these the manner and not the end is the
interest; it is such pleasant travelling, one scarce cares whither it
leads us. Pray express our pleasure to your father with my best thanks.
I am involved in a routine of visiting among the family of Barren Field,
just ret'd, from Botany Bay--I shall hardly have an open Evening before
TUESDAY next. Will you come to us then?
Yours truly, C. LAMB.
Wensday
28 July 24.
[_Arthur_ and the Novel were two books by Charles Dibdin the Younger,
the father of Lamb's correspondent. Arthur was _Young Arthur; or, The
Child of Mystery: A Metrical Romance_, 1819, and the novel was _Isn't It
Odd?_ three volumes of high-spirited ramblings something in the manner
of _Tristram Shandy_, nominally written by Marmaduke Merrywhistle, and
published in 1822.
Barron Field had returned from his Judgeship in New South Wales on June
18.]
LETTER 350
(_Possibly incomplete_)
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS HOOD [P.M. August 10, 1824.]
And what dost thou at the Priory? _Cucullus non facit Monachum_. English
me that, and challenge old Lignum Janua to make a better.
My old New River has presented no extraordinary novelties lately; but
there Hope sits every day, speculating upon traditionary gudgeons. I
think she has taken the fisheries. I now know the reason why our
forefathers were denominated East and West Angles. Yet is there no lack
of spawn; for I wash my hands in fishets that come through the pump
every morning thick as motelings,--little things o o o like _that_, that
perish untimely, and never taste the brook. You do not tell me of those
romantic land bays that be as thou goest to Lover's Seat: neither of
that little churchling in the midst of a wood (in the opposite
direction, nine furlongs from the town), that seems dropped by the Angel
that was tired of carrying two packages; marry, with the other he made
shift to pick his flight to Loretto. Inquire out, and see my little
Protestant Loretto. It stands apart from trace of human habitation; yet
hath it pulpit, reading-desk, and trim front of massiest marble, as if
Robinson Crusoe had reared it to soothe himself with old church-going
images. I forget its Christian name, and what she-saint was its gossip.
You should also go to No. 13, Standgate Street,--a baker, who has the
finest collection of marine monsters in ten sea counties,--sea dragons,
polypi, mer-people, most fantastic. You have only to name the old
gentleman in black (not the Devil) that lodged with him a week (he'll
remember) last July, and he will show courtesy. He is by far the
foremost of the savans. His wife is the funniest thwarting little
animal! They are decidedly the Lions of green Hastings. Well, I have
made an end of my say. My epistolary time is gone by when I could have
scribbled as long (I will not say as agreeable) as thine was to both of
us. I am dwindled to notes and letterets. But, in good earnest, I shall
be most happy to hail thy return to the waters of Old Sir Hugh. There is
nothing like inland murmurs, fresh ripples, and our native minnows.
"He sang in meads how sweet the brooklets ran,
To the rough ocean and red restless sands."
I design to give up smoking; but I have not yet fixed upon the
equivalent vice. I must have _quid pro quo;_ or _quo pro quid_, as Tom
Woodgate would correct me. My service to him. C.L.
[This is the first letter to Hood, then a young man of twenty-five, and
assistant editor of the _London Magazine_. He was now staying at
Hastings, on his honeymoon, presumably, and, like the Lambs, near the
Priory.
"_Cucullus non facit Monachum_"--A "Lamb-pun." The Hood does not make
the monk.
"Old Lignum Janua"--the Tom Woodgate mentioned at the end of the letter,
a boatman at Hastings. Hood wrote some verses to him.
"My old New River." This passage was placed by Hood as the motto of his
verses "Walton Redivivus," in _Whims and Oddities_, 1826.
"Little churchling." This is Lamb's second description of Hollingdon
Rural. The third and best is in a later letter.
"There is nothing like inland murmurs." Lamb is here remembering
Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey lines:--
With a sweet inland murmur.
In the _Elia_ essay "The Old Margate Hoy" Lamb, in speaking of Hastings,
had made the same objection.
In a letter to his sister, written from Hastings at this time, Hood
says:--
This is the last of our excursions. We have tried, but in vain, to
find out the baker and his wife recommended to us by Lamb as the
very lions of green Hastings. There is no such street as he has
named throughout the town, and the ovens are singularly numerous. We
have given up the search, therefore, but we have discovered the
little church in the wood, and it is such a church! It ought to have
been our St. Botolph's. ... Such a verdant covert wood Stothard
might paint for the haunting of Dioneus, Pamphillus, and Fiammetta
as they walk in the novel of Boccacce. The ground shadowed with
bluebells, even to the formation of a plumb-like bloom upon its
little knolls and ridges; and ever through the dell windeth a little
path chequered with the shades of aspens and ashes and the most
verdant and lively of all the family of trees. Here a broad, rude
stone steppeth over a lazy spring, oozing its way into grass and
weeds; anon a fresh pathway divergeth, you know not whither.
Meanwhile the wild blackbird startles across the way and singeth
anew in some other shade. To have seen Fiammetta there, stepping in
silk attire, like a flower, and the sunlight looking upon her
betwixt the branches! I had not walked (in the body) with Romance
before. Then suppose so much of a space cleared as maketh a small
church _lawn_ to be sprinkled with old gravestones, and in the midst
the church itself, a small Christian dovecot, such as Lamb has truly
described it, like a little temple of Juan Fernandes. I could have
been sentimental and wished to lie some day in that place, its calm
tenants seeming to come through such quiet ways, through those
verdant alleys, to their graves.
In coming home I killed a viper in our serpentine path, and Mrs.
Fernor says I am by that token to overcome an enemy. Is Taylor or
Hessey dead? The reptile was dark and dull, his blood being yet
sluggish from the cold; howbeit, he tried to bite, till I cut him in
two with a stone. I thought of Hessey's long back-bone when I did
it.
They are called _adders_, tell your father, because two and two of
them together make four.]
LETTER 351
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. August 17, 1824.]
Dear B.B.--I congratulate you on getting a house over your head. I find
the comfort of it I am sure. At my town lodgings the Mistress was always
quarrelling with our maid; and at my place of rustication, the whole
family were always beating one another, brothers beating sisters (one a
most beautiful girl lamed for life), father beating sons and daughters,
and son again beating his father, knocking him fairly down, a scene I
never before witnessed, but was called out of bed by the unnatural
blows, the parricidal colour of which, tho' my morals could not but
condemn, yet my reason did heartily approve, and in the issue the house
was quieter for a day or so than I had ever known. I am now all harmony
and quiet, even to the sometimes wishing back again some of the old
rufflings. There is something stirring in these civil broils.
The Album shall be attended to. If I can light upon a few appropriate
rhymes (but rhymes come with difficulty from me now) I shall beg a place
in the neat margin of your young housekeeper.
The Prometheus Unbound, is a capital story. The Literal rogue! What if
you had ordered Elfrida in _sheets!_ She'd have been sent up, I warrant
you. Or bid him clasp his bible (_i.e._ to his bosom)-he'd ha clapt on a
brass clasp, no doubt.--
I can no more understand Shelly than you can. His poetry is "thin sewn
with profit or delight." Yet I must point to your notice a sonnet
conceivd and expressed with a witty delicacy. It is that addressed to
one who hated him, but who could not persuade him to hate _him_ again.
His coyness to the other's passion (for hate demands a return as much as
Love, and starves without it) is most arch and pleasant. Pray, like it
very much.
For his theories and nostrums they are oracular enough, but I either
comprehend 'em not, or there is miching malice and mischief in 'em. But
for the most part ringing with their own emptiness. Hazlitt said well of
'em--Many are wiser and better for reading Shakspeare, but nobody was
ever wiser or better for reading Sh----y.
I wonder you will sow your correspondence on so barren a ground as I am,
that make such poor returns. But my head akes at the bare thought of
letter writing. I wish all the ink in the ocean dried up, and would
listen to the quills shivering [? shrivelling] up in the candle flame,
like parching martyrs. The same indisposit'n to write it is has stopt my
Elias, but you will see a futile Effort in the next No., "wrung from me
with slow pain."
The fact is, my head is seldom cool enough. I am dreadfully indolent. To
have to do anything-to order me a new coat, for instance, tho' my old
buttons are shelled like beans-- is an effort.
My pen stammers like my tongue. What cool craniums
those old enditers of Folios must have had. What a mortify'd
pulse. Well, once more I throw myself on your mercy--
Wishing peace in thy new dwelling-- C. LAMB.
[The Lambs gave up their "country lodgings" at Dalston on moving to
Colebrooke Row.
"The album." See next letter to Barton.
"The Prometheus Unbound." A bookseller, asked for _Prometheus Unbound_,
Shelley's poem, had replied that _Prometheus_ was not to be had "in
sheets." _Elfrida_ was a dramatic poem by William Mason, Gray's friend.
This is Shelley's poem (not a sonnet) which Lamb liked:--
LINES TO A REVIEWER
Alas! good friend, what profit can you see
In hating such an hateless thing as me?
There is no sport in hate, where all the rage
Is on one side. In vain would you assuage
Your frowns upon an unresisting smile,
In which not even contempt lurks, to beguile
Your heart by some faint sympathy of hate.
Oh conquer what you cannot satiate!
For to your passion I am far more coy
Then ever yet was coldest maid or boy
In winter-noon. Of your antipathy
If I am the Narcissus, you are free
To pine into a sound with hating me.
Hazlitt writes of Shelley in his essay "On Paradox and Commonplace" in
_Table Talk_; but he does not make this remark there. Perhaps he said it
in conversation.
"The next Number." The "futile Effort" was "Blakesmoor in H----shire" in
the _London Magazine_ for September, 1824.
Here should come a note from Lamb to Cary, August 19, 1824, in which
Lamb thanks him for his translation of _The Birds_ of Aristophanes and
accepts an invitation to dine.]
LETTER 352
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[Dated at end: September 30, 1824.]
Little Book! surnam'd of White;
Clean, as yet, and fair to sight;
Keep thy attribution right,
Never disproportion'd scrawl;
Ugly blot, that's worse than all;
On thy maiden clearness fall.
In each Letter, here design'd,
Let the Reader emblem'd find
Neatness of the Owner's mind.
Gilded margins count a sin;
Let thy leaves attraction win
By thy Golden Rules within:
Sayings, fetch'd from Sages old;
Saws, which Holy Writ unfold,
Worthy to be writ in Gold:
Lighter Fancies not excluding;
Blameless wit, with nothing rude in,
Sometimes mildly interluding
Amid strains of graver measure:--
Virtue's self hath oft her pleasure
In sweet Muses' groves of leisure.
Riddles dark, perplexing sense;
Darker meanings of offence;
What but _shades_, be banish'd hence.
Whitest Thoughts, in whitest dress--
Candid Meanings--best express
Mind of quiet Quakeress.
Dear B.B.--"I am ill at these numbers;" but if the above be not too
mean to have a place in thy Daughter's Sanctum, take them with pleasure.
I assume that her Name is Hannah, because it is a pretty scriptural
cognomen. I began on another sheet of paper, and just as I had penn'd
the second line of Stanza 2 an ugly Blot [_here is a blot_] as big as
this, fell, to illustrate my counsel.--I am sadly given to blot, and
modern blotting-paper gives no redress; it only smears and makes it
worse, as for example [_here is a smear_]. The only remedy is scratching
out, which gives it a Clerkish look. The most innocent blots are made
with red ink, and are rather ornamental. [_Here are two or three blots
in red ink._] Marry, they are not always to be distinguished from the
effusions of a cut finger.
Well, I hope and trust thy Tick doleru, or however you spell it, is
vanished, for I have frightful impressions of that Tick, and do
altogether hate it, as an unpaid score, or the Tick of a Death Watch. I
take it to be a species of Vitus's dance (I omit the Sanctity, writing
to "one of the men called Friends"). I knew a young Lady who could dance
no other, she danced thro' life, and very queer and fantastic were her
steps. Heaven bless thee from such measures, and keep thee from the Foul
Fiend, who delights to lead after False Fires in the night,
Flibbertigibit, that gives the web and the pin &c. I forget what else.--
From my den, as Bunyan has it, 30 Sep. 24. C.L.
[The verses were for the album of Barton's daughter, Lucy (afterwards
Mrs. Edward FitzGerald). Lucy was her only name. Lamb afterwards printed
them in his _Album Verses_, 1830.]
LETTER 353
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. JOHN DYER COLLIER
[Dated at end: November 2, 1824.]
Dear Mrs. Collier--We receive so much pig from your kindness, that I
really have not phrase enough to vary successive acknowledg'mts.
I think I shall get a printed form: to serve on all occasions.
To say it was young, crisp, short, luscious, dainty-toed, is but to say
what all its predecessors have been. It was eaten on Sunday and Monday,
and doubts only exist as to which temperature it eat best, hot or cold.
I incline to the latter. The Petty-feet made a pretty surprising
proe-gustation for supper on Saturday night, just as I was loathingly in
expectation of bren-cheese. I spell as I speak.
I do not know what news to send you. You will have heard of Alsager's
death, and your Son John's success in the Lottery. I say he is a wise
man, if he leaves off while he is well. The weather is wet to weariness,
but Mary goes puddling about a-shopping after a gown for the winter. She
wants it good & cheap. Now I hold that no good things are cheap,
pig-presents always excepted. In this mournful weather I sit moping,
where I now write, in an office dark as Erebus, jammed in between 4
walls, and writing by Candle-light, most melancholy. Never see the light
of the Sun six hours in the day, and am surprised to find how pretty it
shines on Sundays. I wish I were a Caravan driver or a Penny post man,
to earn my bread in air & sunshine. Such a pedestrian as I am, to be
tied by the legs, like a Fauntleroy, without the pleasure of his
Exactions. I am interrupted here with an official question, which will
take me up till it's time to go to dinner, so with repeated thanks &
both our kindest rememb'ces to Mr. Collier & yourself, I conclude in
haste.
Yours & his sincerely, C. LAMB.
from my den in Leadenhall,
2 Nov. 24.
On further enquiry Alsager is not dead, but Mrs. A. is bro't. to bed.
[Mrs. Collier was the mother of John Payne Collier. Alsager we have
already met. Henry Fauntleroy was the banker, who had just been found
guilty of forgery and on the day that Lamb wrote was sentenced to death.
He was executed on the 30th (see a later letter).]
LETTER 354
CHARLES LAMB TO B.W. PROCTER
[Dated at end: November 11, '24.]
My dear Procter,--
I do agnise a shame in not having been to pay my congratulations to Mrs.
Procter and your happy self, but on Sunday (my only morning) I was
engaged to a country walk; and in virtue of the hypostatical union
between us, when Mary calls, it is understood that I call too, we being
univocal.
But indeed I am ill at these ceremonious inductions. I fancy I was not
born with a call on my head, though I have brought one down upon it with
a vengeance. I love not to pluck that sort of fruit crude, but to stay
its ripening into visits. In probability Mary will be at Southampton Row
this morning, and something of that kind be matured between you, but in
any case not many hours shall elapse before I shake you by the hand.
Meantime give my kindest felicitations to Mrs. Procter, and assure her I
look forward with the greatest delight to our acquaintance. By the way,
the deuce a bit of Cake has come to hand, which hath an inauspicious
look at first, but I comfort myself that that Mysterious Service hath
the property of Sacramental Bread, which mice cannot nibble, nor time
moulder.
I am married myself--to a severe step-wife, who keeps me, not at bed and
board, but at desk and board, and is jealous of my morning aberrations.
I can not slip out to congratulate kinder unions. It is well she leaves
me alone o' nights--the damn'd Day-hag _BUSINESS_. She is even now
peeping over me to see I am writing no Love Letters. I come, my dear--
Where is the Indigo Sale Book?
Twenty adieus, my dear friends, till we meet.
Yours most truly, C. LAMB.
Leadenhall, 11 Nov. '24.
[Procter married Anne Skepper, step-daughter of Basil Montagu, in
October, 1824. One of their daughters was Adelaide Ann Procter.
"Agnise"--acknowledge. It has been suggested that Lamb favoured this old
word also on account of its superficial association with _agnus_, a
lamb.]
LETTER 355
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON
[P.M. Nov. 20, 1824.]
Dr. R. Barren Field bids me say that he is resident at his brother
Henry's, a surgeon &c., a few doors west of Christ Church Passage
Newgate Street; and that he shall be happy to accompany you up thence to
Islington, when next you come our way, but not so late as you sometimes
come. I think we shall be out on Tuesd'y.
Yours ever
C. LAMB.
Sat'y.
[Barron Field, as I have said, had returned from New South Wales in June
of this year. Later he became Chief Justice at Gibraltar.]
LETTER 356
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HUTCHINSON
Desk II, Nov. 25 [1824].
My dear Miss Hutchinson, Mary bids me thank you for your kind letter. We
are a little puzzled about your where-abouts: Miss Wordsworth writes
Torkay, and you have queerly made it Torquay. Now Tokay we have heard
of, and Torbay, which we take to be the true _male_ spelling of the
place, but somewhere we fancy it to be on "Devon's leafy shores," where
we heartily wish the kindly breezes may restore all that is invalid
among you. Robinson is returned, and speaks much of you all. We shall be
most glad to hear good news from you from time to time. The best is,
Proctor is at last married. We have made sundry attempts to see the
Bride, but have accidentally failed, she being gone out a gadding.
We had promised our dear friends the Monkhouses, promised ourselves
rather, a visit to them at Ramsgate, but I thought it best, and Mary
seemed to have it at heart too, not to go far from home these last holy
days. It is connected with a sense of unsettlement, and secretly I know
she hoped that such abstinence would be friendly to her health. She
certainly has escaped her sad yearly visitation, whether in consequence
of it, or of faith in it, and we have to be thankful for a good 1824. To
get such a notion into our heads may go a great way another year. Not
that we quite confined ourselves; but assuming Islington to be head
quarters, we made timid flights to Ware, Watford &c. to try how the
trouts tasted, for a night out or so, not long enough to make the sense
of change oppressive, but sufficient to scour the rust of home.
Coleridge is not returned from the Sea. As a little scandal
may divert you recluses--we were in the Summer dining at a
Clergyman of Southey's "Church of England," at Hertford,
the same who officiated to Thurtell's last moments, and indeed
an old contemporary Blue of C.'s and mine at School. After
dinner we talked of C., and F. who is a mighty good fellow in
the main, but hath his cassock prejudices, inveighed against
the moral character of C. I endeavoured to enlighten him on
the subject, till having driven him out of some of his holds, he
stopt my mouth at once by appealing to me whether it was not
very well known that C. "at that very moment was living in
a state of open a------y with Mrs. * * * * * at Highgate?"
Nothing I could say serious or bantering after that
could remove the deep inrooted conviction of the whole company
assembled that such was the case! Of course you will
keep this quite close, for I would not involve my poor blundering
friend, who I dare say believed it all thoroughly. My
interference of course was imputed to the goodness of my heart,
that could imagine nothing wrong &c. Such it is if Ladies
will go gadding about with other people's husbands at watering
places. How careful we should be to avoid the appearance of
Evil. I thought this Anecdote might amuse you. It is not
worth resenting seriously; only I give it as a specimen of
orthodox candour. O Southey, Southey, how long would it
be before you would find one of us _Unitarians_ propagating
such unwarrantable Scandal! Providence keep you all from
the foul fiend Scandal, and send you back well and happy to
dear Gloster Place. C.L.
[Thomas Monkhouse, who was in a decline, had been ordered to Torquay.
Crabb Robinson had been in Normandy for some weeks. The too credulous
clergyman at Hertford was Frederick William Franklin, Master of the Blue
Coat school there (from 1801 to 1827), who was at Christ's Hospital with
Lamb.
"Mrs. * * * * * *." Mrs. Gillman.]
LETTER 357
CHARLES LAMB TO LEIGH HUNT
[No date. ? November, 1824.]
ILLUSTREZZIMO Signor,--I have obeyed your mandate to a tittle. I
accompany this with a volume. But what have you done with the first I
sent you?--have you swapt it with some lazzaroni for macaroni? or
pledged it with a gondolierer for a passage? Peradventuri the Cardinal
Gonsalvi took a fancy to it:--his Eminence has done my Nearness an
honour. 'Tis but a step to the Vatican. As you judge, my works do not
enrich the workman, but I get vat I can for 'em. They keep dragging me
on, a poor, worn mill-horse, in the eternal round of the damn'd
magazine; but 'tis they are blind, not I. Colburn (where I recognise
with delight the gay W. Honeycomb renovated) hath the ascendency.
I was with the Novellos last week. They have a large, cheap house and
garden, with a dainty library (magnificent) without books. But what will
make you bless yourself (I am too old for wonder), something has touched
the right organ in Vincentio at last. He attends a Wesleyan chapel on
Kingsland Green. He at first tried to laugh it off--he only went for the
singing; but the cloven foot--I retract--the Lamb's trotters--are at
length apparent. Mary Isabella attributes it to a lightness induced by
his headaches. But I think I see in it a less accidental influence.
Mister Clark is at perfect staggers! the whole fabric of his infidelity
is shaken. He has no one to join him in his coarse-insults and indecent
obstreperousnesses against Christianity, for Holmes (the bonny Holmes)
is gone to Salisbury to be organist, and Isabella and the Clark make but
a feeble quorum. The children have all nice, neat little clasped
pray-books, and I have laid out 7s. 8d. in Watts's Hymns for Christmas
presents for them. The eldest girl alone holds out; she has been at
Boulogne, skirting upon the vast focus of Atheism, and imported bad
principles in patois French. But the strongholds are crumbling. N.
appears as yet to have but a confused notion of the Atonement. It makes
him giddy, he says, to think much about it. But such giddiness is
spiritual sobriety.
Well, Byron is gone, and ------ is now the best poet in England. Fill up
the gap to your fancy. Barry Cornwall has at last carried the pretty A.
S. They are just in the treacle-moon. Hope it won't clog his wings--gaum
we used to say at school.
Mary, my sister, has worn me out with eight weeks' cold and toothache,
her average complement in the winter, and it will not go away. She is
otherwise well, and reads novels all day long. She has had an exempt
year, a good year, for which, forgetting the minor calamity, she and I
are most thankful.
Alsager is in a flourishing house, with wife and children about him, in
Mecklenburg Square--almost too fine to visit.
Barron Field is come home from Sydney, but as yet I can hear no tidings
of a pension. He is plump and friendly, his wife really a very superior
woman. He resumes the bar.
I have got acquainted with Mr. Irving, the Scotch preacher, whose fame
must have reached you. He is a humble disciple at the foot of Gamaliel
S.T.C. Judge how his own sectarists must stare when I tell you he has
dedicated a book to S.T.C., acknowledging to have learnt more of the
nature of Faith, Christianity, and Christian Church, from him than from
all the men he ever conversed with. He is a most amiable, sincere,
modest man in a room, this Boanerges in the temple. Mrs. Montague told
him the dedication would do him no good. "That shall be a reason for
doing it," was his answer. Judge, now, whether this man be a quack.
Dear H., take this imperfect notelet for a letter; it looks so much the
more like conversing on nearer terms. Love to all the Hunts, old friend
Thornton, and all.
Yours ever, C. LAMB.
[Leigh Hunt was still living at Genoa. Shelley and Byron, whom he had
left England to join, were both dead. Lamb, I assume, sent him a second
copy of _Elia_, with this letter.
Cardinal Gonsalvi was Ercole Gonsalvi (1757-1824), secretary to Pius
VII. and a patron of the arts. Lawrence painted him.
For the present state of the _London Magazine_ see next letter. Leigh
Hunt contributed to Colburn's _New Monthly Magazine_, among other
things, a series of papers on "The Months." Hunt also contributed an
account of the Honeycomb family, by Harry Honeycomb.
By Mary Isabella Lamb meant Mary Sabilla Novello, Vincent Novello's
wife. The eldest girl was Mary Victoria, afterwards the wife of Charles
Cowden Clarke, the Mr. Clark mentioned here. Novello (now living at
Shackleford Green) remained a good Roman Catholic to the end. Holmes was
Edward Holmes (1797-1859), a pupil of Cowden Clarke's father at Enfield
and schoolfellow of Keats. He had lived with the Novellos, studying
music, and later became a musical writer and teacher and the biographer
of Mozart.
Mrs. Barron Field was a Miss Jane Carncroft, to whom Lamb addressed some
album verses (see Vol. IV. of this edition). Leigh Hunt knew of Field's
return, for he had contributed to the _New Monthly_ earlier in the year
a rhymed letter to him in which he welcomed him home again.
Irving was Edward Irving (1792-1834), afterwards the founder of the
Catholic Apostolic sect, then drawing people to the chapel in Hatton
Garden, attached to the Caledonian Asylum. The dedication, to which Lamb
alludes more than once in his correspondence, was that of his work, _For
Missionaries after the Apostolical School, a series of orations in four
parts_, ... 1825. It runs:--
DEDICATION
TO
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, ESQ.
MY DEAR AND HONOURED FRIEND,
Unknown as you are, in the true character either of your mind or of your
heart, to the greater part of your countrymen, and misrepresented as
your works have been, by those who have the ear of the vulgar, it will
seem wonderful to many that I should make choice of you, from the circle
of my friends, to dedicate to you these beginnings of my thoughts upon
the most important subject of these or any times. And when I state the
reason to be, that you have been more profitable to my faith in orthodox
doctrine, to my spiritual understanding of the Word of God, and to my
right conception of the Christian Church, than any or all of the men
with whom I have entertained friendship and conversation, it will
perhaps still more astonish the mind, and stagger the belief, of those
who have adopted, as once I did myself, the misrepresentations which are
purchased for a hire and vended for a price, concerning your character
and works. You have only to shut your ear to what they ignorantly say of
you, and earnestly to meditate the deep thoughts with which you are
instinct, and give them a suitable body and form that they may live,
then silently commit them to the good sense of ages yet to come, in
order to be ranked hereafter amongst the most gifted sages and greatest
benefactors of your country. Enjoy and occupy the quiet which, after
many trials, the providence of God hath bestowed upon you, in the bosom
of your friends; and may you be spared until you have made known the
multitude of your thoughts, unto those who at present value, or shall
hereafter arise to value, their worth.
I have partaken so much high intellectual enjoyment from being admitted
into the close and familiar intercourse with which you have honoured me,
and your many conversations concerning the revelations of the Christian
faith have been so profitable to me in every sense, as a student and a
preacher of the Gospel, as a spiritual man and a Christian pastor, and
your high intelligence and great learning have at all times so kindly
stooped to my ignorance and inexperience, that not merely with the
affection of friend to friend, and the honour due from youth to
experienced age, but with the gratitude of a disciple to a wise and
generous teacher, of an anxious inquirer to the good man who hath helped
him in the way of truth, I do now presume to offer you the first-fruits
of my mind since it received a new impulse towards truth, and a new
insight into its depths, from listening to your discourse. Accept them
in good part, and be assured that however insignificant in themselves,
they are the offering of a heart which loves your heart, and of a mind
which looks up with reverence to your mind.
EDWARD IRVING.
"Old friend Thornton" was Leigh Hunt's son, Thornton Leigh Hunt, whom
Lamb had addressed in verse in 1815 as "my favourite child." He was now
fourteen.]
LETTER 358
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON AND LUCY BARTON
[P.M. December 1, 1824.]
Dear B.B.--If Mr. Mitford will send me a full and circumstantial
description of his desired vases, I will transmit the same to a
Gentleman resident at Canton, whom I think I have interest enough in to
take the proper care for their execution. But Mr. M. must have patience.
China is a great way off, further perhaps than he thinks; and his next
year's roses must be content to wither in a Wedgewood pot. He will
please to say whether he should like his Arms upon them, &c. I send
herewith some patterns which suggest themselves to me at the first blush
of the subject, but he will probably consult his own taste after all.
[Illustration: Handdrawn sketch]
The last pattern is obviously fitted for ranunculuses only. The two
former may indifferently hold daisies, marjoram, sweet williams, and
that sort. My friend in Canton is Inspector of Teas, his name Ball; and
I can think of no better tunnel. I shall expect Mr. M.'s decision.
Taylor and Hessey finding their magazine goes off very heavily at 2s.
6d. are prudently going to raise their price another shilling; and
having already more authors than they want, intend to increase the
number of them. If they set up against the New Monthly, they must change
their present hands. It is not tying the dead carcase of a Review to a
half-dead Magazine will do their business. It is like G.D. multiplying
his volumes to make 'em sell better. When he finds one will not go off,
he publishes two; two stick, he tries three; three hang fire, he is
confident that four will have a better chance.
And now, my dear Sir, trifling apart, the gloomy catastrophe of
yesterday morning prompts a sadder vein. The fate of the unfortunate
Fauntleroy makes me, whether I will or no, to cast reflecting eyes
around on such of my friends as by a parity of situation are exposed to
a similarity of temptation. My very style, seems to myself to become
more impressive than usual, with the change of theme. Who that standeth,
knoweth but he may yet fall? Your hands as yet, I am most willing to
believe, have never deviated into others' property. You think it
impossible that you could ever commit so heinous an offence. But so
thought Fauntleroy once; so have thought many besides him, who at last
have expiated, as he hath done. You are as yet upright. But you are a
Banker, at least the next thing to it. I feel the delicacy of the
subject; but cash must pass thro' your hands, sometimes to a great
amount. If in an unguarded hour--but I will hope better. Consider the
scandal it will bring upon those of your persuasion. Thousands would go
to see a Quaker hanged, that would be indifferent to the fate of a
Presbyterian, or an Anabaptist. Think of the effect it would have on the
sale of your poems alone; not to mention higher considerations. I
tremble, I am sure, at myself, when I think that so many poor victims of
the Law at one time of their life made as sure of never being hanged as
I in my presumption am too ready to do myself. What are we better than
they? Do we come into the world with different necks? Is there any
distinctive mark under our left ears? Are we unstrangulable? I ask you.
Think of these things. I am shocked sometimes at the shape of my own
fingers, not for their resemblance to the ape tribe (which is something)
but for the exquisite adaptation of them to the purposes of picking,
fingering, &c. No one that is so framed, I maintain it, but should
tremble.
Postscript for your Daughter's eyes only.
Dear Miss ---- Your pretty little letterets make me ashamed of my great
straggling coarse handwriting. I wonder where you get pens to write so
small. Sure they must be the pinions of a small wren, or a robin. If you
write so in your Album, you must give us glasses to read by. I have seen
a Lady's similar book all writ in following fashion. I think it pretty
and fanciful.
"O how I love in early dawn
To bend my steps o'er flowery dawn [lawn],"
which I think has an agreeable variety to the eye. Which I recommend to
your notice, with friend Elia's best wishes.
[The _London Magazine_ began a new series at half a crown with the
number for January, 1825. It had begun to decline very noticeably. The
_New Monthly Magazine_, to the January number of which Lamb contributed
his "Illustrious Defunct" essay, was its most serious rival. Lamb
returned to some of his old vivacity and copiousness in the _London
Magazine_ for January, 1825. To that number he contributed his
"Biographical Memoir of Mr. Liston" and the "Vision of Horns"; and to
the February number "Letter to an Old Gentleman," "Unitarian Protests"
and the "Autobiography of Mr. Munden."
"G.D."--George Dyer again.
"Fauntleroy." See note above. Fauntleroy's fate seems to have had great
fascination for Lamb. He returned to the subject, in the vein of this
letter, in "The Last Peach," a little essay printed in the _London
Magazine_ for April, 1825 (see Vol. I. of this edition); and in
_Memories of old Friends, being Extracts from the Journals and Letters
of Caroline Fox, ... from 1835 to 1871_, 1882, I find the following
entry:--
October 25 [l839].--G. Wightwick and others dined with us. He talked
agreeably about capital punishments, greatly doubting their having any
effect in preventing crime. Soon after Fauntleroy was hanged, an
advertisement appeared, "To all good Christians! Pray for the soul of
Fauntleroy." This created a good deal of speculation as to whether he
was a Catholic, and at one of Coleridge's soirées it was discussed for a
considerable time; at length Coleridge, turning to Lamb, asked, "Do you
know anything about this affair?" "I should think I d-d-d-did," said
Elia, "for I paid s-s-s-seven and sixpence for it!"
Lamb's postscript is written in extremely small characters, and --the
letters of the two lines of verse are in alternate red and black inks.
It was this letter which, Edward FitzGerald tells us, Thackeray pressed
to his forehead, with the remark "Saint Charles!" Hitherto, the
postscript not having been thought worthy of print by previous editors,
it was a little difficult to understand why this particular letter had
been selected for Thackeray's epithet. But when one thinks of the
patience with which, after making gentle fun of her father, Lamb sat
down to amuse Lucy Barton, and, as Thackeray did, thinks also of his
whole life, it becomes more clear.
Here should come a letter to Alaric A. Watts dated Dec. 28, 1824, in
reply to a request for a contribution to one of this inveterate
album-maker's albums. Lamb acquiesces. Later he came to curse the
things. Given in the Boston Bibliophile edition.]
LETTER 359
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN BATES DIBDIN
[P.M. January II, 1825.]
My Dear Sir--Pray return my best thanks to your father for his little
volume. It is like all of his I have seen, spirited, good humoured, and
redolent of the wit and humour of a century ago. He should have lived
with Gay and his set. The Chessiad is so clever that I relish'd it in
spite of my total ignorance of the game. I have it not before me, but I
remember a capital simile of the Charwoman letting in her Watchman
husband, which is better than Butler's Lobster turned to Red. Hazard is
a grand Character, Jove in his Chair. When you are disposed to leave
your one room for my six, Colebrooke is where it was, and my sister begs
me to add that as she is disappointed of meeting your sister _your way_,
we shall be most happy to see her _our way_, when you have an even'g to
spare. Do not stand on ceremonies and introductions, but come at once. I
need not say that if you can induce your father to join the party, it
will be so much the pleasanter. Can you name an evening _next week_? I
give you long credit.
Meantime am as usual yours truly C.L.
E.I.H.
11 Jan. 25.
When I saw the Chessiad advertised by C.D. the Younger, I hoped it
might be yours. What title is left for you--
Charles Dibdin _the Younger, Junior_.
O No, you are Timothy.
[Charles Dibdin the Younger wrote a mock-heroic poem, "The Chessiad,"
which was published with _Comic Tales_ in 1825. The simile of the
charwoman runs thus:--
Now Morning, yawning, rais'd her from her bed,
Slipp'd on her wrapper blue and 'kerchief red,
And took from Night the key of Sleep's abode;
For Night within that mansion had bestow'd
The Hours of day; now, turn and turn about,
Morn takes the key and lets the Day-hours out;
Laughing, they issue from the ebon gate,
And Night walks in. As when, in drowsy state,
Some watchman, wed to one who chars all day,
Takes to his lodging's door his creeping way;
His rib, arising, lets him in to sleep,
While she emerges to scrub, dust, and sweep.
This is the lobster simile in _Hudibras_, Part II., Canto 2, lines
29-32:--
The sun had long since, in the lap
Of Thetis, taken out his nap,
And, like a lobster boiled, the morn
From black to red began to turn.
Hazard is the chief of the gods in the Chessiad's little drama.
"You are Timothy." See letter to Dibdin above.
I have included in Vol. I. of the present edition a review of Dibdin's
book, in the _New Times_, January 27, 1825, which both from internal
evidence and from the quotation of the charwoman passage I take to be by
Lamb, who was writing for that paper at that time.]
LETTER 360
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
Jan. 17, 1825.
Dear Allsop--I acknowledge with thanks the receipt of a draft on Messrs.
Wms. for £81:11:3 which I haste to cash in the present alarming state of
the money market. Hurst and Robinson gone. I have imagined a chorus of
ill-used authors singing on the occasion:
What should we when Booksellers break?
We should rejoice
da Capo.
We regret exceed'ly Mrs. Allsop's being unwell. Mary or both will come
and see her soon. The frost is cruel, and we have both colds. I take
Pills again, which battle with your wine & victory hovers doubtful. By
the bye, tho' not disinclined to presents I remember our bargain to take
a dozen at sale price and must demur. With once again thanks and best
loves to Mrs. A.
Turn over--Yours, C. LAMB.
[Hurst and Robinson were publishers. Lamb took the idea for his chorus
from Davenant's version of "Macbeth" which he described in _The
Spectator_ in 1828 (see Vol. I. of the present edition). It is there a
chorus of witches--
We should rejoice when good kings bleed. ]
LETTER 361
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HUTCHINSON
[P.M. January 20, 1825.]
The brevity of this is owing to scratching it off at my desk amid
expected interruptions. By habit, I can write Letters only at office.
Dear Miss H. Thank you for a noble Goose, which wanted only the massive
Encrustation that we used to pick-axe open about this season in old
Gloster Place. When shall we eat another Goosepye together? The pheasant
too must not be forgotten, twice as big and half as good as a partridge.
You ask about the editor of the Lond. I know of none. This first
specimen is flat and pert enough to justify subscribers who grudge at
t'other shilling. De Quincey's Parody was submitted to him before
printed, and had his Probatum. The "Horns" is in a poor taste,
resembling the most laboured papers in the Spectator. I had sign'd it
"Jack Horner:" but Taylor and Hessey said, it would be thought an
offensive article, unless I put my known signature to it; and wrung from
me my slow consent. But did you read the "Memoir of Liston"? and did you
guess whose it was? Of all the Lies I ever put off, I value this most.
It is from top to toe, every paragraph, Pure Invention; and has passed
for Gospel, has been republished in newspapers, and in the penny
play-bills of the Night, as an authentic Account. I shall certainly go
to the Naughty Man some day for my Fibbings. In the next No. I figure as
a Theologian! and have attacked my late brethren, the Unitarians. What
Jack Pudding tricks I shall play next, I know not. I am almost at the
end of my Tether.
Coleridge is quite blooming; but his Book has not budded yet. I hope I
have spelt Torquay right now, and that this will find you all mending,
and looking forward to a London flight with the Spring. Winter _we_ have
had none, but plenty of foul weather. I have lately pick'd up an Epigram
which pleased me.
Two noble Earls, whom if I quote,
Some folks might call me Sinner;
The one invented half a coat;
The other half a dinner.
The plan was good, as some will say
And fitted to console one:
Because, in this poor starving day,
Few can afford a whole one.
I have made the Lame one still lamer by imperfect memory, but spite of
bald diction, a little done to it might improve it into a good one. You
have nothing else to do at [_"Talk kay" here written and scratched out_]
Torquay. Suppose you try it. Well God bless you all, as wishes Mary,
[most] sincerely, with many thanks for Letter &c. ELIA.
[The Monkhouses' house in London was at 34 Gloucester Place.
Lamb's De Quincey parody was the "Letter to an Old Gentleman, whose
Education has been Neglected."
"Coleridge's book"--the _Aids to Reflection_, published in May or June,
1825.
"I have lately pick'd up an Epigram." This is by Henry Man, an old
South-Sea House clerk, whom in his South-Sea House essay Lamb mentions
as a wit. The epigram, which refers to Lord Spencer and Lord Sandwich,
will be found in Man's _Miscellaneous Works_, 1802.]
LETTER 362
CHARLES LAMB TO VINCENT NOVELLO
[P.M. Jan. 25, 1825.]
Dear Corelli, My sister's cold is as obstinate as an old Handelian, whom
a modern amateur is trying to convert to Mozart-ism. As company must &
always does injure it, Emma and I propose to come to you in the evening
of to-morrow, _instead of meeting here_. An early bread-and-cheese
supper at 1/2 past eight will oblige us.
Loves to the Bearer of many Children. C. LAMB.
Tuesday Colebrooke.
I sign with a black seal, that you may begin to think, her cold has
killed Mary, which will be an agreeable UNSURPRISE when you read the
Note.
[This is the first letter to Novello, who was the peculiar champion of
Mozart and Haydn. Lamb calls him Corelli after Archangelo Corelli
(1653-1713), the violinist and composer. It was part of a joke between
Lamb and Novello that Lamb should affect to know a great deal about
music. See the _Elia_ essay "A Chapter on Ears" for a description of
Novello's playing. Mrs. Novello was the mother of eleven children.]
LETTER 363
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[Dated at end: 10 February, 1825.]
Dear B.B.--I am vexed that ugly paper should have offended. I kept it
as clear from objectionable phrases as possible, and it was Hessey's
fault, and my weakness, that it did not appear anonymous. No more of it
for God's sake.
The Spirit of the Age is by Hazlitt. The characters of Coleridge, &c. he
had done better in former publications, the praise and the abuse much
stronger, &c. but the new ones are capitally done. Horne Tooke is a
matchless portrait. My advice is, to borrow it rather than read [? buy]
it. I have it. He has laid on too many colours on my likeness, but I
have had so much injustice done me in my own name, that I make a rule of
accepting as much over-measure to Elia as Gentlemen think proper to
bestow. Lay it on and spare not.
Your Gentleman Brother sets my mouth a watering after Liberty. O that I
were kicked out of Leadenhall with every mark of indignity, and a
competence in my fob. The birds of the air would not be so free as I
should. How I would prance and curvet it, and pick up cowslips, and
ramble about purposeless as an ideot! The Author-mometer is a good
fancy. I have caused great speculation in the dramatic (not _thy_) world
by a Lying Life of Liston, all pure invention. The Town has swallowed
it, and it is copied into News Papers, Play Bills, etc., as authentic.
You do not know the Droll, and possibly missed reading the article (in
our 1st No., New Series). A life more improbable for him to have lived
would not be easily invented. But your rebuke, coupled with "Dream on J.
Bunyan," checks me. I'd rather do more in my favorite way, but feel dry.
I must laugh sometimes. I am poor Hypochondriacus, and _not_ Liston.
Our 2'nd N'o is all trash. What are T. and H. about? It is whip
syllabub, "thin sown with aught of profit or delight." Thin sown! not a
germ of fruit or corn. Why did poor Scott die! There was comfort in
writing with such associates as were his little band of Scribblers, some
gone away, some affronted away, and I am left as the solitary widow
looking for water cresses.
The only clever hand they have is Darley, who has written on the
Dramatists, under name of John Lacy. But his function seems suspended.
I have been harassed more than usually at office, which has stopt my
correspondence lately. I write with a confused aching head, and you must
accept this apology for a Letter.
I will do something soon if I can as a peace offering to the Queen of
the East Angles. Something she shan't scold about.
For the Present, farewell.
Thine C.L.
10 Feb. 1825.
I am fifty years old this day. Drink my health.
["That ugly paper" was "A Vision of Horns."
Hazlitt's _Spirit of the Age_ had just been published, containing
criticisms, among others, of Coleridge, Horne Tooke, and Lamb. Lamb was
very highly praised. Here is a passage from the article:--
How admirably he has sketched the former inmates of the South-Sea
House; what "fine fretwork he makes of their double and single
entries!" With what a firm yet subtle pencil he has embodied "Mrs.
Battle's Opinions on Whist!" How notably he embalms a battered
_beau_; how delightfully an amour, that was cold forty years ago,
revives in his pages! With what well-disguised humour he introduces
us to his relations, and how freely he serves up his friends!
Certainly, some of his portraits are _fixtures_, and will do to hang
up as lasting and lively emblems of human infirmity. Then there is
no one who has so sure an ear for "the chimes at midnight," not even
excepting Mr. Justice Shallow; nor could Master Silence himself take
his "cheese and pippins" with a more significant and satisfactory
air. With what a gusto Mr. Lamb describes the Inns and Courts of
law, the Temple and Gray's Inn, as if he had been a student there
for the last two hundred years, and had been as well acquainted with
the person of Sir Francis Bacon as he is with his portrait or
writings! It is hard to say whether St. John's Gate is connected
with more intense and authentic associations in his mind, as a part
of old London Wall, or as the frontispiece (time out of mind) of the
_Gentleman's Magazine_. He hunts Watling Street like a gentle
spirit; the avenues to the play-houses are thick with panting
recollections; and Christ's Hospital still breathes the balmy breath
of infancy in his description of it!
"Your Gentleman Brother"--John Barton, Bernard's younger half-brother.
"The Author-mometer." I have not discovered to what Lamb refers.
"Dream on J. Bunyan." Probably a poem by Barton, but I have not traced
it.
"T. and H."--Taylor & Hessey.
"Poor Scott"--John Scott, who founded the _London Magazine_.
"Darley"--George Darley (1795-1846), author of _Sylvia; or, The May
Queen_, 1827.
"The Queen of the East Angles." Possibly Lucy Barton, possibly Anne
Knight, a friend of Barton's.]
LETTER 364
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS MANNING
[Not dated. ? February, 1825.]
My dear M.,--You might have come inopportunely a week since, when we had
an inmate. At present and for as long as _ever_ you like, our castle is
at your service. I saw Tuthill yesternight, who has done for me what may
"To all my nights and days to come,
Give solely sovran sway and masterdom."
But I dare not hope, for fear of disappointment. I cannot be more
explicit at present. But I have it under his own hand, that I am
_non_-capacitated (I cannot write it _in_-) for business. O joyous
imbecility! Not a susurration of this to _anybody!_
Mary's love.
C. LAMB.
[Lamb had just taken a most momentous step in his career and had
consulted Tuthill as to his health, in the hope of perhaps obtaining
release and a pension from the East India House. We learn more of this
soon.
Here might come two brief notes to Dibdin, of no importance.]
LETTER 365
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HUTCHINSON
[Dated at end: March 1, 1825.]
Dear Miss Hutchinson Your news has made us all very sad. I had my hopes
to the last. I seem as if I were disturbing you at such an awful time
even by a reply. But I must acknowledge your kindness in presuming upon
the interest we shall all feel on the subject. No one will more feel it
than Robinson, to whom I have written. No one more than he and we
acknowleged the nobleness and worth of what we have lost. Words are
perfectly idle. We can only pray for resignation to the Survivors. Our
dearest expressions of condolence to Mrs. M------ at this time in
particular. God bless you both. I have nothing of ourselves to tell you,
and if I had, I could not be so unreverent as to trouble you with it. We
are all well, that is all. Farewell, the departed--and the left. Your's
and his, while memory survives, cordially
C. LAMB.
1 Mar. 1825.
[The letter refers to the death of Thomas Monkhouse.
Here should come an undated note from Lamb to Procter, in which Lamb
refers to the same loss: "We shall be most glad to see you, though more
glad to have seen double _you_."]
LETTER 366
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. March 23, 1825.]
Wednesday.
Dear B.B.--I have had no impulse to write, or attend to any single
object but myself, for weeks past. My single self. I by myself I. I am
sick of hope deferred. The grand wheel is in agitation that is to turn
up my Fortune, but round it rolls and will turn up nothing. I have a
glimpse of Freedom, of becoming a Gentleman at large, but I am put off
from day to day. I have offered my resignation, and it is neither
accepted nor rejected. Eight weeks am I kept in this fearful suspence.
Guess what an absorbing stake I feel it. I am not conscious of the
existence of friends present or absent. The E.I. Directors alone can be
that thing to me--or not.--
I have just learn'd that nothing will be decided this week. Why the
next? Why any week? It has fretted me into an itch of the fingers, I rub
'em against Paper and write to you, rather than not allay this Scorbuta.
While I can write, let me adjure you to have no doubts of Irving. Let
Mr. Mitford drop his disrespect. Irving has prefixed a dedication (of a
Missionary Subject 1st part) to Coleridge, the most beautiful cordial
and sincere. He there acknowledges his obligation to S.T.C. for his
knowledge of Gospel truths, the nature of a Xtian Church, etc., to the
talk of S.T.C. (at whose Gamaliel feet he sits weekly) [more] than to
that of all the men living. This from him--The great dandled and petted
Sectarian--to a religious character so equivocal in the world's Eye as
that of S.T.C., so foreign to the Kirk's estimate!--Can this man be a
Quack? The language is as affecting as the Spirit of the Dedication.
Some friend told him, "This dedication will do you no Good," _i.e._ not
in the world's repute, or with your own People. "That is a reason for
doing it," quoth Irving.
I am thoroughly pleased with him. He is firm, outspeaking, intrepid--and
docile as a pupil of Pythagoras.
You must like him.
Yours, in tremors of painful hope,
C. LAMB.
[In the first paragraphs Lamb refers to the great question of his
release from the India House.
In a letter dated February 19, 1825, of Mary Russell Mitford, who looked
upon Irving as quack absolute, we find her discussing the preacher with
Charles Lamb.]
LETTER 367
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON
[March 29], 1825.
I have left the d------d India House for Ever!
Give me great joy.
C. LAMB.
[Robinson states in his Reminiscences of Coleridge, Wordsworth and Lamb,
preserved in MS. at Dr. Williams' Library: "A most important incident in
Lamb's life, tho' in the end not so happy for him as he anticipated, was
his obtaining his discharge, with a pension of almost £400 a year, from
the India House. This he announced to me by a note put into my letter
box: 'I have left the India House. D------ Time. I'm all for eternity.'
He was rather more than 50 years of age. I found him and his Sister in
high spirits when I called to wish them joy on the 22 of April. 'I never
saw him so calmly cheerful,' says my journal, 'as he seemed then.'" See
the next letters for Lamb's own account of the event.]
LETTER 368
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Colebrook Cottage,
6 April, 1825.
Dear Wordsworth, I have been several times meditating a letter to you
concerning the good thing which has befallen me, but the thought of poor
Monkhouse came across me. He was one that I had exulted in the prospect
of congratulating me. He and you were to have been the first
participators, for indeed it has been ten weeks since the first motion
of it.
Here I am then after 33 years slavery, sitting in my own room at 11
o'Clock this finest of all April mornings a freed man, with £441 a year
for the remainder of my life, live I as long as John Dennis, who
outlived his annuity and starved at 90. £441, i.e. £450, with a
deduction of £9 for a provision secured to my sister, she being
survivor, the Pension guaranteed by Act Georgii Tertii, &c.
I came home for ever on Tuesday in last week. The incomprehensibleness
of my condition overwhelm'd me. It was like passing from life into
Eternity. Every year to be as long as three, i.e. to have three times as
much real time, time that is my own, in it! I wandered about thinking I
was happy, but feeling I was not. But that tumultuousness is passing
off, and I begin to understand the nature of the gift. Holydays, even
the annual month, were always uneasy joys: their conscious
fugitiveness--the craving after making the most of them. Now, when all
is holyday, there are no holydays. I can sit at home in rain or shine
without a restless impulse for walkings. I am daily steadying, and shall
soon find it as natural to me to be my own master, as it has been
irksome to have had a master. Mary wakes every morning with an obscure
feeling that some good has happened to us.
Leigh Hunt and Montgomery after their releasements describe the shock of
their emancipation much as I feel mine. But it hurt their frames. I eat,
drink, and sleep sound as ever. I lay no anxious schemes for going
hither and thither, but take things as they occur. Yesterday I
excursioned 20 miles, to day I write a few letters. Pleasuring was for
fugitive play days, mine are fugitive only in the sense that life is
fugitive. Freedom and life co-existent.
At the foot of such a call upon you for gratulation, I am ashamd to
advert to that melancholy event. Monkhouse was a character I learnd to
love slowly, but it grew upon me, yearly, monthly, daily. What a chasm
has it made in our pleasant parties! His noble friendly face was always
coming before me, till this hurrying event in my life came, and for the
time has absorpt all interests. In fact it has shaken me a little. My
old desk companions with whom I have had such merry hours seem to
reproach me for removing my lot from among them. They were pleasant
creatures, but to the anxieties of business, and a weight of possible
worse ever impending, I was not equal. Tuthill and Gilman gave me my
certificates. I laughed at the friendly lie implied in them, but my
sister shook her head and said it was all true. Indeed this last winter
I was jaded out, winters were always worse than other parts of the year,
because the spirits are worse, and I had no daylight. In summer I had
daylight evenings. The relief was hinted to me from a superior power,
when I poor slave had not a hope but that I must wait another 7 years
with Jacob--and lo! the Rachel which I coveted is bro't to me--
Have you read the noble dedication of Irving's "Missionary Orations" to
S.T.C. Who shall call this man a Quack hereafter? What the Kirk will
think of it neither I nor Irving care. When somebody suggested to him
that it would not be likely to do him good, videlicet among his own
people, "That is a reason for doing it" was his noble answer.
That Irving thinks he has profited mainly by S.T.C., I have no doubt.
The very style of the Ded. shows it.
Communicate my news to Southey, and beg his pardon for my being so long
acknowledging his kind present of the "Church," which circumstances I do
not wish to explain, but having no reference to himself, prevented at
the time. Assure him of my deep respect and friendliest feelings.
Divide the same, or rather each take the whole to you, I mean you and
all yours. To Miss Hutchinson I must write separate. What's her address?
I want to know about Mrs. M.
Farewell! and end at last, long selfish Letter!
C. LAMB.
[Lamb expanded the first portion of this letter into the _Elia_ essay
"The Superannuated Man," which ought to be read in connection with it
(see Vol. II. of the present edition).
Leigh Hunt and James Montgomery, the poet, had both undergone
imprisonment for libel.
At a Court of Directors of the India House held on March 29, 1825, it
was resolved "that the resignation of Mr. Charles Lamb of the Accountant
General's Office, on account of certified ill-health, be accepted, and,
it appearing that he has served the Company faithfully for 33 years, and
is now in the receipt of an income of £730 per annum, he be allowed a
pension of £450 (four hundred and fifty pounds) per annum, under the
provisions of the act of the 53 Geo. III., cap. 155, to commence from
this day."]
LETTER 369
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. April 6, 1825.]
Dear B.B.--My spirits are so tumultuary with the novelty of my recent
emancipation, that I have scarce steadiness of hand, much more mind, to
compose a letter.
I am free, B.B.--free as air.
The little bird that wings the sky
Knows no such Liberty!
I was set free on Tuesday in last week at 4 o'Clock.
I came home for ever!
I have been describing my feelings as well as I can to Wordsw'th. in a
long letter, and don't care to repeat. Take it briefly that for a few
days I was painfully oppressed by so mighty a change, but it is becoming
daily more natural to me.
I went and sat among 'em all at my old 33 years desk yester morning; and
deuce take me if I had not yearnings at leaving all my old pen and ink
fellows, merry sociable lads, at leaving them in the Lurch, fag, fag,
fag.
The comparison of my own superior felicity gave me any thing but
pleasure.
B.B., I would not serve another 7 years for seven hundred thousand
pounds!
I have got £441 net for life, sanctioned by Act of Parliament, with a
provision for Mary if she survives me.
I will live another 50 years; or, if I live but 10, they will be thirty,
reckoning the quantity of real time in them, _i.e._ the time that is a
man's own.
Tell me how you like "Barbara S."--will it be received in atonement for
the foolish Vision, I mean by the Lady?
_Apropos_, I never saw Mrs. Crawford in my life, nevertheless 'tis all
true of Somebody.
Address me in future Colebrook Cottage, Islington.
I am really nervous (but that will wear off) so take this brief
announcement.
Yours truly C.L.
["Barbara S----," the _Elia_ essay, was printed in the _London
Magazine_, April, 1825 (see Vol II. of this edition). It purports to be
an incident in the life of Mrs. Crawford, the actress, but had really
happened to Fanny Kelly.]
LETTER 370
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HUTCHINSON
[P.M. April 18, 1825.]
Dear Miss Hutchinson--You want to know all about my gaol delivery. Take
it then. About 12 weeks since I had a sort of intimation that a
resignation might be well accepted from me. This was a kind bird's
whisper. On that hint I spake. Gilman and Tuthill furnishd me with
certificates of wasted health and sore spirits--not much more than the
truth, I promise you--and for 9 weeks I was kept in a fright-- I had
gone too far to recede, and they might take advantage and dismiss me
with a much less sum than I had reckoned on. However Liberty came at
last with a liberal provision. I have given up what I could have lived
on in the country, but have enough to live here by managem't and
scribbling occasionally. I would not go back to my prison for seven
years longer for £10000 a year. 7 years after one is 50 is no trifle to
give up. Still I am a young _Pensioner_, and have served but 33 years,
very few I assure you retire before 40, 45, or 50 years' service.
You will ask how I bear my freedom. Faith, for some days I was
staggered. Could not comprehend the magnitude of my deliverance, was
confused, giddy, knew not whether I was on my head or my heel as they
say. But those giddy feelings have gone away, and my weather glass
stands at a degree or two above
CONTENT
I go about quiet, and have none of that restless hunting after
recreation which made holydays formerly uneasy joys. All being holydays,
I feel as if I had none, as they do in heaven, where 'tis all red letter
days.
I have a kind letter from the Words'wths _congratulatory_ not a little.
It is a damp, I do assure you, amid all my prospects that I can receive
_none_ from a quarter upon which I had calculated, almost more than from
any, upon receiving congratulations. I had grown to like poor M. more
and more. I do not esteem a soul living or not living more warmly than I
had grown to esteem and value him. But words are vain. We have none of
us to count upon many years. That is the only cure for sad thoughts. If
only some died, and the rest were permanent on earth, what a thing a
friend's death would be then!
I must take leave, having put off answering [a load] of letters to this
morning, and this, alas! is the 1st. Our kindest remembrances to Mrs.
Monkhouse and believe us
Yours most Truly, C. LAMB.
LETTER 371
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HORNE
[P.M. May 2, 1825.]
Dear Hone,--I send you a trifle; you have seen my lines, I suppose, in
the "London." I cannot tell you how much I like the "St. Chad Wells."
Yours truly
C. LAMB.
P.S. Why did you not stay, or come again, yesterday?
[These words accompany Lamb's contribution, "Remarkable Correspondent,"
to Hone's _Every-Day Book_ (see Vol. I. of this edition). Lamb was
helping Hone in his new venture as much as he was able; and Hone in
return dedicated the first volume to him. "St. Chad's Wells" was an
article by Hone in the number for March 2.]
LETTER 372
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
[No date. May, 1825.]
Dear W. I write post-hoste to ensure a frank. Thanks for your hearty
congratulations. I may now date from the 6th week of my Hegira or Flight
from Leadenhall. I have lived so much in it, that a Summer seems already
past, and 'tis but early May yet with you and other people. How I look
down on the Slaves and drudges of the world! its inhabitants are a vast
cotton-web of spin spin spinners. O the carking cares! O the
money-grubbers-sempiternal muckworms!
Your Virgil I have lost sight of, but suspect it is in the hands of Sir
G. Beaumont. I think that circumstances made me shy of procuring it
before. Will you write to him about it? and your commands shall be
obeyed to a tittle.
Coleridge has just finishd his prize Essay, which if it get the Prize
he'll touch an additional £100 I fancy. His Book too (commentary on
Bishop Leighton) is quite finished and _penes_ Taylor and Hessey.
In the London which is just out (1st May) are 2 papers entitled the
_Superannuated Man_, which I wish you to see, and also 1st Apr. a little
thing called Barbara S------ a story gleaned from Miss Kelly. The L.M.
if you can get it will save my enlargement upon the topic of my
manumission.
I must scribble to make up my hiatus crumenae, for there are so many
ways, pious and profligate, of getting rid of money in this vast city
and suburbs that I shall miss my third: but couragio. I despair not.
Your kind hint of the Cottage was well thrown out. An anchorage for
_age_ and school of economy when necessity comes. But without this
latter I have an unconquerable terror of changing Place. It does not
agree with us. I say it from conviction. Else--I do sometimes ruralize
in fancy.
Some d------d people are come in and I must finish abruptly. By
d------d, I only mean _deuced_. 'Tis these suitors of Penelope that make
it necessary to authorise a little for gin and mutton and such trifles.
Excuse my abortive scribble.
Yours not in more haste than heart C.L.
Love and recollects to all the Wms. Doras, Maries round your Wrekin.
Mary is capitally well.
Do write to Sir G.B. for I am shyish of applying to him.
[Coleridge had been appointed to one of the ten Royal Associateships of
the newly chartered Royal Society of Literature, thus becoming entitled
to an annuity of 100 guineas. An essay was expected from each associate.
Coleridge wrote on the _Prometheus_ of Aeschylus, and read it on May 18.
His book was _Aids to Reflection_. See note on page 734.
"I shall miss my thirds." Lamb's pension was two-thirds of his stipend.
"Some d-----d people." A hint for Lamb's Popular Fallacy on Home, soon
to be written.
"Round your Wrekin." Lamb repeats this phrase twice in the next few
months. He got it from the Dedication to Farquhar's play "The Recruiting
Officer"--"To all friends round the Wrekin."
Here perhaps should come a letter to Mrs. Norris printed in the Boston
Bibliophile edition containing some very interesting comic verses on
England somewhat in the manner of _Don Juan_--
I like the weather when it's not too rainy,
That is, I like two months of every year,
and so on.]
LETTER 373
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES CHAMBERS
[Undated. ? May, 1825.]
With regard to a John-dory, which you desire to be particularly informed
about, I honour the fish, but it is rather on account of Quin who
patronised it, and whose taste (of a _dead_ man) I had as lieve go by as
anybody's (Apicius and Heliogabalus excepted--this latter started
nightingales' tongues and peacocks' brains as a garnish).
Else in _itself_, and trusting to my own poor single judgment, it hath
not that moist mellow oleaginous gliding smooth descent from the tongue
to the palate, thence to the stomach, &c., that your Brighton Turbot
hath, which I take to be the most friendly and familiar flavor of any
that swims--most genial and at home to the palate.
Nor has it on the other hand that fine falling off flakiness, that
oleaginous peeling off (as it were, like a sea onion), which endears
your cod's head & shoulders to some appetites; that manly firmness,
combined with a sort of womanish coming-in-pieces, which the same cod's
head & shoulders hath, where the whole is easily separable, pliant to a
knife or a spoon, but each individual flake presents a pleasing
resistance to the opposed tooth. You understand me--these delicate
subjects are necessarily obscure.
But it has a third flavor of its own, perfectly distinct from Cod or
Turbot, which it must be owned may to some not injudicious palates
render it acceptable--but to my unpractised tooth it presented rather a
crude river-fish-flavor, like your Pike or Carp, and perhaps like them
should have been tamed & corrected by some laborious & well chosen
sauce. Still I always suspect a fish which requires so much of
artificial settings-off. Your choicest relishes (like nature's
loveliness) need not the foreign aid of ornament, but are when unadorned
(that is, with nothing but a little plain anchovy & a squeeze of lemon)
then adorned the most. However, I shall go to Brighton again next
Summer, and shall have an opportunity of correcting my judgment, if it
is not sufficiently informed. I can only say that when Nature was
pleased to make the John Dory so notoriously deficient in outward graces
(as to be sure he is the very Rhinoceros of fishes, the ugliest dog that
swims, except perhaps the Sea Satyr, which I never saw, but which they
say is terrible), when she formed him with so few external advantages,
she might have bestowed a more elaborate finish in his parts internal, &
have given him a relish, a sapor, to recommend him, as she made Pope a
Poet to make up for making him crooked.
I am sorry to find that you have got a knack of saying things which are
not true to shew your wit. If I had no wit but what I must shew at the
expence of my virtue or my modesty, I had as lieve be as stupid as * * *
at the Tea Warehouse. Depend upon it, my dear Chambers, that an ounce of
integrity at our death-bed will stand us in more avail than all the wit
of Congreve or... For instance, you tell me a fine story about Truss,
and his playing at Leamington, which I know to be false, because I have
advice from Derby that he was whipt through the Town on that very day
you say he appeared in some character or other, for robbing an old woman
at church of a seal ring. And Dr. Parr has been two months dead. So it
won't do to scatter these untrue stories about among people that know
any thing. Besides, your forte is not invention. It is _judgment_,
particularly shown in your choice of dishes. We seem in that instance
born under one star. I like you for liking hare. I esteem you for
disrelishing minced veal. Liking is too cold a word.--I love you for
your noble attachment to the fat unctuous juices of deer's flesh & the
green unspeakable of turtle. I honour you for your endeavours to esteem
and approve of my favorite, which I ventured to recommend to you as a
substitute for hare, bullock's heart, and I am not offended that you
cannot taste it with _my_ palate. A true son of Epicurus should reserve
one taste peculiar to himself. For a long time I kept the secret about
the exceeding deliciousness of the marrow of boiled knuckle of veal,
till my tongue weakly ran riot in its praises, and now it is prostitute
& common.--But I have made one discovery which I will not impart till my
dying scene is over, perhaps it will be my last mouthful in this world:
delicious thought, enough to sweeten (or rather make savoury) the hour
of death. It is a little square bit about this size in or near the
knuckle bone of a fried joint of... fat I can't call it nor lean
[Illustration: Handrawn sketch]
neither altogether, it is that beautiful compound, which Nature must
have made in Paradise Park venison, before she separated the two
substances, the dry & the oleaginous, to punish sinful mankind; Adam ate
them entire & inseparate, and this little taste of Eden in the knuckle
bone of a fried... seems the only relique of a Paradisaical state. When
I die, an exact description of its topography shall be left in a
cupboard with a key, inscribed on which these words, "C. Lamb dying
imparts this to C. Chambers as the only worthy depository of such a
secret." You'll drop a tear....
[Charles Chambers was the brother of John Chambers (see above). He had
been at Christ's Hospital with Lamb and subsequently became a surgeon in
the Navy. He retired to Leamington and practised there until his death,
somewhen about 1857, says Mr. Hazlitt. He seems to have inherited some
of the epicure's tastes of his father, the "sensible clergyman in
Warwickshire" who, Lamb tells us in "Thoughts on Presents of Game,"
"used to allow a pound of Epping to every hare."
This letter adds one more to the list of Lamb's gustatory raptures, and
it is remarkable as being his only eulogy of fish. Mr. Hazlitt says that
the date September 1, 1817, has been added by another hand; but if the
remark about Dr. Parr is true (he died March 6, 1825) the time is as I
have stated. Fortunately the date in this particular case is
unimportant. Mr. Hazlitt suggests that the stupid person in the Tea
Warehouse was Bye, whom we met recently.
Of Truss we know nothing. The name may be a misreading of Twiss (Horace
Twiss, 1787-1849, politician, buffoon, and Mrs. Siddons' nephew), who
was quite a likely person to be lied about in joke at that time.
Here should come a note to Allsop dated May 29, 1825, changing an
appointment: "I am as mad as the devil." Given in the Boston Bibliophile
edition.]
LETTER 374
CHARLES LAMB TO S.T. COLERIDGE
[? June, 1825.]
My dear Coleridge,--With pain and grief, I must entreat you to excuse us
on Thursday. My head, though externally correct, has had a severe
concussion in my long illness, and the very idea of an engagement
hanging over for a day or two, forbids my rest; and I get up miserable.
I am not well enough for company. I do assure you, no other thing
prevents my coming. I expect Field and his brothers this or to-morrow
evening, and it worries me to death that I am not ostensibly ill enough
to put 'em off. I will get better, when I shall hope to see your nephew.
He will come again. Mary joins in best love to the Gillmans. Do, I
earnestly entreat you, excuse me. I assure you, again, that I am not fit
to go out yet.
Yours (though shattered), C. LAMB.
Tuesday.
[This letter has previously been dated 1829, but I think wrongly. Lamb
had no long illness then, and Field was then in Gibraltar, where he was
Chief-Justice. Lamb's long illness was in 1825, when Coleridge's
Thursday evenings at Highgate were regular. Coleridge's nephew may have
been one of several. I fancy it was the Rev. Edward Coleridge. Henry
Nelson Coleridge had already left, I think, for the West Indies.]
LETTER 375
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY COLBURN (?)
[Dated at end: June 14 (? 1825).]
Dear Sir,
I am quite ashamed, after your kind letter, of having expressed any
disappointment about my remuneration. It is quite equivalent to the
value of any thing I have yet sent you. I had Twenty Guineas a sheet
from the London; and what I did for them was more worth that sum, than
any thing, I am afraid, I can now produce, would be worth the lesser
sum. I used up all my best thoughts in that publication, and I do not
like to go on writing worse & worse, & feeling that I do so. I want to
try something else. However, if any subject turns up, which I think will
do your Magazine no discredit, you shall have it at _your_ price, or
something between _that_ and my old price. I prefer writing to seeing
you just now, for after such a letter as I have received from you, in
truth I am ashamed to see you. We will never mention the thing again.
Your obliged friend & Serv't
C. LAMB.
June 14.
[In the absence of any wrapper I have assumed this note to be addressed
to Colburn, the publisher of the _New Monthly Magazine_. Lamb's first
contribution to that periodical was "The Illustrious Defunct" (see Vol.
I. of this edition) in January, 1825. A year later he began the "Popular
Fallacies," and continued regularly for some months.]
LETTER 376
CHARLES LAMB TO S.T. COLERIDGE
[P.M. July 2, 1825.]
Dear C.--We are going off to Enfield, to Allsop's, for a day or 2, with
some intention of succeeding them in their lodging for a time, for this
damn'd nervous Fever (vide Lond. Mag. for July) indisposes me for seeing
any friends, and never any poor devil was so befriended as I am. Do you
know any poor solitary human that wants that cordial to life a--true
friend? I can spare him twenty, he shall have 'em good cheap. I have
gallipots of 'em--genuine balm of cares--a going--a going--a going.
Little plagues plague me a 1000 times more than ever. I am like a
disembodied soul--in this my eternity. I feel every thing entirely, all
in all and all in etc. This price I pay for liberty, but am richly
content to pay it. The Odes are 4-5ths done by Hood, a silentish young
man you met at Islinton one day, an invalid. The rest are Reynolds's,
whose sister H. has recently married. I have not had a broken finger in
them.
They are hearty good-natured things, and I would put my name to 'em
chearfully, if I could as honestly. I complimented them in a Newspaper,
with an abatement for those puns you laud so. They are generally an
excess. A Pun is a thing of too much consequence to be thrown in as a
make-weight. You shall read one of the addresses over, and miss the
puns, and it shall be quite as good and better than when you discover
'em. A Pun is a Noble Thing per se: O never lug it in as an accessory. A
Pun is a sole object for reflection (vide _my_ aids to that recessment
from a savage state)--it is entire, it fills the mind: it is perfect as
a Sonnet, better. It limps asham'd in the train and retinue of Humour:
it knows it should have an establishment of its own. The one, for
instance, I made the other day, I forget what it was.
Hood will be gratify'd, as much as I am, by your mistake. I liked
'Grimaldi' the best; it is true painting, of abstract Clownery, and that
precious concrete of a Clown: and the rich succession of images, and
words almost such, in the first half of the Mag. Ignotum. Your picture
of the Camel, that would not or could not thread your nice needle-eye of
Subtilisms, was confirm'd by Elton, who perfectly appreciated his abrupt
departure. Elton borrowed the "Aids" from Hessey (by the way what is
your Enigma about Cupid? I am Cytherea's son, if I understand a tittle
of it), and returnd it next day saying that 20 years ago, when he was
pure, he _thought_ as you do now, but that he now thinks as you did 20
years ago. But E. seems a very honest fellow. Hood has just come in; his
sick eyes sparkled into health when he read your approbation. They had
meditated a copy for you, but postponed it till a neater 2d Edition,
which is at hand.
Have you heard _the Creature_ at the Opera House--Signor Non-vir sed
VELUTI Vir?
Like Orpheus, he is said to draw storks &c, _after_ him. A picked raisin
for a sweet banquet of sounds; but I affect not these exotics. Nos DURUM
genus, as mellifluous Ovid hath it.
Fanny Holcroft is just come in, with her paternal severity of aspect.
She has frozen a bright thought which should have follow'd. She makes us
marble, with too little conceiving. Twas respecting the Signor, whom I
honour on this side idolatry. Well, more of this anon.
We are setting out to walk to Enfield after our Beans and Bacon, which
are just smoking.
Kindest remembrances to the G.'s ever.
From Islinton,
2d day, 3d month of my Hegira or Flight from Leadenhall.
C.L. Olim Clericus.
["To Allsop's." Allsop says in his _Letters... of Coleridge_ that he and
the Lambs were housemates for a long time.
"Vide Lond. Mag. for July"--where the _Elia_ essay "The Convalescent"
was printed.
"The Odes"--_Odes and Addresses to Great People, 1825._ Coleridge after
reading the book had written to Lamb as follows (the letter is printed
by Hood):--
MY DEAR CHARLES,--This afternoon, a little, thin, mean-looking sort of a
foolscap, sub-octavo of poems, printed on very dingy outsides, lay on
the table, which the cover informed me was circulating in our book-club,
so very Grub-Streetish in all its appearance, internal as well as
external, that I cannot explain by what accident of impulse (assuredly
there was no _motive_ in play) I came to look into it. Least of all, the
title, Odes and Addresses to Great Men, which connected itself in my
head with Rejected Addresses, and all the Smith and Theodore Hook squad.
But, my dear Charles, it was certainly written by you, or under you, or
_una eum_ you. I know none of your frequent visitors capacious and
assimilative enough of your converse to have reproduced you so honestly,
supposing you had left yourself in pledge in his lock-up house. Gillman,
to whom I read the spirited parody on the introduction to Peter Bell,
the Ode to the Great Unknown, and to Mrs. Fry; he speaks doubtfully of
Reynolds and Hood. But here come Irving and Basil Montagu.
_Thursday night 10 o'clock_.--No! Charles, it is _you_. I have read them
over again, and I understand why you have _anon'd_ the book. The puns
are nine in ten good--many excellent --the Newgatory transcendent. And
then the _exemplum sine exemplo_ of a volume of personalities, and
contemporaneities, without a single line that could inflict the
infinitesimal of an unpleasance on any man in his senses: saving and
except perhaps in the envy-addled brain of the despiser of your _Lays_.
If not a triumph over him, it is at least an _ovation_. Then, moreover,
and besides, to speak with becoming modesty, excepting my own self, who
is there but you who can write the musical lines and stanzas that are
intermixed?
Here, Gillman, come up to my Garret, and driven back by the guardian
spirits of four huge flower-holders of omnigenous roses and
honeysuckles--(Lord have mercy on his hysterical olfactories! What will
he do in Paradise? I must have a pair or two of nostril-plugs, or
nose-goggles laid in his coffin)--stands at the door, reading that to
M'Adam, and the washer-woman's letter, and he admits _the facts_. You
are found _in the manner_, as the lawyers say! so, Mr. Charles! hang
yourself up, and send me a line, by way of token and acknowledgment. My
dear love to Mary. God bless you and your Unshamabramizer.
S.T. COLERIDGE.
Reynolds was John Hamilton Reynolds. According to a marked copy in the
possession of Mr. Buxton Forman, Reynolds wrote only the odes to Mr.
M'Adam, Mr. Dymoke, Sylvanus Urban, Elliston and the Dean and Chapter of
Westminster.
The newspaper in which Lamb complimented the book was the _New Times_,
for April 12, 1825. See Vol. I. of the present edition for the review,
where the remarks on puns are repeated. The "Mag. Ignotum" was the ode
to the Great Unknown, the author of the Scotch novels. In the same paper
on January 8, 1825, Lamb had written an essay called "Many Friends" (see
Vol. I.) a little in the manner of this first paragraph.
"Your picture of the Camel." Probably the story of a caller told by
Coleridge to Lamb in a letter.
"Your Enigma about Cupid." Possibly referring to the following passage
in the _Aids to Reflection_, 1825, pages 277-278:--
From the remote East turn to the mythology of Minor Asia, to the
Descendants of Javan _who dwelt in the tents of Shem, and possessed
the Isles_. Here again, and in the usual form of an historic
Solution, we find the same _Fact_, and as characteristic of the
Human _Race_, stated in that earliest and most venerable Mythus (or
symbolic Parable) of Prometheus--that truly wonderful Fable, in
which the characters of the rebellious Spirit and of the Divine
Friend of Mankind ([Greek: Theos philanthropos]) are united in the
same Person: and thus in the most striking manner noting the forced
amalgamation of the Patriarchal Tradition with the incongruous
Scheme of Pantheism. This and the connected tale of Io, which is but
the sequel of the Prometheus, stand alone in the Greek Mythology, in
which elsewhere both Gods and Men are mere Powers and Products of
Nature. And most noticeable it is, that soon after the promulgation
and spread of the Gospel had awakened the moral sense, and had
opened the eyes even of its wiser Enemies to the necessity of
providing some solution of this great problem of the Moral World,
the beautiful Parable of Cupid and Psyche was brought forward as a
_rival_ FALL OF MAN: and the fact of a moral corruption connatural
with the human race was again recognized. In the assertion of
ORIGINAL SIN the Greek Mythology rose and set.
"Have you heard _the Creature?_"--Giovanni Battista Velluti (1781-1861),
an Italian soprano singer who first appeared in England on June 30,
1825, in Meyerbeer's "Il Crociato in Egitto." He received £2,500 for
five months' salary.]
LETTER 377
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. July 2, 1825.]
My dear B.B.--My nervous attack has so unfitted me, that I have not
courage to sit down to a Letter. My poor pittance in the London you will
see is drawn from my sickness. Your Book is very acceptable to me,
because most of it [is] new to me, but your Book itself we cannot thank
you for more sincerely than for the introduction you favoured us with to
Anne Knight. Now cannot I write _Mrs._ Anne Knight for the life of me.
She is a very pleas--, but I won't write all we have said of her so
often to ourselves, because I suspect you would read it to her. Only
give my sister's and my kindest rememb'ces to her, and how glad we are
we can say that word. If ever she come to Southwark again I count upon
another pleasant BRIDGE walk with her. Tell her, I got home, time for a
rubber; but poor Tryphena will not understand that phrase of the
worldlings.
I am hardly able to appreciate your volume now. But I liked the
dedicat'n much, and the apology for your bald burying grounds. To
Shelly, but _that_ is not new. To the young Vesper-singer, Great
Bealing's, Playford, and what not?
If there be a cavil it is that the topics of religious consolation,
however beautiful, are repeated till a sort of triteness attends them.
It seems as if you were for ever losing friends' children by death, and
reminding their parents of the Resurrection. Do children die so often,
and so good, in your parts? The topic, taken from the considerat'n that
they are snatch'd away from _possible vanities_, seems hardly sound; for
to an omniscient eye their conditional failings must be one with their
actual; but I am too unwell for Theology. Such as I am, I am yours and
A.K.'s truly
C. LAMB.
["My poor pittance"-"The Convalescent."
"Your Book"-Barton's _Poems_, 4th edition, 1825. The dedication was to
Barton's sister, Maria Hack.
"Anne Knight." A Quaker lady, who kept a school at Woodbridge.]
LETTER 378
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN AITKEN
Colebrooke Cottage, Islington, July 5, 1825.
DEAR Sir,--With thanks for your last No. of the Cabinet-- as I cannot
arrange with a London publisher to reprint "Rosamund Gray" as a book, it
will be at your service to admit into the Cabinet as soon as you please.
Your h'ble serv't, CH's LAMB.
EMMA, eldest of your name,
Meekly trusting in her God
Midst the red-hot plough-shares trod,
And unscorch'd preserved her fame.
By that test if _you_ were tried,
Ugly names might be defied;
Though devouring fire's a glutton,
Through the trial you might go
'On the light fantastic toe,'
Nor for plough-shares care a BUTTON.
[Aitken was an Edinburgh bookseller who edited _The Cabinet; or, The
Selected Beauties of Literature_, 1824, 1825 and 1831. The particular
interest of the letter is that it shows Lamb to have wanted to publish
_Rosamund Gray_ a third time in his life. Hitherto we had only his
statement that Hessey said that the world would not bear it. Aitken
printed the story in _The Cabinet_ for 1831. Previously he had printed
"Dream Children" and "The Inconveniences of being Hanged."
I have been told (but have had no opportunity of verifying the
statement) that the Buttons, for one of whom the appended acrostic was
written, were cousins of the Lambs.
Here should come an unpublished letter to Miss Kelly thanking her for
tickets and saying that Liston is to produce Lamb's farce "The
Pawnbroker's Daughter," which "will take."
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Hone, dated Enfield, July 25,
1825. Lamb had written some quatrains to the editor of the _Every-Day
Book_, which were printed in the _London Magazine_ for May, 1825. Hone
copied them into his periodical, accompanied by a reply. Lamb began:--
I like you, and your book, ingenuous Hone!
Hone's reply contained the sentiment:--
I am "ingenuous": it is all I can
Pretend to; it is all I wish to be.
See the _Every-Day Book_, Vol. I., July 9. Hone at this time was
occupying Lamb's house at Colebrooke Row, while the Lambs were staying
at the Allsops' lodgings at Enfield.
Lamb again refers to "The Pawnbroker's Daughter." He says it is at the
theatre now and Harley is there too. This would be John Pritt Harley,
the actor. The play, as it happened, was never acted.
Here should come three notes to Thomas Allsop in July and August, 1825,
one of which damns the afternoon sun. Given in the Boston Bibliophile
edition.]
LETTER 379
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. August 10, 1825.]
We shall be soon again at Colebrook.
Dear B.B.--You must excuse my not writing before, when I tell you we are
on a visit at Enfield, where I do not feel it natural to sit down to a
Letter. It is at all times an exertion. I had rather talk with you, and
Ann Knight, quietly at Colebrook Lodge, over the matter of your last.
You mistake me when you express misgivings about my relishing a series
of scriptural poems. I wrote confusedly. What I meant to say was, that
one or two consolatory poems on deaths would have had a more condensed
effect than many. Scriptural-- devotional topics--admit of infinite
variety. So far from poetry tiring me because religious, I can read, and
I say it seriously, the homely old version of the Psalms in our
Prayer-books for an hour or two together sometimes without sense of
weariness.
I did not express myself clearly about what I think a false topic
insisted on so frequently in consolatory addresses on the death of
Infants. I know something like it is in Scripture, but I think humanly
spoken. It is a natural thought, a sweet fallacy to the Survivors--but
still a fallacy. If it stands on the doctrine of this being a
probationary state, it is liable to this dilemma. Omniscience, to whom
possibility must be clear as act, must know of the child, what it would
hereafter turn out: if good, then the topic is false to say it is
secured from falling into future wilfulness, vice, &c. If bad, I do not
see how its exemption from certain future overt acts by being snatched
away at all tells in its favor. You stop the arm of a murderer, or
arrest the finger of a pickpurse, but is not the guilt incurred as much
by the intent as if never so much acted? Why children are hurried off,
and old reprobates of a hundred left, whose trial humanly we may think
was complete at fifty, is among the obscurities of providence. The very
notion of a state of probation has darkness in it. The all-knower has no
need of satisfying his eyes by seeing what we will do, when he knows
before what we will do. Methinks we might be condemn'd before
commission. In these things we grope and flounder, and if we can pick up
a little human comfort that the child taken is snatch'd from vice (no
great compliment to it, by the bye), let us take it. And as to where an
untried child goes, whether to join the assembly of its elders who have
borne the heat of the day--fire-purified martyrs, and torment-sifted
confessors--what know we? We promise heaven methinks too cheaply, and
assign large revenues to minors, incompetent to manage them. Epitaphs
run upon this topic of consolation, till the very frequency induces a
cheapness. Tickets for admission into Paradise are sculptured out at a
penny a letter, twopence a syllable, &c. It is all a mystery; and the
more I try to express my meaning (having none that is clear) the more I
flounder. Finally, write what your own conscience, which to you is the
unerring judge, seems best, and be careless about the whimsies of such a
half-baked notionist as I am. We are here in a most pleasant country,
full of walks, and idle to our hearts desire. Taylor has dropt the
London. It was indeed a dead weight. It has got in the Slough of
Despond. I shuffle off my part of the pack, and stand like Xtian with
light and merry shoulders. It had got silly, indecorous, pert, and every
thing that is bad. Both our kind _remembrances_ to Mrs. K. and yourself,
and stranger's-greeting to Lucy--is it Lucy or Ruth?--that gathers wise
sayings in a Book. C. LAMB.
[The London Magazine passed into the hands of Henry Southern in
September, 1825. Lamb's last article for it was in the August
number--"Imperfect Dramatic Illusion," reprinted in the _Last Essays of
Elia_ as "Stage Illusion."]
LETTER 380
CHARLES LAMB TO ROBERT SOUTHEY
August 10, 1825.
Dear Southey,--You'll know who this letter comes from by opening
slap-dash upon the text, as in the good old times. I never could come
into the custom of envelopes; 'tis a modern foppery; the Plinian
correspondence gives no hint of such. In singleness of sheet and meaning
then I thank you for your little book. I am ashamed to add a codicil of
thanks for your "Book of the Church." I scarce feel competent to give an
opinion of the latter; I have not reading enough of that kind to venture
at it. I can only say the fact, that I have read it with attention and
interest. Being, as you know, not quite a Churchman, I felt a jealousy
at the Church taking to herself the whole deserts of Christianity,
Catholic and Protestant, from Druid extirpation downwards. I call all
good Christians the Church, Capillarians and all. But I am in too light
a humour to touch these matters. May all our churches flourish! Two
things staggered me in the poem (and one of them staggered both of us).
I cannot away with a beautiful series of verses, as I protest they are,
commencing "Jenner." 'Tis like a choice banquet opened with a pill or an
electuary-- physic stuff. T'other is, we cannot make out how Edith
should be no more than ten years old. By'r Lady, we had taken her to be
some sixteen or upwards. We suppose you have only chosen the round
number for the metre. Or poem and dedication may be both older than they
pretend to; but then some hint might have been given; for, as it stands,
it may only serve some day to puzzle the parish reckoning. But without
inquiring further (for 'tis ungracious to look into a lady's years), the
dedication is eminently pleasing and tender, and we wish Edith May
Southey joy of it. Something, too, struck us as if we had heard of the
death of John May. A John May's death was a few years since in the
papers. We think the tale one of the quietest, prettiest things we have
seen. You have been temperate in the use of localities, which generally
spoil poems laid in exotic regions. You mostly cannot stir out (in such
things) for humming-birds and fire-flies. A tree is a Magnolia, &c.--Can
I but like the truly Catholic spirit? "Blame as thou mayest the Papist's
erring creed"--which and other passages brought me back to the old
Anthology days and the admonitory lesson to "Dear George" on the "The
Vesper Bell," a little poem which retains its first hold upon me
strangely.
The compliment to the translatress is daintily conceived. Nothing is
choicer in that sort of writing than to bring in some remote, impossible
parallel,--as between a great empress and the inobtrusive quiet soul who
digged her noiseless way so perseveringly through that rugged Paraguay
mine. How she Dobrizhoffered it all out, it puzzles my slender Latinity
to conjecture. Why do you seem to sanction Lander's unfeeling
allegorising away of honest Quixote! He may as well say Strap is meant
to symbolise the Scottish nation before the Union, and Random since that
act of dubious issue; or that Partridge means the Mystical Man, and Lady
Bellaston typifies the Woman upon Many Waters. Gebir, indeed, may mean
the state of the hop markets last month, for anything I know to the
contrary. That all Spain overflowed with romancical books (as Madge
Newcastle calls them) was no reason that Cervantes should not smile at
the matter of them; nor even a reason that, in another mood, he might
not multiply them, deeply as he was tinctured with the essence of them.
Quixote is the father of gentle ridicule, and at the same time the very
depository and treasury of chivalry and highest notions. Marry, when
somebody persuaded Cervantes that he meant only fun, and put him upon
writing that unfortunate Second Part with the confederacies of that
unworthy duke and most contemptible duchess, Cervantes sacrificed his
instinct to his understanding.
We got your little book but last night, being at Enfield, to which place
we came about a month since, and are having quiet holydays. Mary walks
her twelve miles a day some days, and I my twenty on others. 'Tis all
holiday with me now, you know. The change works admirably.
For literary news, in my poor way, I have a one-act farce going to be
acted at the Haymarket; but when? is the question. 'Tis an extravaganza,
and like enough to follow "Mr. H." "The London Magazine" has shifted its
publishers once more, and I shall shift myself out of it. It is fallen.
My ambition is not at present higher than to write nonsense for the
playhouses, to eke out a somewhat contracted income. _Tempus erat_.
There was a time, my dear Cornwallis, when the Muse, &c. But I am now in
MacFleckno's predicament,--
"Promised a play, and dwindled to a farce."
Coleridge is better (was, at least, a few weeks since) than he has been
for years. His accomplishing his book at last has been a source of
vigour to him. We are on a half visit to his friend Allsop, at a Mrs.
Leishman's, Enfield, but expect to be at Colebrooke Cottage in a week or
so, where, or anywhere, I shall be always most happy to receive tidings
from you. G. Dyer is in the height of an uxorious paradise. His
honeymoon will not wane till he wax cold. Never was a more happy pair,
since Acme and Septimius, and longer. Farewell, with many thanks, dear
S. Our loves to all round your Wrekin.
Your old friend, C. LAMB.
[In the letter to Barton of March 20, 1826, Lamb continues or amplifies
his remarks on his own letter-writing habits.
"Capillarians." The _New English Dictionary_ gives Lamb's word in this
connection as its sole example, meaning without stem.
"The poem"--Southey's _Tale of Paraguay_, 1825, which begins with an
address to Jenner, the physiologist:--
Jenner! for ever shall thy honour'd name,
and is dedicated to Edith May Southey--
Edith! ten years are number'd, since the day.
Edith Southey was born in 1804. The dedication was dated 1814.
John May was Southey's friend and correspondent. It was not he that had
died.
"The Vesper Bell"--"The Chapel Bell," which was not in the _Annual
Anthology_, but in Southey's _Poems_, 1797. Dear George would perhaps be
Burnett, who was at Oxford with Southey when the verses were written.
"The compliment to the translatress." Southey took his _Tale of
Paraguay_ from Dobrizhoffer's _History of the Abipones_, which his
niece, Sara Coleridge, had translated. Southey remarks in the poem that
could Dobrizhoffer have foreseen by whom his words were to be turned
into English, he would have been as pleased as when he won the ear of
the Empress Queen.
"Landor's ... allegorising." Landor, in the conversation between "Peter
Leopold and the President du Paty," makes President du Paty say that
Cervantes had deeper purpose than the satirising of knight-errants, Don
Quixote standing for the Emperor Charles V. and Sancho Panza symbolising
the people. Southey quoted the passage in the Notes to the Proem. Lamb's
_Elia_ essay on the "Defect of Imagination" (see Vol. II.) amplifies
this criticism of Don Quixote.
"A one-act farce." This was, I imagine, "The Pawnbroker's Daughter,"
although that is in two acts. It was not, however, acted.
George Dyer had just been married to the widow of a solicitor who lived
opposite him in Clifford's Inn.
Here should come three unimportant notes to Hone with reference to the
_Every-Day Book_--adding an invitation to Enfield to be shown "dainty
spots."]
LETTER 381
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[P.M. Sept. 9, 1825.]
My dear Allsop--We are exceedingly grieved for your loss. When your note
came, my sister went to Pall Mall, to find you, and saw Mrs. L. and was
a little comforted to find Mrs. A. had returned to Enfield before the
distresful event. I am very feeble, can scarce move a pen; got home from
Enfield on the Friday, and on Monday follow'g was laid up with a most
violent nervous fever second this summer, have had Leeches to my
Temples, have not had, nor can not get, a night's sleep. So you will
excuse more from Yours truly, C. LAMB.
Islington, 9 Sept.
Our most kind rememb'ces to poor Mrs. Allsop. A line to say how you both
are will be most acceptable.
[Allsop's loss was, I imagine, the death of one of his children.]
LETTER 382
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[P.M. Sept. 24, 1825.]
My dear Allsop--Come not near this unfortunate roof yet a while. My
disease is clearly but slowly going. Field is an excellent attendant.
But Mary's anxieties have overturned her. She has her old Miss James
with her, without whom I should not feel a support in the world. We keep
in separate apartments, and must weather it. Let me know all of your
healths. Kindest love to Mrs. Allsop. C. LAMB.
Saturday.
Can you call at Mrs. Burney 26 James Street, and _tell her_, & that I
can see no one here in this state. If Martin return-- if well enough, I
will meet him some where, _don't let him come_.
[Field was Henry Field, Barren Field's brother.
Here should come a note from Lamb to Hone, dated September 30, 1825, in
which Lamb describes the unhappy state of the house at Colebrooke Row,
with himself and his sister both ill.
Here also should come a similar note to William Ayrton. "All this summer
almost I have been ill. I have been laid up (the second nervous attack)
now six weeks."
On October 18 Lamb sends Hone the first "bit of writing" he has done
"these many weeks."]
LETTER 383
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HONE
[P.M. Oct. 24, 1825.]
I send a scrap. Is it worth postage? My friends are fairly surprised
that you should set me down so unequivocally for an ass, as you have
done, Page 1358.
HERE HE IS
what follows?
THE ASS
Call you this friendship?
Mercy! What a dose you have sent me of Burney!--a perfect _opening_*
draught.
*A Pun here is intended.
[This is written on the back of the MS. "In _re_ Squirrels" for Hone's
_Every-Day Book_ (see Vol. I. of this edition). Lamb's previous
contribution had been "The Ass" which Hone had introduced with a few
words.]
LETTER 384
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[Dec. 5, 1825.]
Dear A.--You will be glad to hear that _we_ are at home to visitors; not
too many or noisy. Some fine day shortly Mary will surprise Mrs. Allsop.
The weather is not seasonable for formal engagements.
Yours _most ever_,
C. LAMB.
Satr'd.
[Here should come a note to Manning at Totteridge, signed Charles and
Mary Lamb, and dated December 10, 1825. It indicates that both are well
again, and hoping to see Manning at Colebrooke.]
LETTER 385
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES OLLIER
[No date. ? Dec., 1825.]
Dear O.--I leave it _entirely to Mr. Colburn_; but if not too late, I
think the Proverbs had better have L. signd to them and reserve _Elia_
for Essays _more Eliacal_. May I trouble you to send my Magazine, not to
Norris, but H.C. Robinson Esq. King's bench walks, instead.
Yours truly
C. LAMB.
My friend Hood, a prime genius and hearty fellow, brings this.
[Lamb's "Popular Fallacies" began in the _New Monthly Magazine_ in
January, 1826. Henry Colburn was the publisher of that magazine, which
had now obtained Lamb's regular services. The nominal editor was
Campbell, the poet, who was assisted by Cyrus Redding. Ollier seems to
have been a sub-editor.]
LETTER 386
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES OLLIER
Colebrook Cottage, Colebrook Row, Tuesday [early 1826].
Dear Ollier,--I send you two more proverbs, which will be the last of
this batch, unless I send you one more by the post on THURSDAY; none
will come after that day; so do not leave any open room in that case.
Hood sups with me to-night. Can you come and eat grouse? 'Tis not often
I offer at delicacies.
Yours most kindly, C. LAMB.
LETTER 387
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES OLLIER
January, 1826.
Dear O.,--We lamented your absence last night. The grouse were piquant,
the backs incomparable. You must come in to cold mutton and oysters some
evening. Name your evening; though I have qualms at the distance. Do you
never leave early? My head is very queerish, and indisposed for much
company; but we will get Hood, that half Hogarth, to meet you. The scrap
I send should come in AFTER the "Rising with the Lark."
Yours truly.
Colburn, I take it, pays postages.
[The scrap was the Fallacy "That we Should Lie Down with the Lamb,"
which has perhaps the rarest quality of the series.
Here perhaps should come two further notes to Ollier, referring to some
articles on Chinese jests by Manning.
Here should come a letter to Mr. Hudson dated February 1, 1826,
recommending a nurse for a mental case. Given in the Boston Bibliophile
edition.]
LETTER 388
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. February 7, 1826.]
My kind remembrances to your daughter and A.K. always.
Dear B.B.--I got your book not more than five days ago, so am not so
negligent as I must have appeared to you with a fortnight's sin upon my
shoulders. I tell you with sincerity that I think you have completely
succeeded in what you intended to do. What is poetry may be disputed.
These are poetry to me at least. They are concise, pithy, and moving.
Uniform as they are, and unhistorify'd, I read them thro' at two
sittings without one sensation approaching to tedium. I do not know that
among your many kind presents of this nature this is not my favourite
volume. The language is never lax, and there is a unity of design and
feeling, you wrote them _with love_--to avoid the cox-_combical_ phrase,
con amore. I am particularly pleased with the "Spiritual Law," page
34-5. It reminded me of Quarles, and Holy Mr. Herbert, as Izaak Walton
calls him: the two best, if not only, of our devotional poets, tho' some
prefer Watts, and some _Tom Moore_.
I am far from well or in my right spirits, and shudder at pen and ink
work. I poke out a monthly crudity for Colburn in his magazine, which I
call "Popular Fallacies," and periodically crush a proverb or two,
setting up my folly against the wisdom of nations. Do you see the "New
Monthly"?
One word I must object to in your little book, and it recurs
more than once--FADELESS is no genuine compound; loveless
is, because love is a noun as well as verb, but what is a
fade?--and I do not quite like whipping the Greek drama upon
the back of "Genesis," page 8. I do not like praise handed
in by disparagement: as I objected to a side censure on Byron,
etc., in the lines on Bloomfield: with these poor cavils excepted,
your verses are without a flaw. C. LAMB.
[Barton's new book was _Devotional Verses: founded on, and illustrative
of Select Texts of Scripture_, 1826. See the Appendix for "The Spiritual
Law."
"Holy Mr. Herbert." Writing to Lady Beaumont in 1826 Coleridge says: "My
dear old friend Charles Lamb and I differ widely (and in point of taste
and moral feeling this is a rare occurrence) in our estimate and liking
of George Herbert's sacred poems. He greatly prefers Quarles--nay, he
dislikes Herbert."
Barton whipped the Greek drama on the back of Genesis in the following
stanza, referring to Abraham's words before preparing to sacrifice
Isaac:--
Brief colloquy, yet more sublime,
To every feeling heart,
Than all the boast of classic time,
Or Drama's proudest art:
Far, far beyond the Grecian stage,
Or Poesy's most glowing page.
For Lamb's reference to Byron, see above.]
LETTER 389
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES OLLIER
[P.M. March 16, 1826.]
D'r Ollier if not too late, pray omit the last paragraph in "Actor's
Religion," which is clumsy. It will then end with the word Mugletonian.
I shall not often trouble you in this manner, but I am suspicious of
this article as lame.
C. LAMB.
["The Religion of Actors" was printed in the _New Monthly Magazine_ for
April, 1826. The essay ends at "Muggletonian." See Vol. I. of this
edition.]
LETTER 390
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. March 20, 1826.]
Dear B.B.--You may know my letters by the paper and the folding. For the
former, I live on scraps obtained in charity from an old friend whose
stationary is a permanent perquisite; for folding, I shall do it neatly
when I learn to tye my neckcloths. I surprise most of my friends by
writing to them on ruled paper, as if I had not got past pothooks and
hangers. Sealing wax, I have none on my establishment. Wafers of the
coarsest bran supply its place. When my Epistles come to be weighed with
Pliny's, however superior to the Roman in delicate irony, judicious
reflexions, etc., his gilt post will bribe over the judges to him. All
the time I was at the E.I.H. I never mended a pen; I now cut 'em to the
stumps, marring rather than mending the primitive goose quill. I cannot
bear to pay for articles I used to get for nothing. When Adam laid out
his first penny upon nonpareils at some stall in Mesopotamos, I think it
went hard with him, reflecting upon his old goodly orchard, where he had
so many for nothing. When I write to a Great man, at the Court end, he
opens with surprise upon a naked note, such as Whitechapel people
interchange, with no sweet degrees of envelope: I never inclosed one bit
of paper in another, nor understand the rationale of it. Once only I
seald with borrow'd wax, to set Walter Scott a wondering, sign'd with
the imperial quarterd arms of England, which my friend Field gives in
compliment to his descent in the female line from O. Cromwell. It must
have set his antiquarian curiosity upon watering. To your questions upon
the currency, I refer you to Mr. Robinson's last speech, where, if you
can find a solution, I cannot. I think this tho' the best ministry we
ever stumbled upon. Gin reduced four shillings in the gallon, wine 2
shillings in the quart. This comes home to men's minds and bosoms. My
tirade against visitors was not meant _particularly_ at you or A.K. I
scarce know what I meant, for I do not just now feel the grievance. I
wanted to make an _article_. So in another thing I talkd of somebody's
_insipid wife_, without a correspondent object in my head: and a good
lady, a friend's wife, whom I really _love_ (don't startle, I mean in a
licit way) has looked shyly on me ever since. The blunders of personal
application are ludicrous. I send out a character every now and then, on
purpose to exercise the ingenuity of my friends. "Popular Fallacies"
will go on; that word concluded is an erratum, I suppose, for continued.
I do not know how it got stuff'd in there. A little thing without name
will also be printed on the Religion of the Actors, but it is out of
your way, so I recommend you, with true Author's hypocrisy, to skip it.
We are about to sit down to Roast beef, at which we could wish A.K.,
B.B., and B.B.'s pleasant daughter to be humble partakers. So much for
my hint at visitors, which was scarcely calculated for droppers in from
Woodbridge. The sky does not drop such larks every day.
My very kindest wishes to you all three, with my sister's best love.
C. LAMB.
["Mr. Robinson's last speech." Frederick John Robinson, afterwards Earl
of Ripon, then Chancellor of the Exchequer under the Earl of Liverpool.
The Government had decided to check the use of paper-money by stopping
the issue of notes for less than £5; and Robinson had made a speech on
the subject on February 10. The motion was carried, but to some extent
was compromised. It was Robinson who, as Chancellor of the Exchequer,
found the money for building the new British Museum and purchasing
Angerstein's pictures as the beginning of the National Gallery.
"My tirade against visitors"--the Popular Fallacy "That Home is Home,"
in the _New Monthly Magazine_ for March.
"Somebody's insipid wife." In the Popular Fallacy "That You Must Love Me
and Love My Dog," in the February number, Lamb had spoken of Honorius'
"vapid wife."
Barton and his daughter visited Lamb at Colebrooke Cottage somewhen
about this time. Mrs. FitzGerald, in 1893, wrote out for me her
recollections of the day. Lamb, who was alone, opened the door himself.
He sent out for a luncheon of oysters. The books on his shelves, Mrs.
FitzGerald remembered, retained the price-labels of the stalls where he
had bought them. She also remembered a portrait over the fireplace. This
would be the Milton. In the _Gem_ for 1831 was a poem by Barton, "To
Milton's Portrait in a Friend's Parlour."]
LETTER 391
CHARLES LAMB TO S.T. COLERIDGE
March 22nd, 1826.
Dear C.,--We will with great pleasure be with you on Thursday in the
next week early. Your finding out my style in your nephew's pleasant
book is surprising to me. I want eyes to descry it. You are a little too
hard upon his morality, though I confess he has more of Sterne about him
than of Sternhold. But he saddens into excellent sense before the
conclusion. Your query shall be submitted to Miss Kelly, though it is
obvious that the pantomime, when done, will be more easy to decide upon
than in proposal. I say, do it by all means. I have Decker's play by me,
if you can filch anything out of it. Miss Gray, with her kitten eyes, is
an actress, though she shows it not at all, and pupil to the former,
whose gestures she mimics in comedy to the disparagement of her own
natural manner, which is agreeable. It is funny to see her bridling up
her neck, which is native to F.K.; but there is no setting another's
manners upon one's shoulders any more than their head. I am glad you
esteem Manning, though you see but his husk or shrine. He discloses not,
save to select worshippers, and will leave the world without any one
hardly but me knowing how stupendous a creature he is. I am perfecting
myself in the "Ode to Eton College" against Thursday, that I may not
appear unclassic. I have just discovered that it is much better than the
"Elegy."
In haste, C.L.
P.S.--I do not know what to say to your _latest_ theory about Nero being
the Messiah, though by all accounts he was a 'nointed one.
["Next week early." Canon Ainger's text here has: "May we venture to
bring Emma with us?"
"Your nephew's pleasant book"--Henry Nelson Coleridge's _Six Months in
the West Indies in 1825_. In the last chapter but one of the book is an
account of the slave question, under the title "Planters and Slaves."
"Sternhold"--Thomas Sternhold, the coadjutor of Hopkins in paraphrasing
the Psalms.
"The pantomime." Coleridge seems to have had some project for
modernising Dekker for Fanny Kelly. Mr. Dykes Campbell suggested that
the play to be treated was "Old Fortunatus."
"Miss Gray." I have found nothing of this lady.
"Manning." Writing to Robert Lloyd twenty-five years earlier Lamb had
said of Manning: "A man of great Power--an enchanter almost.--Far beyond
Coleridge or any man in power of impressing --when he gets you alone he
can act the wonders of Egypt. Only he is lazy, and does not always put
forth all his strength; if he did, I know no man of genius at all
comparable to him."
"Against Thursday." Coleridge was "at home" on Thursday evenings.
Possibly on this occasion some one interested in Gray was to be there,
or the allusion may be a punning one to Miss Gray.
"Your _latest_ theory." I cannot explain this.]
LETTER 392
CHARLES LAMB TO H.F. CARY
April 3, 1826.
Dear Sir,--It is whispered me that you will not be unwilling to look
into our doleful hermitage. Without more preface, you will gladden our
cell by accompanying our old chums of the London, Darley and Allan
Cunningham, to Enfield on Wednesday. You shall have hermit's fare, with
talk as seraphical as the novelty of the divine life will permit, with
an innocent retrospect to the world which we have left, when I will
thank you for your hospitable offer at Chiswick, and with plain hermit
reasons evince the necessity of abiding here.
Without hearing from you, then, you shall give us leave to expect you. I
have long had it on my conscience to invite you, but spirits have been
low; and I am indebted to chance for this awkward but most sincere
invitation.
Yours, with best love to Mrs. Cary, C. LAMB.
Darley knows all about the coaches. Oh, for a Museum in the wilderness!
[Cary, who had been afternoon lecturer at Chiswick and curate of the
Savoy, this year took up his post as Assistant Keeper of the Printed
Books at the British Museum. George Darley, who wrote some notes to
Gary's _Dante_, we have met. Allan Cunningham was the Scotch poet and
the author of the Lives of the Painters, the "Giant" of the _London
Magazine_. The Lambs seem to have been spending some days at Enfield.
Here should come a note from Lamb to Ollier asking for a copy of the
April _New Monthly Magazine_ for himself, and one for his Chinese friend
(Manning) if his jests are in.]
LETTER 393
CHARLES LAMB TO VINCENT NOVELLO
[P.M. May 9, 1826.]
Dear N. You will not expect us to-morrow, I am sure, while these damn'd
North Easters continue. We must wait the Zephyrs' pleasures. By the bye,
I was at Highgate on Wensday, the only one of the Party.
Yours truly C. LAMB.
_Summer_, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with its
usual severity.
Kind rememb'ces to Mrs. Novello &c.
LETTER 394
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. May 16, 1826.]
Dear B.B.--I have had no spirits lately to begin a letter to you, though
I am under obligations to you (how many!) for your neat little poem,
'Tis just what it professes to be, a simple tribute in chaste verse,
serious and sincere. I do not know how Friends will relish it, but we
out-lyers, Honorary Friends, like it very well. I have had my head and
ears stuff'd up with the East winds. A continual ringing in my brain of
bells jangled, or The Spheres touchd by some raw Angel. It is not George
3 trying the 100th psalm? I get my music for nothing. But the weather
seems to be softening, and will thaw my stunnings. Coleridge writing to
me a week or two since begins his note--"Summer has set in with its
usual Severity." A cold Summer is all I know of disagreeable in cold. I
do not mind the utmost rigour of real Winter, but these smiling
hypocrites of Mays wither me to death. My head has been a ringing Chaos,
like the day the winds were made, before they submitted to the
discipline of a weather-cock, before the Quarters were made. In the
street, with the blended noises of life about me, I hear, and my head is
lightened, but in a room the hubbub comes back, and I am deaf as a
Sinner. Did I tell you of a pleasant sketch Hood has done, which he
calls _Very Deaf Indeed_? It is of a good naturd stupid looking old
gentleman, whom a footpad has stopt, but for his extreme deafness cannot
make him understand what he wants; the unconscious old gentleman is
extending his ear-trumpet very complacently, and the fellow is firing a
pistol into it to make him hear, but the ball will pierce his skull
sooner than the report reach his sensorium. I chuse a very little bit of
paper, for my ear hisses when I bend down to write. I can hardly read a
book, for I miss that small soft voice which the idea of articulated
words raises (almost imperceptibly to you) in a silent reader. I seem
too deaf to see what I read. But with a touch or two of returning Zephyr
my head will melt. What Lyes you Poets tell about the May! It is the
most ungenial part of the Year, cold crocuses, cold primroses, you take
your blossoms in Ice --a painted Sun--
Unmeaning joy around appears,
And Nature smiles as if she sneers.
It is ill with me when I begin to look which way the wind sits. Ten
years ago I literally did not know the point from the broad end of the
Vane, which it was the [?that] indicated the Quarter. I hope these ill
winds have blowd _over_ you, as they do thro' me. Kindest rememb'ces to
you and yours. C.L.
["Your neat little poem." It is not possible to trace this poem.
Probably, I think, the "Stanzas written for a blank leaf in Sewell's
History of the Quakers," printed in _A Widow's Tale_, 1827.
"George 3." Byron's "Vision of Judgment" thus closes:--
King George slipp'd into Heaven for one;
And when the tumult dwindled to a calm,
I left him practising the hundredth psalm.
This is Hood's sketch, in his _Whims and Oddities_:--
[Illustration: "Very deaf indeed."]
"Unmeaning joy around appears..." I have not found this.]
LETTER 395
CHARLES LAMB TO S.T. COLERIDGE
June 1st, 1826.
Dear Coleridge,--If I know myself, nobody more detests the display of
personal vanity which is implied in the act of sitting for one's picture
than myself. But the fact is, that the likeness which accompanies this
letter was stolen from my person at one of my unguarded moments by some
too partial artist, and my friends are pleased to think that he has not
much flattered me. Whatever its merits may be, you, who have so great an
interest in the original, will have a satisfaction in tracing the
features of one that has so long esteemed you. There are times when in a
friend's absence these graphic representations of him almost seem to
bring back the man himself. The painter, whoever he was, seems to have
taken me in one of those disengaged moments, if I may so term them, when
the native character is so much more honestly displayed than can be
possible in the restraints of an enforced sitting attitude. Perhaps it
rather describes me as a thinking man than a man in the act of thought.
Whatever its pretensions, I know it will be dear to you, towards whom I
should wish my thoughts to flow in a sort of an undress rather than in
the more studied graces of diction.
I am, dear Coleridge, yours sincerely, C. LAMB.
[The portrait to which Lamb refers will be found opposite page 706 in my
large edition. It was etched by Brook Pulham of the India House. It was
this picture which so enraged Procter when he saw it in a printshop
(probably that referred to by Lamb in a later letter) that he
reprimanded the dealer.
Here should come a charming letter to Louisa Holcroft dated June,
offering her a room at Enfield "pretty cheap, only two smiles a week."]
LETTER 396
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN BATES DIBDIN
Friday, someday in June, 1826. [P.M. June 30, 1826.]
Dear D.--My first impulse upon opening your letter was pleasure at
seeing your old neat hand, nine parts gentlemanly, with a modest dash of
the clerical: my second a Thought, natural enough this hot weather, Am I
to answer all this? why 'tis as long as those to the Ephesians and
Galatians put together--I have counted the words for curiosity. But then
Paul has nothing like the fun which is ebullient all over yours. I don't
remember a good thing (good like yours) from the 1st Romans to the last
of the Hebrews. I remember but one Pun in all the Evangely, and that was
made by his and our master: Thou art Peter (that is Doctor Rock) and
upon this rock will I build &c.; which sanctifies Punning with me
against all gainsayers. I never knew an enemy to puns, who was not an
ill-natured man.
Your fair critic in the coach reminds me of a Scotchman who assured me
that he did not see much in Shakspeare. I replied, I dare say _not_. He
felt the equivoke, lookd awkward, and reddish, but soon returnd to the
attack, by saying that he thought Burns was as good as Shakspeare: I
said that I had no doubt he was--to a _Scotchman_. We exchangd no more
words that day.--Your account of the fierce faces in the Hanging, with
the presumed interlocution of the Eagle and the Tyger, amused us
greatly. You cannot be so very bad, while you can pick mirth off from
rotten walls. But let me hear you have escaped out of your oven. May the
Form of the Fourth Person who clapt invisible wet blankets about the
shoulders of Shadrach Meshach and Abednego, be with you in the fiery
Trial. But get out of the frying pan. Your business, I take it, is
bathing, not baking.
Let me hear that you have clamber'd up to Lover's Seat; it is as fine in
that neighbourhood as Juan Fernandez, as lonely too, when the Fishing
boats are not out; I have sat for hours, staring upon a shipless sea.
The salt sea is never so grand as when it is left to itself. One
cock-boat spoils it. A sea-mew or two improves it. And go to the little
church, which is a very protestant Loretto, and seems dropt by some
angel for the use of a hermit, who was at once parishioner and a whole
parish. It is not too big. Go in the night, bring it away in your
portmanteau, and I will plant it in my garden. It must have been erected
in the very infancy of British Christianity, for the two or three first
converts; yet hath it all the appertenances of a church of the first
magnitude, its pulpit, its pews, its baptismal font; a cathedral in a
nutshell. Seven people would crowd it like a Caledonian Chapel. The
minister that divides the word there, must give lumping penny-worths. It
is built to the text of two or three assembled in my name. It reminds me
of the grain of mustard seed. If the glebe land is proportionate, it may
yield two potatoes. Tythes out of it could be no more split than a hair.
Its First fruits must be its Last, for 'twould never produce a couple.
It is truly the strait and narrow way, and few there be (of London
visitants) that find it. The still small voice is surely to be found
there, if any where. A sounding board is merely there for ceremony. It
is secure from earthquakes, not more from sanctity than size, for
'twould feel a mountain thrown upon it no more than a taper-worm would.
Go and see, but not without your spectacles. By the way, there's a
capital farm house two thirds of the way to the Lover's Seat, with
incomparable plum cake, ginger beer, etc. Mary bids me warn you not to
read the Anatomy of Melancholy in your present _low way_. You'll fancy
yourself a pipkin, or a headless bear, as Burton speaks of. You'll be
lost in a maze of remedies for a labyrinth of diseasements, a plethora
of cures. Read Fletcher; above all the Spanish Curate, the Thief or
Little Nightwalker, the Wit Without Money, and the Lover's Pilgrimage.
Laugh and come home fat. Neither do we think Sir T. Browne quite the
thing for you just at present. Fletcher is as light as Soda water.
Browne and Burton are too strong potions for an Invalid. And don't thumb
or dirt the books. Take care of the bindings. Lay a leaf of silver paper
under 'em, as you read them. And don't smoke tobacco over 'em, the
leaves will fall in and burn or dirty their namesakes. If you find any
dusty atoms of the Indian Weed crumbled up in the Beaum't and Fletcher,
they are _mine_. But then, you know, so is the Folio also. A pipe and a
comedy of Fletcher's the last thing of a night is the best recipe for
light dreams and to scatter away Nightmares. Probatum est. But do as you
like about the former. Only cut the Baker's. You will come home else all
crust; Rankings must chip you before you can appear in his counting
house. And my dear Peter Fin Junr., do contrive to see the sea at least
once before you return. You'll be ask'd about it in the Old Jewry. It
will appear singular not to have seen it. And rub up your Muse, the
family Muse, and send us a rhyme or so. Don't waste your wit upon that
damn'd Dry Salter. I never knew but one Dry Salter, who could relish
those mellow effusions, and he broke. You knew Tommy Hill, the wettest
of dry salters. Dry Salters, what a word for this thirsty weather! I
must drink after it. Here's to thee, my dear Dibdin, and to our having
you again snug and well at Colebrooke. But our nearest hopes are to hear
again from you shortly. An epistle only a quarter as agreeable as your
last, would be a treat.
Yours most truly C. LAMB
Timothy B. Dibdin, Esq., No. 9, Blucher Row, Priory, Hastings.
[Dibdin, who was in delicate health, had gone to Hastings to recruit,
with a parcel of Lamb's books for company. He seems to have been lodged
above the oven at a baker's. This letter contains Lamb's crowning
description of Hollingdon Rural church.
"A Caledonian Chapel." Referring to the crowds that listened to Irving.
"Peter Fin." A character in Jones' "Peter Finn's Trip to Brighton,"
1822, as played by Liston.
"Tommy Hill." In the British Museum is preserved the following brief
note addressed to Mr. Thomas Hill--probably the same. The date is
between 1809 and 1817:--]
LETTER 397
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS HILL
D'r Sir It is necessary _I see you sign_, can you step up to me 4 Inner
Temple Lane this evening. I shall wait at home.
Yours,
C. LAMB.
[I have no notion to what the note refers. It is quite likely, Mr. J.A.
Rutter suggests, that Hill the drysalter, a famous busy-body, and a
friend of Theodore Hook, stood for the portrait of Tom Pry in Lamb's
"Lepus Papers" (see Vol. I.). S.C. Hall, in his _Book of Memories_, says
of Hill that "his peculiar faculty was to find out what everybody did,
from a minister of state to a stableboy."]
LETTER 398
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN BATES DIBDIN
[P.M. July 14, 1826.]
Because you boast poetic Grandsire,
And rhyming kin, both Uncle and Sire,
Dost think that none but _their_ Descendings
Can tickle folks with double endings?
I had a Dad, that would for half a bet
Have put down thine thro' half the Alphabet.
Thou, who would be Dan Prior the second,
For Dan Posterior must be reckon'd.
In faith, dear Tim, your rhymes are slovenly,
As a man may say, dough-baked and ovenly;
Tedious and long as two Long Acres,
And smell most vilely of the Baker's.
(I have been cursing every limb o' thee,
Because I could not hitch in _Timothy_.
Jack, Will, Tom, Dick's, a serious evil,
But Tim, plain Tim's--the very devil.)
Thou most incorrigible scribbler,
Right Watering place and cockney dribbler,
What _child_, that barely understands _A,
B, C_, would ever dream that Stanza
Would tinkle into rhyme with "Plan, Sir"?
Go, go, you are not worth an answer.
I had a Sire, that at plain Crambo
Had hit you o'er the pate a damn'd blow.
How now? may I die game, and you die brass,
But I have stol'n a quip from Hudibras.
'Twas thinking on that fine old Suttler, }
That was in faith a second Butler; }
Mad as queer rhymes as he, and subtler. }
He would have put you to 't this weather
For rattling syllables together;
Rhym'd you to death, like "rats in Ireland,"
Except that he was born in High'r Land.
His chimes, not crampt like thine, and rung ill,
Had made Job split his sides on dunghill.
There was no limit to his merryings
At christ'nings, weddings, nay at buryings.
No undertaker would live near him,
Those grave practitioners did fear him;
Mutes, at his merry mops, turned "vocal."
And fellows, hired for silence, "spoke all."
No _body_ could be laid in cavity,
Long as he lived, with proper gravity.
His mirth-fraught eye had but to glitter,
And every mourner round must titter.
The Parson, prating of Mount Hermon,
Stood still to laugh, in midst of sermon.
The final Sexton (smile he _must_ for him)
Could hardly get to "dust to dust" for him.
He lost three pall-bearers their livelyhood,
Only with simp'ring at his lively mood:
Provided that they fresh and neat came,
All jests were fish that to his net came.
He'd banter Apostolic castings,
As you jeer fishermen at Hastings.
When the fly bit, _like me_, he leapt-o'er-all,
And stood not much on what was scriptural.
P.S.
I had forgot, at Small Bohemia
(Enquire the way of your maid Euphemia)
Are sojourning, of all good fellows
The prince and princess,--the _Novellos_--
Pray seek 'em out, and give my love to 'em;
You'll find you'll soon be hand and glove to 'em.
In prose, Little Bohemia, about a mile from Hastings in the Hollington
road, when you can get so far. Dear Dib, I find relief in a word or two
of prose. In truth my rhymes come slow. You have "routh of 'em." It
gives us pleasure to find you keep your good spirits. Your Letter did us
good. Pray heaven you are got out at last. Write quickly.
This letter will introduce you, if 'tis agreeable. Take a donkey. 'Tis
Novello the Composer and his Wife, our very good friends.
C.L.
[Dibdin must have sent the verses which Lamb asked for in the previous
letter, and this is Lamb's reply. Pride of ancestry seems to have been
the note of Dibdin's effort. Probably there is a certain amount of truth
in Lamb's account of the resolute merriment of his father. It is not
inconsistent with his description of Lovel in the _Elia_ essay "The Old
Benchers of the Inner Temple."
"I have stol'n a quip." The manner rather than the precise matter, I
think.
Here should come a letter from Lamb to the Rev. Edward Coleridge,
Coleridge's nephew, dated July 19, 1826. It thanks the recipient for his
kindness to the child of a friend of Lamb's, Samuel Anthony Bloxam,
Coleridge having assisted in getting Frederick Bloxam into Eton (where
he was a master) on the foundation. Samuel Bloxam and Lamb were at
Christ's Hospital together.]
LETTER 399
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
[P.M. September 6, 1826.]
My dear Wordsworth, The Bearer of this is my young friend Moxon, a
young lad with a Yorkshire head, and a heart that would do honour to a
more Southern county: no offence to Westmoreland. He is one of Longman's
best hands, and can give you the best account of The Trade as 'tis now
going; or stopping. For my part, the failure of a Bookseller is not the
most unpalatable accident of mortality:
sad but not saddest
The desolation of a hostile city.
When Constable fell from heaven, and we all hoped Baldwin was next, I
tuned a slight stave to the words in Macbeth (D'avenant's) to be sung by
a Chorus of Authors,
What should we do when Booksellers break?
We should rejoyce.
Moxon is but a tradesman in the bud yet, and retains his virgin Honesty;
Esto perpetua, for he is a friendly serviceable fellow, and thinks
nothing of lugging up a Cargo of the Newest Novels once or twice a week
from the Row to Colebrooke to gratify my Sister's passion for the newest
things. He is her Bodley. He is author besides of a poem which for a
first attempt is promising. It is made up of common images, and yet
contrives to read originally. You see the writer felt all he pours
forth, and has not palmed upon you expressions which he did not believe
at the time to be more his own than adoptive. Rogers has paid him some
proper compliments, with sound advice intermixed, upon a slight
introduction of him by me; for which I feel obliged. Moxon has
petition'd me by letter (for he had not the confidence to ask it in
London) to introduce him to you during his holydays; pray pat him on the
head, ask him a civil question or two about his verses, and favor him
with your genuine autograph. He shall not be further troublesome. I
think I have not sent any one upon a gaping mission to you a good while.
We are all well, and I have at last broke the bonds of business a second
time, never to put 'em on again. I pitch Colburn and his magazine to the
divil. I find I can live without the necessity of writing, tho' last
year I fretted myself to a fever with the hauntings of being starved.
Those vapours are flown. All the difference I find is that I have no
pocket money: that is, I must not pry upon an old book stall, and cull
its contents as heretofore, but shoulders of mutton, Whitbread's entire,
and Booth's best, abound as formerly.
I don't know whom or how many to send our love to, your household is so
frequently divided, but a general health to all that may be fixed or
wandering; stars, wherever. We read with pleasure some success (I forget
quite what) of one of you at Oxford. Mrs. Monkhouse (... was one of you)
sent us a kind letter some [months back], and we had the pleasure to
[see] her in tolerable spirits, looking well and kind as in by-gone
days.
Do take pen, or put it into goodnatured hands Dorothean
or Wordsworthian-female, or Hutchinsonian, to inform us of
your present state, or possible proceedings. I am ashamed
that this breaking of the long ice should be a letter of business.
There is none circum praecordia nostra I swear by the honesty
of pedantry, that wil I nil I pushes me upon scraps of Latin.
We are yours cordially: CHAS. & MARY LAMB.
September. 1826.
[In this letter, the first to Wordsworth for many months, we have the
first mention of Edward Moxon, who was to be so closely associated with
Lamb in the years to come. Moxon, a young Yorkshireman, educated at the
Green Coat School, was then nearly twenty-five, and was already author
of _The Prospect and other Poems_, dedicated to Rogers, who was destined
to be a valuable patron. Moxon subsequently became Wordsworth's
publisher.
"Constable ... Baldwin." Archibald Constable & Co., Scott's publishers,
failed in 1826. Baldwin was the first publisher of the _London
Magazine_.
"I pitch Colburn and his magazine." Lamb wrote nothing in the _New
Monthly Magazine_ after September, 1826.
I append portions of what seems to be Lamb's first letter to Edward
Moxon, obviously written before this date, but not out of place here.
The letter seems to have accompanied the proof of an article on Lamb
which he had corrected and was returning to Moxon.]
LETTER 400
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
(_Fragment_)
Were my own feelings consulted I should print it verbatim, but I won't
hoax you, else I love a Lye. My biography, parentage, place of birth, is
a strange mistake, part founded on some nonsense I wrote about Elia, and
was true of him, the real Elia, whose name I took.... C.L. was born in
Crown Office Row, Inner Temple in 1775. Admitted into Christs Hospital,
1782, where he was contemporary with T.F.M. [Thomas Fanshawe Middleton],
afterwards Bishop of Calcutta, and with S.T.C. with the last of these
two eminent scholars he has enjoyed an intimacy through life. On
quitting this foundation he became a junior clerk in the South Sea House
under his Elder Brother who died accountant there some years since.... I
am not the author of the Opium Eater, &c.
[I have not succeeded in finding the article in question.]
LETTER 401
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN BATES DIBDIN
[P.M. September 9, 1826.]
An answer is requested.
Saturday.
Dear D.--I have observed that a Letter is never more acceptable than
when received upon a rainy day, especially a rainy Sunday; which moves
me to send you somewhat, however short. This will find you sitting after
Breakfast, which you will have prolonged as far as you can with
consistency to the poor handmaid that has the reversion of the Tea
Leaves; making two nibbles of your last morsel of _stale_ roll (you
cannot have hot new ones on the Sabbath), and reluctantly coming to an
end, because when that is done, what can you do till dinner? You cannot
go to the Beach, for the rain is drowning the sea, turning rank Thetis
fresh, taking the brine out of Neptune's pickles, while mermaids sit
upon rocks with umbrellas, their ivory combs sheathed for spoiling in
the wet of waters foreign to them. You cannot go to the library, for
it's shut. You are not religious enough to go to church. O it is worth
while to cultivate piety to the gods, to have something to fill the
heart up on a wet Sunday! You cannot cast accounts, for your ledger is
being eaten up with moths in the Ancient Jewry. You cannot play at
draughts, for there is none to play with you, and besides there is not a
draught board in the house. You cannot go to market, for it closed last
night. You cannot look in to the shops, their backs are shut upon you.
You cannot read the Bible, for it is not good reading for the sick and
the hypochondriacal. You cannot while away an hour with a friend, for
you have no friend round that Wrekin. You cannot divert yourself with a
stray acquaintance, for you have picked none up. You cannot bear the
chiming of Bells, for they invite you to a banquet, where you are no
visitant. You cannot cheer yourself with the prospect of a tomorrow's
letter, for none come on Mondays. You cannot count those endless vials
on the mantlepiece with any hope of making a variation in their numbers.
You have counted your spiders: your Bastile is exhausted. You sit and
deliberately curse your hard exile from all familiar sights and sounds.
Old Ranking poking in his head unexpectedly would just now be as good to
you as Grimaldi. Any thing to deliver you from this intolerable weight
of Ennui. You are too ill to shake it off: not ill enough to submit to
it, and to lie down as a lamb under it. The Tyranny of Sickness is
nothing to the Cruelty of Convalescence: 'tis to have Thirty Tyrants for
one. That pattering rain drops on your brain. You'll be worse after
dinner, for you must dine at one to-day, that Betty may go to afternoon
service. She insists upon having her chopped hay. And then when she goes
out, who _was_ something to you, something to speak to--what an
interminable afternoon you'll have to go thro'. You can't break yourself
from your locality: you cannot say "Tomorrow morning I set off for
Banstead, by God": for you are book'd for Wednesday. Foreseeing this, I
thought a _cheerful letter_ would come in opportunely. If any of the
little topics for mirth I have thought upon should serve you in this
utter extinguishment of sunshine, to make you a little merry, I shall
have had my ends. I love to make things comfortable. [_Here is an
erasure._] This, which is scratch'd out was the most material thing I
had to say, but on maturer thoughts I defer it.
P.S.--We are just sitting down to dinner with a pleasant party,
Coleridge, Reynolds the dramatist, and Sam Bloxam: to-morrow (that is,
to_day_), Liston, and Wyat of the Wells, dine with us. May this find you
as jolly and freakish as we mean to be.
C. LAMB.
[Addressed to "T. Dibdin Esq're. No. 4 Meadow Cottages, Hastings,
Sussex."
"You have counted your spiders." Referring, I suppose, to Paul
Pellisson-Fontanier, the academician, and a famous prisoner in the
Bastille, who trained a spider to eat flies from his hand.
"Grimaldi"--Joseph Grimaldi, the clown. Ranking was one of Dibdin's
employers.
"A pleasant party." Reynolds, the dramatist, would be Frederic Reynolds
(1764-1841); Bloxam we have just met; and Wyat of the Wells was a comic
singer and utility actor at Sadler's Wells.
Canon Ainger remarks that as a matter of fact Dibdin was a religious
youth.]
LETTER 402
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. September 26, 1826.]
Dear B.B.--I don't know why I have delay'd so long writing. 'Twas a
fault. The under current of excuse to my mind was that I had heard of
the Vessel in which Mitford's jars were to come; that it had been
obliged to put into Batavia to refit (which accounts for its delay) but
was daily expectated. Days are past, and it comes not, and the mermaids
may be drinking their Tea out of his China for ought I know; but let's
hope not. In the meantime I have paid £28, etc., for the freight and
prime cost, (which I a little expected he would have settled in London.)
But do not mention it. I was enabled to do it by a receipt of £30 from
Colburn, with whom however I have done. I should else have run short.
For I just make ends meet. We will wait the arrival of the Trinkets, and
to ascertain their full expence, and then bring in the bill. (Don't
mention it, for I daresay 'twas mere thoughtlessness.)
I am sorry you and yours have any plagues about dross matters. I have
been sadly puzzled at the defalcation of more than one third of my
income, out of which when entire I saved nothing. But cropping off wine,
old books, &c. and in short all that can be call'd pocket money, I hope
to be able to go on at the Cottage. Remember, I beg you not to say
anything to Mitford, for if he be honest it will vex him: if not, which
I as little expect as that you should [not] be, I have a hank still upon
the JARS.
Colburn had something of mine in last month, which he has had in hand
these 7 months, and had lost, or cou'dnt find room for: I was used to
different treatment in the London, and have forsworn Periodicals.
I am going thro' a course of reading at the Museum: the Garrick plays,
out of part of which I formed my Specimens: I have Two Thousand to go
thro'; and in a few weeks have despatch'd the tythe of 'em. It is a sort
of Office to me; hours, 10 to 4, the same. It does me good. Man must
have regular occupation, that has been used to it. So A.K. keeps a
School! She teaches nothing wrong, I'll answer for't. I have a Dutch
print of a Schoolmistress; little old-fashioned Fleminglings, with only
one face among them. She a Princess of Schoolmistress, wielding a rod
for form more than use; the scene an old monastic chapel, with a Madonna
over her head, looking just as serious, as thoughtful, as pure, as
gentle, as herself. Tis a type of thy friend.
Will you pardon my neglect? Mind, again I say, don't shew this to M.;
let me wait a little longer to know the event of his Luxuries. (I am
sure he is a good fellow, tho' I made a serious Yorkshire Lad, who met
him, stare when I said he was a Clergyman. He is a pleasant Layman
spoiled.) Heaven send him his jars uncrack'd, and me my---- Yours with
kindest wishes to your daughter and friend, in which Mary joins
C.L.
["I saved nothing." Lamb, however, according to Procter, left £2000 at
his death eight years later. He must have saved £200 a year from his
pension of £441, living at the rate of £241 per annum, plus small
earnings, for the rest of his life, and investing the £200 at 5 per
cent, compound interest.
"Colburn had something of mine." The Popular Fallacy "That a Deformed
Person is a Lord," not included by Lamb with the others when he
reprinted them. Printed in Vol. I. of this edition.
"Reading at the Museum." Lamb had begun to visit the Museum every day to
collect extracts from the Garrick plays for Hone's _Table Book_, 1827.
"A.K."--Anne Knight again.
The pleasant Yorkshire lad whom Mitford's secular air surprised was
probably Moxon.
Here might come a business letter, from Lamb to Barton, preserved in the
British Museum, relating to Mitford's jars.]
LETTER 403
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date. ? Sept., 1826.]
I have had much trouble to find Field to-day. No matter. He was packing
up for out of town. He has writ a handsomest letter, which you will
transmit to Murry with your proof-sheets. Seal it.--
Yours C. L----.
Mrs. Hood will drink tea with us on Thursday at 1/2 past 5 _at Latest_.
N.B. I have lost my Museum reading today: a day with Titus: owing to
your dam'd bisness.--I am the last to reproach anybody. I scorn it.
If you shall have the whole book ready soon, it will be best for Murry
to see.
[I am not clear as to what proof-sheets of Moxon's Lamb refers. His
second book, _Christmas_, 1829, was issued through Hurst, Chance & Co.
Barton Field and John Murray were friends.
"A day with Titus." Can this (a friend suggests) have any connection
with the phrase _Amici! diem perdidi?_ There is no Titus play among the
Garrick Extracts.]
LETTER 404
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[No postmark or date. Soon after preceding letter to Barton. 1826.]
Dear B.B.--the _Busy Bee_, as Hood after Dr. Watts apostrophises thee,
and well dost thou deserve it for thy labors in the Muses' gardens,
wandering over parterres of Think-on-me's and Forget-me-nots, to a total
impossibility of forgetting thee,--thy letter was acceptable, thy
scruples may be dismissed, thou art Rectus in Curiâ, not a word more to
be said, Verbum Sapienti and so forth, the matter is decided with a
white stone, Classically, mark me, and the apparitions vanishd which
haunted me, only the Cramp, Caliban's distemper, clawing me in the
calvish part of my nature, makes me ever and anon roar Bullishly, squeak
cowardishly, and limp cripple-ishly. Do I write quakerly and simply,
'tis my most Master Mathew-like intention to do it. See Ben Jonson.--I
think you told me your acquaint'ce with the Drama was confin'd to
Shakspeare and Miss Bailly: some read only Milton and Croly. The gap is
as from an ananas to a Turnip. I have fighting in my head the plots
characters situations and sentiments of 400 old Plays (bran new to me)
which I have been digesting at the Museum, and my appetite sharpens to
twice as many more, which I mean to course over this winter. I can
scarce avoid Dialogue fashion in this letter. I soliloquise my
meditations, and habitually speak dramatic blank verse without meaning
it. Do you see Mitford? he will tell you something of my labors. Tell
him I am sorry to have mist seeing him, to have talk'd over those OLD
TREASURES. I am still more sorry for his missing Pots. But I shall be
sure of the earliest intelligence of the Lost Tribes. His Sacred
Specimens are a thankful addition to my shelves. Marry, I could wish he
had been more careful of corrigenda. I have discover'd certain which
have slipt his Errata. I put 'em in the next page, as perhaps thou canst
transmit them to him. For what purpose, but to grieve him (which yet I
should be sorry to do), but then it shews my learning, and the excuse is
complimentary, as it implies their correction in a future Edition. His
own things in the book are magnificent, and as an old Christ's
Hospitaller I was particularly refreshd with his eulogy on our Edward.
Many of the choice excerpta were new to me. Old Christmas is a coming,
to the confusion of Puritans, Muggletonians, Anabaptists, Quakers, and
that Unwassailing Crew. He cometh not with his wonted gait, he is shrunk
9 inches in the girth, but is yet a Lusty fellow. Hood's book is mighty
clever, and went off 600 copies the 1st day. Sion's Songs do not
disperse so quickly. The next leaf is for Rev'd J.M. In this ADIEU thine
briefly in a tall friendship C. LAMB.
[Barton's letter, to which this is an answer, not being preserved, we do
not know what his scruples were. B.B. was a great contributor to
annuals.
"With a white stone." In trials at law a white stone was cast as a vote
for acquittal, a black stone for condemnation (see Ovid,
_Metamorphoses_, 15, 41).
"Master Mathew"--in Ben Jonson's "Every Man in His Humour."
"Croly"--the Rev. George Croly (1780-1860), of the _Literary Gazette_,
author of _The Angel of the World_ and other pretentious poems.
"Mitford's Sacred Specimens"--_Sacred Specimens Selected from the Early
English Poets_, 1827. The last poem, by Mitford himself, was "Lines
Written under the Portrait of Edward VI."
"Hood's book"--_Whims and Oddities_, second series, 1827.
Here should come a note to Allsop stating that Lamb is "near killed with
Christmassing."]
LETTER 405
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON
Colebrooke Row, Islington,
Saturday, 20th Jan., 1827.
Dear Robinson,--I called upon you this morning, and found that you were
gone to visit a dying friend. I had been upon a like errand. Poor Norris
has been lying dying for now almost a week, such is the penalty we pay
for having enjoyed a strong constitution! Whether he knew me or not, I
know not, or whether he saw me through his poor glazed eyes; but the
group I saw about him I shall not forget. Upon the bed, or about it,
were assembled his wife and two daughters, and poor deaf Richard, his
son, looking doubly stupified. There they were, and seemed to have been
sitting all the week. I could only reach out a hand to Mrs. Norris.
Speaking was impossible in that mute chamber. By this time I hope it is
all over with him. In him I have a loss the world cannot make up. He was
my friend and my father's friend all the life I can remember. I seem to
have made foolish friendships ever since. Those are friendships which
outlive a second generation. Old as I am waxing, in his eyes I was still
the child he first knew me. To the last he called me Charley. I have
none to call me Charley now. He was the last link that bound me to the
Temple. You are but of yesterday. In him seem to have died the old
plainness of manners and singleness of heart. Letters he knew nothing
of, nor did his reading extend beyond the pages of the "Gentleman's
Magazine." Yet there was a pride of literature about him from being
amongst books (he was librarian), and from some scraps of doubtful Latin
which he had picked up in his office of entering students, that gave him
very diverting airs of pedantry. Can I forget the erudite look with
which, when he had been in vain trying to make out a black-letter text
of Chaucer in the Temple Library, he laid it down and told me that--"in
those old books, Charley, there is sometimes a deal of very indifferent
spelling;" and seemed to console himself in the reflection! His jokes,
for he had his jokes, are now ended, but they were old trusty
perennials, staples that pleased after _decies repetita_, and were
always as good as new. One song he had, which was reserved for the night
of Christmas-day, which we always spent in the Temple. It was an old
thing, and spoke of the flat bottoms of our foes and the possibility of
their coming over in darkness, and alluded to threats of an invasion
many years blown over; and when he came to the part
"We'll still make 'em run, and we'll still make 'em sweat,
In spite of the devil and Brussels Gazette!"
his eyes would sparkle as with the freshness of an impending event. And
what is the "Brussels Gazette" now? I cry while I enumerate these
trifles. "How shall we tell them in a stranger's ear?" His poor good
girls will now have to receive their afflicted mother in an inaccessible
hovel in an obscure village in Herts, where they have been long
struggling to make a school without effect; and poor deaf Richard--and
the more helpless for being so--is thrown on the wide world.
My first motive in writing, and, indeed, in calling on you, was to ask
if you were enough acquainted with any of the Benchers, to lay a plain
statement before them of the circumstances of the family. I almost fear
not, for you are of another hall. But if you can oblige me and my poor
friend, who is now insensible to any favours, pray exert yourself. You
cannot say too much good of poor Norris and his poor wife.
Yours ever, CHARLES LAMB.
[This letter, describing the death of Randal Norris, Sub-Treasurer and
Librarian of the Inner Temple, was printed with only very slight
alterations in Hone's _Table Book_, 1827, and again in the _Last Essays
of Elia_, 1833, under the title "A Death-Bed." It was, however, taken
out of the second edition, and "Confessions of a Drunkard" substituted,
in deference to the wishes of Norris's family. Mrs. Norris, as I have
said, was a native of Widford, where she had known Mrs. Field, Lamb's
grandmother. With her son Richard, who was deaf and peculiar, Mrs.
Norris moved to Widford again, where the daughters, Miss Betsy and Miss
Jane, had opened a school--Goddard House; which they retained until a
legacy restored the family prosperity. Soon after that they both
married, each a farmer named Tween. They survived until quite recently.
Mrs. Coe, an old scholar at the Misses Morris's school in the twenties,
gave me, in 1902, some reminiscences of those days, from which I quote a
passage or so:--
When he joined the Norrises' dinner-table he kept every one
laughing. Mr. Richard sat at one end, and some of the school
children would be there too. One day Mr. Lamb gave every one a fancy
name all round the table, and made a verse on each. "You are
so-and-so," he said, "and you are so-and-so," adding the rhyme.
"What's he saying? What are you laughing at?" Mr. Richard asked
testily, for he was short-tempered. Miss Betsy explained the joke to
him, and Mr. Lamb, coming to his turn, said--only he said it in
verse--"Now, Dick, it's your turn. I shall call you Gruborum;
because all you think of is your food and your stomach." Mr. Richard
pushed back his chair in a rage and stamped out of the room. "Now
I've done it," said Mr. Lamb: "I must go and make friends with my
old chum. Give me a large plate of pudding to take to him." When he
came back he said, "It's all right. I thought the pudding would do
it." Mr. Lamb and Mr. Richard never got on very well, and Mr.
Richard didn't like his teasing ways at all; but Mr. Lamb often went
for long walks with him, because no one else would. He did many kind
things like that.
There used to be a half-holiday when Mr. Lamb came, partly because
he would force his way into the schoolroom and make seriousness
impossible. His head would suddenly appear at the door in the midst
of lessons, with "Well, Betsy! How do, Jane?" "O, Mr. Lamb!" they
would say, and that was the end of work for that day. He was really
rather naughty with the children. One of his tricks was to teach
them a new kind of catechism (Mrs. Coe does not remember it, but we
may rest assured, I fear, that it was secular), and he made a great
fuss with Lizzie Hunt for her skill in saying the Lord's Prayer
backwards, which he had taught her.
"We'll still make 'em run..." Garrick's "Hearts of Oak," sung in
"Harlequin's Invasion."
"How shall we tell them in a stranger's ear?" A quotation from Lamb
himself, in the lines "Written soon after the Preceding Poem," in 1798
(see Vol. IV.).]
LETTER 406
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON
[No date. Jan. 20, 1827.]
Dear R.N. is dead. I have writ as nearly as I could to look like a
letter meant for _your eye only_. Will it do?
Could you distantly hint (do as your own judgment suggests) that if his
son could be got in as Clerk to the new Subtreasurer, it would be all
his father wish'd? But I leave that to you. I don't want to put you upon
anything disagreeable.
Yours thankfully
C.L.
[The reference at the beginning is to the preceding letter, which was
probably enclosed with this note.
Here should come a note to Allsop dated Jan. 25, 1827, complaining of
the cold.]
LETTER 407
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON
[Dated by H.C.R. Jan. 29, 1827.]
Dear Robinson, If you have not seen Mr. Gurney, leave him quite alone
for the present, I have seen Mr. Jekyll, who is as friendly as heart can
desire, he entirely approves of my formula of petition, and gave your
very reasons for the propriety of the "little village of Hertf'shire."
Now, Mr. G. might not approve of it, and then we should clash. Also, Mr.
J. wishes it to be presented next week, and Mr. G. might fix earlier,
which would be aukward. Mr. J. was so civil to me, that I _think it
would be better NOT for you to show him that letter you intended_.
Nothing can increase his zeal in the cause of poor Mr. Norris. Mr.
Gardiner will see you with this, and learn from you all about it, &
consult, if you have seen Mr. G. & he has fixed a time, how to put it
off. Mr. J. is most friendly to the boy: I think you had better not
teaze the Treasurer any more about _him_, as it may make him less
friendly to the Petition
Yours Ever
C.L.
[Writing to Dorothy Wordsworth on February 13, 1827, Robinson says: "The
Lambs are well. I have been so busy that I have not lately seen them.
Charles has been occupied about the affair of the widow of his old
friend Norris whose death he has felt. But the health of both is good."
Gurney would probably be John Gurney (afterwards Baron Gurney), the
counsel and judge. Jekyll was Joseph Jekyll, the wit, mentioned by Lamb
in his essay on "The Old Benchers of the Inner Temple." He was a friend
of George Dyer.]
LETTER 408
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON
[Dated by H.C. R. Jan., 1827.]
Dear R. do not say any thing to Mr. G. about the day _or_ Petition, for
Mr. Jekyll wishes it to be next week, and thoroughly approves of my
formula, and Mr. G. might not, and then they will clash. Only speak to
him of Gardner's wish to have the Lad. Mr. Jekyll was excessive
friendly. C.L.
[The matter referred to is still the Norrises' welfare. Mr. Hazlitt says
that an annuity of £80 was settled by the Inn on Mrs. Norris.
Here perhaps should come a letter from Lamb to Allsop, printed by Mr.
Fitzgerald, urging Allsop to go to Highgate to see Coleridge and tell
him of the unhappy state of his, Allsop's, affairs. In Crabb Robinson's
_Diary_ for February 1, 1827, I read: "I went to Lamb. Found him in
trouble about his friend Allsop, who is a ruined man. Allsop is a very
good creature who has been a generous friend to Coleridge." Writing of
his troubles in _Letters, Conversations and Recollections of S.T.
Coleridge_, Allsop says: "Charles Lamb, Charles and Mary Lamb, 'union is
partition,' were never wanting in the hour of need."]
LETTER 409
CHARLES LAMB TO B.R. HAYDON
[March, 1827.]
Dear Raffaele Haydon,--Did the maid tell you I came to see your picture,
not on Sunday but the day before? I think the face and bearing of the
Bucephalus-tamer very noble, his flesh too effeminate or painty. The
skin of the female's back kneeling is much more carnous. I had small
time to pick out praise or blame, for two lord-like Bucks came in, upon
whose strictures my presence seemed to impose restraint: I plebeian'd
off therefore.
I think I have hit on a subject for you, but can't swear it was never
executed,--I never heard of its being,--"Chaucer beating a Franciscan
Friar in Fleet Street." Think of the old dresses, houses, &c. "It
seemeth that both these learned men (Gower and Chaucer) were of the
Inner Temple; for not many years since Master Buckley did see a record
in the same house where Geoffry Chaucer was fined two shillings for
beating a Franciscan Friar in Fleet Street." _Chaucer's Life by T.
Speght, prefixed to the black letter folio of Chaucer_, 1598.
Yours in haste (salt fish waiting), C. LAMB.
[Haydon's picture was his "Alexander and Bucephalus." The two Bucks, he
tells us in his _Diary_, were the Duke of Devonshire and Mr. Agar Ellis.
Haydon did not take up the Chaucer subject.]
LETTER 410
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HONE [No date. April, 1827.]
Dear H. Never come to our house and not come in. I was quite vex'd.
Yours truly. C.L.
There is in Blackwood this month an article MOST AFFECTING indeed called
Le Revenant, and would do more towards abolishing Capital Punishments
than 400000 Romillies or Montagues. I beg you read it and see if you can
extract any of it. _The Trial scene in particular_.
[Written on the fourteenth instalment of the Garrick Play extracts. The
article was in _Blackwood_ for April, 1827. Hone took Lamb's advice, and
the extract from it will be found in the _Table Book_, Vol. I., col.
455.
Lamb was peculiarly interested in the subject of survival after hanging.
He wrote an early _Reflector_ essay, "On the Inconveniences of Being
Hanged," on the subject, and it is the pivot of his farce "The
Pawnbroker's Daughter."
"Romillies or Montagues." Two prominent advocates for the abolition of
capital punishment were Sir Samuel Romilly (who died in 1818) and Basil
Montagu.]
LETTER 411
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS HOOD
[No date. May, 1827.]
Dearest Hood,--Your news has spoil'd us a merry meeting. Miss Kelly and
we were coming, but your letter elicited a flood of tears from Mary, and
I saw she was not fit for a party. God bless you and the mother (or
should be mother) of your sweet girl that should have been. I have won
sexpence of Moxon by the _sex_ of the dear gone one.
Yours most truly and hers,
[C.L.]
[This note refers to one of the Hoods' children, which was still-born.
It was upon this occasion that Lamb wrote the beautiful lines "On an
Infant Dying as soon as Born" (see Vol. IV.).]
LETTER 412
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[No date. (1827.)]
My dear B.B.--A gentleman I never saw before brought me your welcome
present--imagine a scraping, fiddling, fidgetting, petit-maitre of a
dancing school advancing into my plain parlour with a coupee and a
sideling bow, and presenting the book as if he had been handing a glass
of lemonade to a young miss--imagine this, and contrast it with the
serious nature of the book presented! Then task your imagination,
reversing this picture, to conceive of quite an opposite messenger, a
lean, straitlocked, wheyfaced methodist, for such was he in reality who
brought it, the Genius (it seems) of the Wesleyan Magazine. Certes,
friend B., thy Widow's tale is too horrible, spite of the lenitives of
Religion, to embody in verse: I hold prose to be the appropriate
expositor of such atrocities! No offence, but it is a cordial that makes
the heart sick. Still thy skill in compounding it I not deny. I turn to
what gave me less mingled pleasure. I find markd with pencil these pages
in thy pretty book, and fear I have been penurious.
page 52, 53 capital.
page 59 6th stanza exquisite simile.
page 61 11th stanza equally good.
page 108 3d stanza, I long to see van Balen.
page 111 a downright good sonnet. _Dixi_.
page 153 Lines at the bottom.
So you see, I read, hear, and _mark_, if I don't learn--In short this
little volume is no discredit to any of your former, and betrays none of
the Senility you fear about. Apropos of Van Balen, an artist who painted
me lately had painted a Blackamoor praying, and not filling his canvas,
stuff'd in his little girl aside of Blacky, gaping at him unmeaningly;
and then didn't know what to call it. Now for a picture to be promoted
to the Exhibition (Suffolk Street) as HISTORICAL, a subject is
requisite. What does me? I but christen it the "Young Catechist" and
furbishd it with Dialogue following, which dubb'd it an Historical
Painting. Nothing to a friend at need.
While this tawny Ethiop prayeth,
Painter, who is She that stayeth
By, with skin of whitest lustre;
Sunny locks, a shining cluster;
Saintlike seeming to direct him
To the Power that must protect him?
Is she of the heav'nborn Three,
Meek Hope, strong Faith, sweet Charity?
Or some Cherub?
They you mention
Far transcend my weak invention.
'Tis a simple Christian child,
Missionary young and mild,
From her store of script'ral knowledge
(Bible-taught without a college)
Which by reading she could gather,
Teaches him to say OUR FATHER
To the common Parent, who
Colour not respects nor hue.
White and Black in him have part,
Who looks not to the skin, but heart.--
When I'd done it, the Artist (who had clapt in Miss merely as a
fill-space) swore I exprest his full meaning, and the damosel bridled up
into a Missionary's vanity. I like verses to explain Pictures: seldom
Pictures to illustrate Poems. Your wood cut is a rueful Lignum Mortis.
By the by, is the widow likely to marry again?
I am giving the fruit of my Old Play reading at the Museum to Hone, who
sets forth a Portion weekly in the Table Book. Do you see it? How is
Mitford?--
I'll just hint that the Pitcher, the Chord and the Bowl are a little too
often repeated (_passim_) in your Book, and that on page 17 last line
but 4 _him_ is put for _he_, but the poor widow I take it had small
leisure for grammatical niceties. Don't you see there's _He, myself_,
and _him_; why not both _him_? likewise _imperviously_ is cruelly spelt
_imperiously_. These are trifles, and I honestly like your [book,] and
you for giving it, tho' I really am ashamed of so many presents.
I can think of no news, therefore I will end with mine and Mary's
kindest remembrances to you and yours. C.L.
[It has been customary to date this letter December, 1827, but I think
that must be too late. Lamb would never have waited till then to tell
Barton that he was contributing the Garrick Plays to Hone's _Table
Book_, especially as the last instalment was printed in that month.
Barton's new volume was _A Widow's Tale and Other Poems_, 1827. The
title poem tells how a missionary and his wife were wrecked, and how
after three nights and days of horror she was saved. The woodcut on the
title-page of Barton's book represented the widow supporting her dead or
dying husband in the midst of the storm.
This is the "exquisite simile" on page 59, from "A Grandsire's Tale":--
Though some might deem her pensive, if not sad,
Yet those who knew her better, best could tell
How calmly happy, and how meekly glad
Her quiet heart in its own depths did dwell:
Like to the waters of some crystal well,
In which the stars of heaven at noon are seen.
Fancy might deem on her young spirit fell
Glimpses of light more glorious and serene
Than that of life's brief day, so heavenly was her mien.
This was the "downright good sonnet":--
TO A GRANDMOTHER
"Old age is dark and unlovely."--Ossian.
O say not so! A bright old age is thine;
Calm as the gentle light of summer eves,
Ere twilight dim her dusky mantle weaves;
Because to thee is given, in strength's decline,
A heart that does not thanklessly repine
At aught of which the hand of God bereaves,
Yet all He sends with gratitude receives;--
May such a quiet, thankful close be mine.
And hence thy fire-side chair appears to me
A peaceful throne--which thou wert form'd to fill;
Thy children--ministers, who do thy will;
And those grand-children, sporting round thy knee,
Thy little subjects, looking up to thee,
As one who claims their fond allegiance still.
And these are the lines at the foot of page 153 in a poem addressed to a
child seven years old:--
There is a holy, blest companionship
In the sweet intercourse thus held with those
Whose tear and smile are guileless; from whose lip
The simple dictate of the heart yet flows;--
Though even in the yet unfolded rose
The worm may lurk, and sin blight blooming youth,
The light born with us long so brightly glows,
That childhood's first deceits seem almost truth,
To life's cold after lie, selfish, and void of ruth.
Van Balen was the painter of the picture of the "Madonna and Child"
which Mrs. FitzGerald (Edward FitzGerald's mother) had given to Barton
and for which he expressed his thanks in a poem.
The artist who painted Lamb recently was Henry Meyer (1782?-1847), the
portrait being that which serves as frontispiece to this volume. I give
in my large edition a reproduction of "The Young Catechist," which Meyer
also engraved, with Lamb's verses attached. In 1910 I saw the original
in a picture shop in the Charing Cross Road, now removed.]
LETTER 413
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HONE
[No date. End of May, 1827.]
Dear H. in the forthcoming "New Monthly" are to be verses of mine on a
Picture about Angels. Translate em to the Table-book. I am off for
Enfield.
Yours. C.L.
[Written on the back of the XXI. Garrick Extracts. The poem "Angel Help"
was printed in the _New Monthly Magazine_ for June and copied by Hone in
the _Table-Book_, No. 24, 1827.]
LETTER 414
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HONE
[No date. June, 1827.]
Dear Hone, I should like this in your next book. We
are at Enfield, where (when we have solituded awhile)
we shall be glad to see you. Yours,
C. LAMB.
[This was written on the back of the MS. of "Going or Gone" (see Vol.
IV.), a poem of reminiscences of Lamb's early Widford days, printed in
Hone's _Table-Book_, June, 1827, signed Elia.]
LETTER 415
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
Enfield, and for some weeks to come, "_June 11, 1827_."
Dear B.B.--One word more of the picture verses, and that for good and
all; pray, with a neat pen alter one line
His learning seems to lay small stress on
to
His learning lays no mighty stress on
to avoid the unseemly recurrence (ungrammatical also) of "seems" in the
next line, besides the nonsence of "but" there, as it now stands. And I
request you, as a personal favor to me, to erase the last line of all,
which I should never have written from myself. The fact is, it was a
silly joke of Hood's, who gave me the frame, (you judg'd rightly it was
not its own) with the remark that you would like it, because it was b--d
b--d,--and I lugg'd it in: but I shall be quite hurt if it stands,
because tho' you and yours have too good sense to object to it, I would
not have a sentence of mine seen, that to any foolish ear might sound
unrespectful to thee. Let it end at appalling; the joke is coarse and
useless, and hurts the tone of the rest. Take your best "ivory-handled"
and scrape it forth.
Your specimen of what you might have written is hardly fair. Had it been
a present to me, I should have taken a more sentimental tone; but of a
trifle from me it was my cue to speak in an underish tone of
commendation. Prudent _givers_ (what a word for such a nothing)
disparage their gifts; 'tis an art we have. So you see you wouldn't have
been so wrong, taking a higher tone. But enough of nothing.
By the bye, I suspected M. of being the disparager of the frame; hence a
_certain line_.
For the frame,'tis as the room is, where it hangs. It hung up fronting
my old cobwebby folios and batter'd furniture (the fruit piece has
resum'd its place) and was much better than a spick and span one. But if
your room be very neat and your _other pictures_ bright with gilt, it
should be so too. I can't judge, not having seen: but my dingy study it
suited.
Martin's Belshazzar (the picture) I have seen. Its architectural effect
is stupendous; but the human figures, the squalling contorted little
antics that are playing at being frightend, like children at a sham
ghost who half know it to be a mask, are detestable. Then the _letters_
are nothing more than a transparency lighted up, such as a Lord might
order to be lit up, on a sudden at a Xmas Gambol, to scare the ladies.
The _type_ is as plain as Baskervil's--they should have been dim, full
of mystery, letters to the mind rather than the eye.--Rembrandt has
painted only Belshazzar and a courtier or two (taking a part of the
banquet for the whole) not fribbled out a mob of fine folks. Then every
thing is so distinct, to the very necklaces, and that foolish little
prophet. What _one_ point is there of interest? The ideal of such a
subject is, that you the spectator should see nothing but what at the
time you would have seen, the _hand_--and the _King_--not to be at
leisure to make taylor-remarks on the dresses, or Doctor Kitchener-like
to examine the good things at table.
Just such a confusd piece is his Joshua, fritterd into 1000 fragments,
little armies here, little armies there--you should see only the _Sun_
and _Joshua_; if I remember, he has not left out that luminary entirely,
but for Joshua, I was ten minutes a finding him out.
Still he is showy in all that is not the human figure or the
preternatural interest: but the first are below a drawing school girl's
attainment, and the last is a phantasmagoric trick, "Now you shall see
what you shall see, dare is Balshazar and dare is Daniel." You have my
thoughts of M. and so adieu C. LAMB.
[Lamb had sent Barton the picture that is reproduced in Vol. V. of my
large edition. Later Lamb had sent the following lines:--
When last you left your Woodbridge pretty,
To stare at sights, and see the City,
If I your meaning understood,
You wish'd a Picture, cheap, but good;
The colouring? decent; clear, not muddy;
To suit a Poet's quiet study,
Where Books and Prints for delectation
Hang, rather than vain ostentation.
The subject? what I pleased, if comely;
But something scriptural and homely:
A sober Piece, not gay or wanton,
For winter fire-sides to descant on;
The theme so scrupulously handled,
A Quaker might look on unscandal'd;
Such as might satisfy Ann Knight,
And classic Mitford just not fright.
Just such a one I've found, and send it;
If liked, I give--if not, but lend it.
The moral? nothing can be sounder.
The fable? 'tis its own expounder--
A Mother teaching to her Chit
Some good book, and explaining it.
He, silly urchin, tired of lesson,
His learning seems to lay small stress on,
But seems to hear not what he hears;
Thrusting his fingers in his ears,
Like Obstinate, that perverse funny one,
In honest parable of Bunyan.
His working Sister, more sedate,
Listens; but in a kind of state,
The painter meant for steadiness;
But has a tinge of sullenness;
And, at first sight, she seems to brook
As ill her needle, as he his book.
This is the Picture. For the Frame--
'Tis not ill-suited to the same;
Oak-carved, not gilt, for fear of falling;
Old-fashion'd; plain, yet not appalling;
And broad brimm'd, as the Owner's Calling.
It was not Obstinate, by the way, who thrust his fingers in his ears,
but Christian.
"Hence a _certain line_"--line 16, I suppose.
Martin's "Belshazzar." "Belshazzar's Feast," by John Martin (1789-1854),
had been exhibited for some years and had created an immense impression.
Lamb subjected Martin's work to a minute analysis a few years later (see
the _Elia_ essay on the "Barrenness of the Imaginative Faculty in the
Productions of Modern Art," Vol. II.). Barton did not give up Martin in
consequence of this letter. The frontispiece to his _New Year's Eve_,
1828, is by that painter, and the volume contains eulogistic poems upon
him, one beginning--
Boldest painter of our day.
"Baskervil's"--John Baskerville (1706-1775), the printer, famous for his
folio edition of the Bible, 1763.
Doctor William Kitchiner--the author of _Apicius Redivious; or, The
Cook's Oracle_, 1817.]
LETTER 416
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON
[P.M. June 26, 1827.]
Dear H.C. We are at Mrs. Leishman's, Chase, Enfield. Why not come down
by the Green Lanes on Sunday? Picquet all day. Pass the Church, pass the
"Rising Sun," turn sharp round the corner, and we are the 6th or 7th
house on the Chase: tall Elms darken the door. If you set eyes on M.
Burney, bring him.
Yours truly C. LAMB.
[Mrs. Leishman's house, or its successor, is the seventh from the Rising
Sun. It is now on Gentleman's Row, not on Chase Side proper. The house
next it--still, as in Lamb's day, a girl's school--is called Elm House,
but most of the elms which darkened both doors have vanished. It has
been surmised that when later in the year Lamb took an Enfield house in
his own name, he took Mrs. Leishman's; but, as we shall see, his own
house was some little distance from hers.]
LETTER 417
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HONE
[No date. Early July, 1827.]
Dear H., This is Hood's, done from the life, of Mary getting over a
style here. Mary, out of a pleasant revenge, wants you to get it
_engrav'd_ in Table Book to surprise H., who I know will be amus'd with
you so doing.
Append some observations about the awkwardness of country styles about
Edmonton, and the difficulty of elderly Ladies getting over 'em.----
That is to say, if you think the sketch good enough.
I take on myself the warranty.
Can you slip down here some day and go a Green-dragoning? C.L.
Enfield (Mrs. Leishman's, Chase).
If you do, send Hood the number, No. 2 Robert St., Adelphi, and keep the
sketch for me.
["This" was the drawing by Hood. I take it from the _Table-Book_, where
it represents Mrs. Gilpin resting on a stile:--
[Illustration]
Lamb subsequently appended the observations himself. The text of his
little article, changing Mary Lamb into Mrs. Gilpin, was in the late Mr.
Locker-Lampson's collection. The postmark is July 17. 1827.]
LETTER 418
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
Enfield. P.M. July 17, 182[7].
Dear M. Thanks for your attentions of every kind. Emma will not fail
Mrs. Hood's kind invitation, but her Aunt is so queer a one, that we
cannot let her go with a single gentleman singly to Vauxhall; she would
withdraw her from us altogether in a fright; but if any of the Hood's
family accompany you, then there can be small objection.
I have been writing letters till too dark to see the marks. I can just
say we shall be happy to see you any Sunday _after the next_: say, the
Sunday after, and perhaps the Hoods will come too and have a merry other
day, before they go hence. But next Sunday we expect as many as we can
well entertain.
With ours and Emma's
acknowlgm's
yours
C.L.
[The earliest of a long series of letters to Edward Moxon, preserved at
Rowfant by the late Mr. Locker-Lampson, but now in America. Emma Isola's
aunt was Miss Humphreys.]
LETTER 419
CHARLES LAMB TO P.G. PATMORE
[Dated at end: July 19, 1827.]
Dear P.--I am so poorly! I have been to a funeral, where I made a pun,
to the consternation of the rest of the mourners. And we had wine. I
can't describe to you the howl which the widow set up at proper
intervals. Dash could, for it was not unlike what he makes.
The letter I sent you was one directed to the care of E. White, India
House, for Mrs. Hazlitt. _Which_ Mrs. Hazlitt I don't yet know, but A.
has taken it to France on speculation. Really it is embarrassing. There
is Mrs. present H., Mrs. late H., and Mrs. John H., and to which of the
three Mrs. Wiggins's it appertains, I don't know. I wanted to open it,
but it's transportation.
I am sorry you are plagued about your book. I would strongly recommend
you to take for one story Massinger's "Old Law." It is exquisite. I can
think of no other.
Dash is frightful this morning. He whines and stands up on his hind
legs. He misses Beckey, who is gone to town. I took him to Barnet the
other day, and he couldn't eat his victuals after it. Pray God his
intellectuals be not slipping.
Mary is gone out for some soles. I suppose 'tis no use to ask you to
come and partake of 'em; else there's a steam-vessel.
I am doing a tragi-comedy in two acts, and have got on tolerably; but it
will be refused, or worse. I never had luck with anything my name was
put to.
Oh, I am so poorly! I _waked_ it at my cousin's the bookbinder's, who is
now with God; or, if he is not, it's no fault of mine.
We hope the Frank wines do not disagree with Mrs. Patmore. By the way, I
like her.
Did you ever taste frogs? Get them, if you can. They are like little
Lilliput rabbits, only a thought nicer.
Christ, how sick I am!--not of the world, but of the widow's shrub.
She's sworn under £6000, but I think she perjured herself. She howls in
E _la_, and I comfort her in B flat. You understand music?...
"No shrimps!" (That's in answer to Mary's question about how the soles
are to be done.)
I am uncertain where this _wandering_ letter may reach you. What you
mean by Poste Restante, God knows. Do you mean I must pay the postage?
So I do to Dover.
We had a merry passage with the widow at the Commons. She was
howling--part howling and part giving directions to the proctor--when
crash! down went my sister through a crazy chair, and made the clerks
grin, and I grinned, and the widow tittered--_and then I knew that she
was not inconsolable_. Mary was more frightened than hurt.
She'd make a good match for anybody (by she, I mean the widow).
"If he bring but a _relict_ away,
He is happy, nor heard to complain."
SHENSTONE.
Procter has got a wen growing out at the nape of his neck, which his
wife wants him to have cut off; but I think it rather an agreeable
excrescence--like his poetry--redundant. Hone has hanged himself for
debt. Godwin was taken up for picking pockets.... Beckey takes to bad
courses. Her father was blown up in a steam machine. The coroner found
it Insanity. I should not like him to sit on my letter.
Do you observe my direction? Is it Gallic?--Classical?
Do try and get some frogs. You must ask for "grenouilles" (green-eels).
They don't understand "frogs," though it's a common phrase with us.
If you go through Bulloign (Boulogne) enquire if old Godfrey is living,
and how he got home from the Crusades. He must be a very old man now.
If there is anything new in politics or literature in France, keep it
till I see you again, for I'm in no hurry. Chatty-Briant is well I hope.
I think I have no more news; only give both our loves ("all three," says
Dash) to Mrs. Patmore, and bid her get quite well, as I am at present,
bating qualms, and the grief incident to losing a valuable relation.
C.L.
Londres, July 19, 1827.
[This is from Patmore's _My Friends and Acquaintances_, 1854; but I have
no confidence in Patmore's transcription. After "picking pockets" should
come, for example, according to other editors, the sentence, "Moxon has
fallen in love with Emma, our nut-brown maid." This is the first we hear
of the circumstance and quite probably Lamb was then exaggerating. As it
happened, however, Moxon and Miss Isola, as we shall see, were married
in 1833.
We do not know the name of the widow; but her husband was Lamb's cousin,
the bookbinder.
The doubt about the Hazlitts refers chiefly to William Hazlitt's divorce
from his first wife in 1822, and his remarriage in 1824 with a Mrs.
Bridgewater.
"Your book." Patmore, in _My Friends and Acquaintances_, writes:--
This refers to a series of tales that I was writing, (since published
under the title of _Chatsworth, or the Romance of a Week_.) for the
subject of one of which he had recommended me to take "The Old Law." As
Lamb's critical faculties (as displayed in the celebrated "specimens"
which created an era in the dramatic taste of England) were not
surpassed by those of any writer of his day, the reader may like to see
a few "specimens" of some notes which Lamb took the pains to make on two
of the tales that were shown to him. I give these the rather that there
is occasionally blended with their critical nicety of tact, a drollery
that is very characteristic of the writer. I shall leave these notes and
verbal criticisms to speak for themselves, after merely explaining that
they are written on separate bits of paper, each note having a numerical
reference to that page of the MS. in which occurs the passage commented
on.
"Besides the words 'riant' and 'Euphrosyne,' the sentence is senseless.
'A sweet sadness' capable of inspiring 'a more _grave joy_'--than
what?--than demonstrations of _mirth_? Odd if it had not been. I had
once a _wry aunt_, which may make me dislike the phrase.
"'Pleasurable:'--no word is good that is awkward to spell. (Query.)
Welcome or Joyous.
"'_Steady self-possession_ rather than _undaunted courage_,' etc. The
two things are not opposed enough. You mean, rather than rash fire of
valour in action.
"'Looking like a heifer,' I fear wont do in prose. (Qy.) 'Like to some
spotless heifer,'--or,'that you might have compared her to some spotless
heifer,' etc.--or 'Like to some sacrificial heifer of old.' I should
prefer, 'garlanded with flowers as for a sacrifice '--and cut the cow
altogether.
"(Say) 'Like the muttering of some strange spell,'--omitting the
demon,--they are _subject_ to spells, they don't use them.
"'Feud' here (and before and after) is wrong. (Say) old malice, or,
difference. _Feud_ is of clans. It might be applied to family quarrels,
but is quite improper to individuals falling out.
"'Apathetic.' Vile word.
"'Mechanically,' faugh!--insensibly--involuntarily--in-any-thing-ly but
mechanically.
"Calianax's character should be somewhere briefly _drawn_, not left to
be dramatically inferred.
"'Surprised and almost vexed while it troubled her.' (Awkward.) Better,
'in a way that while it deeply troubled her, could not but surprise and
vex her to think it should be a source of trouble at all.'
"'Reaction' is vile slang. 'Physical'--vile word.
"Decidedly, Dorigen should simply propose to him to remove the rocks as
_ugly_ or _dangerous_, not as affecting her with fears for her husband.
The idea of her husband should be excluded from a promise which is meant
to be _frank_ upon impossible conditions. She cannot promise in one
breath infidelity to him, and make the conditions a good to him. Her
reason for hating the rocks is good, but not to be expressed here.
"Insert after 'to whatever consequences it might lead,'--'Neither had
Arviragus been disposed to interpose a husband's authority to prevent
the execution of this rash vow, was he unmindful of that older and more
solemn vow which, in the days of their marriage, he had imposed upon
himself, in no instance to control the settled purpose or determination
of his wedded wife;--so that by the chains of a double contract he
seemed bound to abide by her decision in this instance, whatever it
might be.'"
"A tragi-comedy"--Lamb's dramatic version of Crabbe's "Confidante,"
which he called "The Wife's Trial" (see Vol. IV. of this edition).
"Procter has got a wen." This paragraph must be taken with salt. Poor
Hone, however, had the rules of the King's Bench at the time. Beckey was
the Lambs' servant and tyrant; she had been Hazlitt's. Patmore described
her at some length in his reminiscences of Lamb.
"Chatty-Briant"--Chateaubriand.]
LETTER 420
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
Enfield, July 26th, 1827.
Dear Mrs. Shelley,--At the risk of throwing away some fine thoughts, I
must write to say how pleased we were with your very kind remembering of
us (who have unkindly run away from all our friends) before you go.
Perhaps you are gone, and then my tropes are wasted. If any piece of
better fortune has lighted upon you than you expected, but less than we
wish you, we are rejoiced. We are here trying to like solitude, but have
scarce enough to justify the experiment. We get some, however. The six
days are our Sabbath; the seventh--why, Cockneys will come for a little
fresh air, and so--
But by _your month_, or October at furthest, we hope to see Islington: I
like a giant refreshed with the leaving off of wine, and Mary, pining
for Mr. Moxon's books and Mr. Moxon's society. Then we shall meet.
I am busy with a farce in two acts, the incidents tragi-comic. I can do
the dialogue _commey fo_: but the damned plot--I believe I must omit it
altogether. The scenes come after one another like geese, not
marshalling like cranes or a Hyde Park review. The story is as simple as
G[eorge] D[yer], and the language plain as his spouse. The characters
are three women to one man; which is one more than laid hold on him in
the "Evangely." I think that prophecy squinted towards my drama.
I want some Howard Paine to sketch a skeleton of artfully succeeding
scenes through a whole play, as the courses are arranged in a cookery
book: I to find wit, passion, sentiment, character, and the like
trifles: to lay in the dead colours,--I'd Titianesque 'em up: to mark
the channel in a cheek (smooth or furrowed, yours or mine), and where
tears should course I'd draw the waters down: to say where a joke should
come in or a pun be left out: to bring my _personae_ on and off like a
Beau Nash; and I'd Frankenstein them there: to bring three together on
the stage at once; they are so shy with me, that I can get no more than
two; and there they stand till it is the time, without being the season,
to withdraw them.
I am teaching Emma Latin to qualify her for a superior governess-ship;
which we see no prospect of her getting. 'Tis like feeding a child with
chopped hay from a spoon. Sisyphus--his labours were as nothing to it.
Actives and passives jostle in her nonsense, till a deponent enters,
like Chaos, more to embroil the fray. Her prepositions are suppositions;
her conjunctions copulative have no connection in them; her concords
disagree; her interjections are purely English "Ah!" and "Oh!" with a
yawn and a gape in the same tongue; and she herself is a lazy,
block-headly supine. As I say to her, ass _in praesenti_ rarely makes a
wise man _in futuro_.
But I daresay it was so with you when you began Latin, and a good while
after.
Good-by! Mary's love.
Yours truly, C. LAMB.
[This is the second letter to Mrs. Shelley, _née_ Mary Wollstonecraft
Godwin, the widow of the poet and the author of _Frankenstein_. She had
been living in England since 1823; and in 1826 had issued anonymously
_The Last Man_. That she kept much in touch with the Lambs' affairs we
know by her letters to Leigh Hunt.
Major Butterworth has kindly supplied me with a copy of her letter to
Mary Lamb which called forth Lamb's reply. It runs thus:--
Kentish Town, 22 July, 1827.
My dear Miss Lamb,
You have been long at Enfield--I hardly know yet whether you are
returned--and I quit town so very soon that I have not time to--as I
exceedingly wish--call on you before I go. Nevertheless believe (if such
familiar expression be not unmeet from me) that I love you with all my
heart--gratefully and sincerely--and that when I return I shall seek you
with, I hope, not too much zeal--but it will be with great eagerness.
You will be glad to hear that I have every reason to believe that the
worst of my pecuniary troubles are over--as I am promised a regular tho'
small income from my father-in-law. I mean to be very industrious _on
other accounts_ this summer, so I hope nothing will go very ill with me
or mine.
I am afraid Miss Kelly will think me dreadfully rude for not having
availed myself of her kind invitation. Will you present my compliments
to her, and say that my embarassments, harassings and distance from town
are the guilty causes of my omission--for which with her leave I will
apologize in person on my return to London.
All kind and grateful remembrances to Mr. Lamb, he must not forget me
nor like me one atom less than I delight to flatter myself he does now,
when again I come to seize a dinner perforce at your cottage. Percy is
quite well--and is reading with great extacy (_sic_) the Arabian Nights.
I shall return I suppose some one day in September. God bless you.
Yours affectionately,
MARY W. SHELLEY.
_Commey fo_ is Lamb's _comme il faut_.
"In the 'Evangely.'" If by Evangely he meant Gospel, Lamb was a little
confused here, I think. Probably Isaiah iv. I was in his mind: "and in
that day seven women shall take hold of one man." But he may also have
half remembered Luke xvii. 35.
"I am teaching Emma Latin." Mary Lamb contributed to _Blackwood's
Magazine_ for June, 1829, the following little poem describing Emma
Isola's difficulties in these lessons:--
TO EMMA, LEARNING LATIN, AND DESPONDING
Droop not, dear Emma, dry those falling tears,
And call up smiles into thy pallid face,
Pallid and care-worn with thy arduous race:
In few brief months thou hast done the work of years.
To young beginnings natural are these fears.
A right good scholar shalt thou one day be,
And that no distant one; when even she,
Who now to thee a star far off appears,
That most rare Latinist, the Northern Maid--
The language-loving Sarah[1] of the Lake--
Shall hail thee Sister Linguist. This will make
Thy friends, who now afford thee careful aid,
A recompense most rich for all their pains,
Counting thy acquisitions their best gains.
[Footnote 1: Daughter of S.T. Coleridge, Esq.; an accomplished linguist
in the Greek and Latin tongues, and translatress of a History of the
Abipones.]
A letter to an anonymous correspondent, in the summer of 1827, has an
amusing passage concerning Emma Isola's Latin. Lamb says that they made
Cary laugh by translating "Blast you" into such elegant verbiage as
"Deus afflet tibi." He adds, "How some parsons would have goggled and
what would Hannah More say? I don't like clergymen, but here and there
one. Cary, the Dante Cary, is a model quite as plain as Parson Primrose,
without a shade of silliness."
On July 21, 1827, is a letter to Mr. Dillon, whom I do not identify,
saying that Lamb has been teaching Emma Isola Latin for the past seven
weeks.
"Ass _in praesenti_." This was Boyer's joke, at Christ's Hospital (see
Vol. I. of this edition).
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Edward White, of the India House,
dated August 1, 1827, in which Lamb has some pleasantry about paying
postages, and ends by heartily commending White to mind his ledger, and
keep his eye on Mr. Chambers' balances.]
LETTER 421
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. BASIL MONTAGU
[Summer, 1827.]
Dear Madam,--I return your List with my name. I should be sorry that any
respect should be going on towards [Clarkson,] and I be left out of the
conspiracy. Otherwise I frankly own that to pillarize a man's good
feelings in his lifetime is not to my taste. Monuments to goodness, even
after death, are equivocal. I turn away from Howard's, I scarce know
why. Goodness blows no trumpet, nor desires to have it blown. We should
be modest for a modest man--as he is for himself. The vanities of
Life--Art, Poetry, Skill military, are subjects for trophies; not the
silent thoughts arising in a good man's mind in lonely places. Was I
C[larkson,] I should never be able to walk or ride near ------ again.
Instead of bread, we are giving him a stone. Instead of the locality
recalling the noblest moment of his existence, it is a place at which
his friends (that is, himself) blow to the world, "What a good man is
he!" I sat down upon a hillock at Forty Hill yesternight--a fine
contemplative evening,--with a thousand good speculations about mankind.
How I yearned with cheap benevolence! I shall go and inquire of the
stone-cutter, that cuts the tombstones here, what a stone with a short
inscription will cost; just to say--"Here C. Lamb loved his brethren of
mankind." Everybody will come there to love. As I can't well put my own
name, I shall put about a subscription:
_s. d_.
Mrs. ---- 5 0
Procter 2 6
G. Dyer 1 0
Mr. Godwin 0 0
Mrs. Godwin 0 0
Mr. Irving a watch-chain.
Mr. ------- the proceeds of ------ first edition.*
___ ___
8 6
I scribble in haste from here, where we shall be some time. Pray request
Mr. M[ontagu] to advance the guinea for me, which shall faithfully be
forthcoming; and pardon me that I don't see the proposal in quite the
light that he may. The kindness of his motives, and his power of
appreciating the noble passage, I thoroughly agree in.
With most kind regards to him, I conclude, Dear Madam,
Yours truly, C. LAMB.
From Mrs. Leishman's, Chase, Enfield.
*A capital book, by the bye, but not over saleable.
[The memorial to Thomas Clarkson stands on a hill above Wade Mill, on
the Buntingford Road, in Hertfordshire.
Forty Hill is close to Enfield.
Edward Irving's watch-chain. The explanation of Lamb's joke is to be
found in Carlyle's _Reminiscences_ (quoted also in Froude's _Life_, Vol.
I., page 326). Irving had put down as his contribution to some
subscription list, at a public meeting, "an actual gold watch, which he
said had just arrived to him from his beloved brother lately dead in
India." This rather theatrical action had evidently amused Lamb as it
had disgusted Carlyle.
The "first edition" of "Mr. -----" was, I suppose, Basil Montagu's work
on Bacon, which Macaulay reviewed.]
LETTER 422
MARY LAMB TO LADY STODDART
[August 9, 1827.]
My dear Lady-Friend,--My brother called at our empty cottage yesterday,
and found the cards of your son and his friend, Mr. Hine, under the
door; which has brought to my mind that I am in danger of losing this
post, as I did the last, being at that time in a confused state of
mind--for at that time we were talking of leaving, and persuading
ourselves that we were intending to leave town and all our friends, and
sit down for ever, solitary and forgotten, here. Here we are; and we
have locked up our house, and left it to take care of itself; but at
present we do not design to extend our rural life beyond Michaelmas.
Your kind letter was most welcome to me, though the good news contained
in it was already known to me. Accept my warmest congratulations, though
they come a little of the latest. In my next I may probably have to hail
you Grandmama; or to felicitate you on the nuptials of pretty Mary, who,
whatever the beaux of Malta may think of her, I can only remember her
round shining face, and her "O William!"--"dear William!" when we
visited her the other day at school. Present my love and best wishes--a
long and happy married life to dear Isabella--I love to call her
Isabella; but in truth, having left your other letter in town, I
recollect no other name she has.
The same love and the same wishes--in futuro--to my friend Mary. Tell
her that her "dear William" grows taller, and improves in manly looks
and manlike behaviour every time I see him. What is Henry about? and
what should one wish for him? If he be in search of a wife, I will send
him out Emma Isola.
You remember Emma, that you were so kind as to invite to your ball? She
is now with us; and I am moving heaven and earth, that is to say, I am
pressing the matter upon all the very few friends I have that are likely
to assist me in such a case, to get her into a family as a governess;
and Charles and I do little else here than teach her something or other
all day long.
We are striving to put enough Latin into her to enable her to begin to
teach it to young learners. So much for Emma --for you are so fearfully
far away, that I fear it is useless to implore your patronage for her.
I have not heard from Mrs. Hazlitt a long time. I believe she is still
with Hazlitt's mother in Devonshire.
I expect a pacquet of manuscript from you: you promised me the office of
negotiating with booksellers, and so forth, for your next work. Is it in
good forwardness? or do you grow rich and indolent now? It is not
surprising that your Maltese story should find its way into Malta; but I
was highly pleased with the idea of your pleasant surprise at the sight
of it. I took a large sheet of paper, in order to leave Charles room to
add something more worth reading than my poor mite.
May we all meet again once more!
M. LAMB.
LETTER 423
CHARLES LAMB TO SIR JOHN STODDART
(_Same letter: Lamb's share_)
Dear Knight--Old Acquaintance--'Tis with a violence to the _pure
imagination_ (_vide_ the "Excursion" _passim_) that I can bring myself
to believe I am writing to Dr. Stoddart once again, at Malta. But the
deductions of severe reason warrant the proceeding. I write from
Enfield, where we are seriously weighing the advantages of dulness over
the over-excitement of too much company, but have not yet come to a
conclusion. What is the news? for we see no paper here; perhaps you can
send us an old one from Malta. Only, I heard a butcher in the
market-place whisper something about a change of ministry. I don't know
who's in or out, or care, only as it might affect _you_. For domestic
doings, I have only to tell, with extreme regret, that poor Elisa
Fenwick (that was)--Mrs. Rutherford--is dead; and that we have received
a most heart-broken letter from her mother--left with four
grandchildren, orphans of a living scoundrel lurking about the pothouses
of Little Russell Street, London: they and she--God help 'em!--at New
York. I have just received Godwin's third volume of the _Republic_,
which only reaches to the commencement of the Protectorate. I think he
means to spin it out to his life's thread. Have you seen Fearn's
_Anti-Tooke_? I am no judge of such things--you are; but I think it very
clever indeed. If I knew your bookseller, I'd order it for you at a
venture: 'tis two octavos, Longman and Co. Or do you read now? Tell it
not in the Admiralty Court, but my head aches _hesterno vino_. I can
scarce pump up words, much less ideas, congruous to be sent so far. But
your son must have this by to-night's post.[_Here came a passage
relating to an escapade of young Stoddart, then at the Charterhouse,
which, probably through Lamb's intervention, was treated leniently. Lamb
helped him--with his imposition-- Gray's "Elegy" into Greek elegiacs_.]
Manning is gone to Rome, Naples, etc., probably to touch at Sicily,
Malta, Guernsey, etc.; but I don't know the map. Hazlitt is resident at
Paris, whence he pours his lampoons in safety at his friends in England.
He has his boy with him. I am teaching Emma Latin. By the time you can
answer this, she will be qualified to instruct young ladies: she is a
capital English reader: and S.T.C. acknowledges that a part of a passage
in Milton she read better than he, and part he read best, her part being
the shorter. But, seriously, if Lady St------ (oblivious pen, that was
about to write _Mrs._!) could hear of such a young person wanted (she
smatters of French, some Italian, music of course), we'd send our loves
by her. My congratulations and assurances of old esteem. C.L.
[Stoddart had been appointed in 1826 Chief-Justice and Justice of the
Vice-Admiralty Court in Malta and had been knighted in the same year.
His daughter Isabella had just married. Lady Stoddart's literary efforts
did not, I think, reach print.
"The deductions of severe reason." See the quotation from Cottle in the
letter to Manning of November, 1802.
"A change of ministry." On Liverpool's resignation early in 1827 Canning
had been called in to form a new Ministry, which he effected by an
alliance with the Whigs.
"Godwin's _Republic_"--_History of the Commonwealth of England_, in
four volumes, 1824-1828.
"Fearn's _Anti-Tooke_"--_Anti-Tooke; or, An Analysis of the Principles
and Structure of Language Exemplified in the English Tongue_, 1824.
Here should come a note from Lamb to Hone, dated August 10, 1827, in
which Lamb expresses regret for Matilda Hone's illness.]
LETTER 424
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. 10 August, 1827.]
Dear B.B.--I have not been able to: answer you, for we have had, and
are having (I just snatch a moment), our poor quiet retreat, to which we
fled from society, full of company, some staying with us, and this
moment as I write almost a heavy importation of two old Ladies has come
in. Whither can I take wing from the oppression of human faces? Would I
were in a wilderness of Apes, tossing cocoa nuts about, grinning and
grinned at!
Mitford was hoaxing you surely about my Engraving, 'tis a little
sixpenny thing, too like by half, in which the draughtsman has done his
best to avoid flattery. There have been 2 editions of it, which I think
are all gone, as they have vanish'd from the window where they hung, a
print shop, corner of Great and Little Queen Streets, Lincolns Inn
fields, where any London friend of yours may inquire for it; for I am
(tho' you _won't understand_ it) at Enfield (Mrs. Leishman's, Chase). We
have been here near 3 months, and shall stay 2 or more, if people will
let us alone, but they persecute us from village to village. So don't
direct to _Islington_ again, till further notice.
I am trying my hand at a Drama, in 2 acts, founded on Crabbe's
"Confidant," mutatis mutandis.
You like the Odyssey. Did you ever read my "Adventures of Ulysses,"
founded on Chapman's old translation of it? for children or _men_. Ch.
is divine, and my abridgment has not quite emptied him of his divinity.
When you come to town I'll show it you.
You have well described your old fashioned Grand-paternall Hall. Is it
not odd that every one's earliest recollections are of some such place.
I had my Blakesware (Blakesmoor in the "London"). Nothing fills a childs
mind like a large old Mansion [_one or two words wafered over_]; better
if un-or-partially-occupied; peopled with the spirits of deceased
members of [for] the County and Justices of the Quorum. Would I were
buried in the peopled solitude of one, with my feelings at 7 years old.
Those marble busts of the Emperors, they seem'd as if they were to stand
for ever, as they had stood from the living days of Rome, in that old
Marble Hall, and I to partake of their permanency; Eternity was, while I
thought not of Time. But he thought of me, and they are toppled down,
and corn covers the spot of the noble old Dwelling and its princely
gardens. I feel like a grasshopper that chirping about the grounds
escaped his scythe only by my littleness. Ev'n now he is whetting one of
his smallest razors to clean wipe me out, perhaps. Well!
["My Engraving"--Brook Pulham's caricature.
"You have well described your ... Grand-paternall Hall." Barton wrote
the following account of this house, the home of his step-grandfather at
Tottenham; but I do not know whether it is the same that Lamb saw:--
My most delightful recollections of boyhood are connected with the
fine old country-house in a green lane diverging from the high road
which runs through Tottenham. I would give seven years of life as it
now is, for a week of that which I then led. It was a large old
house, with an iron palisade and a pair of iron gates in front, and
a huge stone eagle on each pier. Leading up to the steps by which
you went up to the hall door, was a wide gravel walk, bordered in
summer time by huge tubs, in which were orange and lemon trees, and
in the centre of the grass-plot stood a tub yet huger, holding an
enormous aloe, The hall itself, to my fancy then lofty and wide as a
cathedral would seem now, was a famous place for battledore and
shuttlecock; and behind was a garden, equal to that of old Alcinous
himself. My favourite walk was one of turf by a long straight pond,
bordered with lime-trees. But the whole demesne was the fairy ground
of my childhood; and its presiding genius was grandpapa. He must
have been a very handsome man in his youth, for I remember him at
nearly eighty, a very fine-looking one, even in the decay of mind
and body. In the morning a velvet cap; by dinner, a flaxen wig; his
features always expressive of benignity and placid cheerfulness.
When he walked out into the garden, his cocked hat and amber-headed
cane completed his costume. To the recollection of this delightful
personage, I am, I think, indebted for many soothing and pleasing
associations, with old age.
"Those marble busts of the Emperors." See the _Elia_ essay "Blakesmoor
in H----shire," in Vol. II, of this edition.]
LETTER 425
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
28th of Aug., 1827.
I have left a place for a wafer, but can't find it again.
Dear B.B.--I am thankful to you for your ready compliance with my
wishes. Emma is delighted with your verses, to which I have appended
this notice "The 6th line refers to the child of a dear friend of the
author's, named Emma," without which it must be obscure; and have sent
it with four Album poems of my own (your daughter's with _your_ heading,
requesting it a place next mine) to a Mr. Fraser, who is to be editor of
a more superb Pocket book than has yet appeared by far! the property of
some wealthy booksellers, but whom, or what its name, I forgot to ask.
It is actually to have in it schoolboy exercises by his present Majesty
and the late Duke of York, so Lucy will come to Court; how she will be
stared at! Wordsworth is named as a Contributor. Frazer, whom I have
slightly seen, is Editor of a forth-come or coming Review of foreign
books, and is intimately connected with Lockhart, &c. so I take it that
this is a concern of Murray's. Walter Scott also contributes mainly. I
have stood off a long time from these Annuals, which are ostentatious
trumpery, but could not withstand the request of Jameson, a particular
friend of mine and Coleridge.
I shall hate myself in frippery, strutting along, and vying finery with
Beaux and Belles
with "Future Lord Byrons and sweet L.E.L.'s."--
Your taste I see is less simple than mine, which the difference of our
persuasions has doubtless effected. In fact, of late you have so
frenchify'd your style, larding it with hors de combats, and au
desopoirs, that o' my conscience the Foxian blood is quite dried out of
you, and the skipping Monsieur spirit has been infused. Doth Lucy go to
Balls? I must remodel my lines, which I write for her. I hope A.K. keeps
to her Primitives. If you have any thing you'd like to send further, I
don't know Frazer's address, but I sent mine thro' Mr. Jameson, 19 or 90
Cheyne Street, Totnam Court road. I dare say an honourable place wou'd
be given to them; but I have not heard from Frazer since I sent mine,
nor shall probably again, and therefore I do not solicit it as from him.
Yesterday I sent off my tragi comedy to Mr. Kemble. Wish it luck. I made
it all ('tis blank verse, and I think, of the true old dramatic cut) or
most of it, in the green lanes about Enfield, where I am and mean to
remain, in spite of your peremptory doubts on that head.
Your refusal to lend your poetical sanction to my Icon, and your reasons
to Evans, are most sensible. May be I may hit on a line or two of my own
jocular. May be not.
Do you never Londonize again? I should like to talk over old poetry with
you, of which I have much, and you I think little. Do your Drummonds
allow no holydays? I would willingly come and w[ork] for you a three
weeks or so, to let you loose. Would I could sell or give you some of my
Leisure! Positively, the best thing a man can have to do is nothing, and
next to that perhaps--good works.
I am but poorlyish, and feel myself writing a dull letter; poorlyish
from Company, not generally, for I never was better, nor took more
walks, 14 miles a day on an average, with a sporting dog--Dash--you
would not know the plain Poet, any more than he doth recognize James
Naylor trick'd out au deserpoy (how do you spell it.) En Passant, J'aime
entendre da mon bon hommè sur surveillance de croix, ma pas l'homme
figuratif--do you understand me?
[The verses with which Emma was delighted were probably written for her
album. I have not seen them. That album was cut up for the value of its
autographs and exists now only in a mutilated state: where, I cannot
discover. The pocket-book was _The Bijou_, 1828, edited by William
Fraser for Pickering. Only one of Lamb's contributions was included: his
verses for his own album (see Vol. IV. of this edition).
Jameson was Robert Jameson, to whom Hartley Coleridge addressed the
sonnets in the _London Magazine_ to which Lamb alludes in a previous
letter. He was the husband of Mrs. Jameson, author of _Sacred and
Legendary Art_, but the marriage was not happy. He lived in Chenies
Street.
"Future Lord Byrons and sweet L.E.L.'s." A line from some verses written
by Lamb in more than one album. Probably originally intended for Emma
Isola's album. The passage runs, answering the question, "What is an
Album?"--
'Tis a Book kept by modern Young Ladies for show,
Of which their plain grandmothers nothing did know.
'Tis a medley of scraps, fine verse, and fine prose,
And some things not very like either, God knows.
The soft First Effusions of Beaux and of Belles,
Of future Lord Byrons and sweet L.E.L.'s.
L.E.L. was, of course, the unhappy Letitia Landon, a famous contributor
to the published albums.
"My tragi comedy." Still "The Wife's Trial." Kemble was Charles Kemble,
manager of Covent Garden Theatre. The play was never acted.
"Your refusal to lend your poetical sanction." This is not clear, but I
think the meaning to be deducible. The Icon was Pulham's etching of
Lamb. Evans was William Evans, who had grangerised Byron's _English
Bards and Scotch Reviewers_. I take it that he was now making another
collection of portraits of poets and was asking other poets, their
friends, to write verses upon them. In this way he had applied through
Lamb to Barton for verses on Pulham's Elia, and had been refused. This
is, of course, only conjecture.
"Your Drummonds"--your bankers. Barton's bankers were the Alexanders, a
Quaker firm.
"James Naylor." Barton had paraphrased Nayler's "Testimony."
Following this letter, under the date August 29, 1827, should come a
letter from Lamb to Robert Jameson (husband of Mrs. Jameson) asking him
to interest himself in Miss Isola's career. "Our friend Coleridge will
bear witness to the very excellent manner in which she read to him some
of the most difficult passages in the Paradise Lost."]
LETTER 426
CHARLES LAMB TO P.G. PATMORE
Mrs. Leishman's, Chace, Enfield,
September, 1827.
Dear Patmore--Excuse my anxiety--but how is Dash? (I should have asked
if Mrs. Patmore kept her rules, and was improving--but Dash came
uppermost. The order of our thoughts should be the order of our
writing.) Goes he muzzled, or _aperto ore_? Are his intellects sound, or
does he wander a little in _his_ conversation? You cannot be too careful
to watch the first symptoms of incoherence. The first illogical snarl he
makes, to St. Luke's with him! All the dogs here are going mad, if you
believe the overseers; but I protest they seem to me very rational and
collected. But nothing is so deceitful as mad people to those who are
not used to them. Try him with hot water. If he won't lick it up, it is
a sign he does not like it. Does his tail wag horizontally or
perpendicularly? That has decided the fate of many dogs in Enfield. Is
his general deportment cheerful? I mean when he is pleased--for
otherwise there is no judging. You can't be too careful. Has he bit any
of the children yet? If he has, have them shot, and keep _him_ for
curiosity, to see if it was the hydrophobia. They say all our army in
India had it at one time--but that was in _Hyder_-Ally's time. Do you
get paunch for him? Take care the sheep was sane. You might pull out his
teeth (if he would let you), and then you need not mind if he were as
mad as a Bedlamite. It would be rather fun to see his odd ways. It might
amuse Mrs. Patmore and the children. They'd have more sense than he!
He'd be like a Fool kept in the family, to keep the household in good
humour with their own understanding. You might teach him the mad dance
set to the mad howl. _Madge Owl-et_ would be nothing to him. "My, how he
capers!" [_In the margin is written_:] One of the children speaks this.
[_Three lines here are erased_.] What I scratch out is a German
quotation from Lessing on the bite of rabid animals; but, I remember,
you don't read German. But Mrs. Patmore may, so I wish I had let it
stand. The meaning in English is--"Avoid to approach an animal suspected
of madness, as you would avoid fire or a precipice:--" which I think is
a sensible observation. The Germans are certainly profounder than we.
If the slightest suspicion arises in your breast, that all is not right
with him (Dash), muzzle him, and lead him in a string (common
pack-thread will do; he don't care for twist) to Hood's, his quondam
master, and he'll take him in at any time. You may mention your
suspicion or not, as you like, or as you think it may wound or not Mr.
H.'s feelings. Hood, I know, will wink at a few follies in Dash, in
consideration of his former sense. Besides, Hood is deaf, and if you
hinted anything, ten to one he would not hear you. Besides, you will
have discharged your conscience, and laid the child at the right door,
as they say.
We are dawdling our time away very idly and pleasantly, at a Mrs.
Leishman's, Chace, Enfield, where, if you come a-hunting, we can give
you cold meat and a tankard. Her husband is a tailor; but that, you
know, does not make her one. I knew a jailor (which rhymes), but his
wife was a fine lady.
Let us hear from you respecting Mrs. Patmore's regimen. I send my love
in a ------ to Dash. C. LAMB.
[_On the outside of the letter was written_:--]
Seriously, I wish you would call upon Hood when you are that way. He's a
capital fellow. I sent him a couple of poems --one ordered by his wife,
and written to order; and 'tis a week since, and I've not heard from
him. I fear something is the matter.
_Omitted within_
Our kindest remembrance to Mrs. P.
[This is from Patmore's _My Friends and Acquaintances_, 1854; but again
I have no confidence in Patmore's transcription.
Dash had been Hood's dog, and afterwards was Lamb's; while at one time
Moxon seems to have had the care of it. Patmore possibly was taking Dash
while the Lambs were at Mrs. Leishman's. One of the children who might
be amused by the dog's mad ways was Coventry Patmore, afterwards the
poet, then nearly four years old.]
LETTER 427
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN BATES DIBDIN
[P.M. September 5, 1827.]
Dear Dib,--Emma Isola, who is with us, has opened an ALBUM: bring some
verses with you for it on Sat'y evening. Any _fun_ will do. I am
teaching her Latin; you may make something of that. Don't be modest. For
in it you shall appear, if I rummage out some of your old pleasant
letters for rhymes. But an original is better.
Has your pa[1] any scrap? C.L.
We shall be MOST glad to see your sister or sisters with you. Can't you
contrive it? Write in that case.
[Footnote 1: the infantile word for father.]
[On the blank pages inside the letter Dibdin seems to have jotted down
ideas for his contribution to the album. Unfortunately, as I have said,
the album is not forthcoming.]
LETTER 428
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN BATES DIBDIN
[P.M. September 13, 1827.]
Dear _John_--Your verses are very pleasant, and have been adopted into
the splendid Emmatic constellation, where they are not of the least
magnitude. She is delighted with their merit and readiness. They are
just the thing. The 14th line is found. We advertised it. Hell is
cooling for want of company. We shall make it up along with our kitchen
fire to roast you into our new House, where I hope you will find us in a
few Sundays. We have actually taken it, and a compact thing it will be.
Kemble does not return till the month's end. My heart sometimes is good,
sometimes bad, about it, as the day turns out wet or walky.
Emma has just died, choak'd with a Gerund in dum. On opening her we
found a Participle in rus in the pericordium. The king never dies, which
may be the reason that it always REIGNS here.
We join in loves. C.L. his orthograph.
what a pen!
the Umberella is cum bak.
LETTER 429
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN BATES DIBDIN
[P.M. September 18, 1827.]
My dear, and now more so, JOHN--
How that name smacks! what an honest, full, English,
and yet withal holy and apostolic sound it bears, above the
methodistical priggish Bishoppy name of Timothy, under
which I had obscured your merits!
What I think of the paternal verses, you shall read within,
which I assure you is not pen praise but heart praise.
It is the gem of the Dibdin Muses.
I have got all my books into my new house, and their
readers in a fortnight will follow, to whose joint converse nobody
shall be more welcome than you, and _any of yours_.
The house is perfection to our use and comfort.
Milton is come. I wish Wordsworth were here to meet him.
The next importation is of pots and saucepans, window curtains,
crockery and such base ware.
The pleasure of moving, when Becky moves for you. O
the moving Becky!
I hope you will come and _warm_ the house with the first.
From my temporary domicile, Enfield.
ELIA, that "is to go."--
[The paternal verses were probably a contribution by Charles
Dibdin the Younger for Emma Isola's album. The Lambs were
just moving to Enfield for good, as they hoped (see next letter),
Milton was the portrait.]
LETTER 430
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS HOOD
Tuesday [September 18, 1827],
Dear Hood,
If I have any thing in my head, I will send it to Mr.
Watts. Strictly speaking he should have had my Album
verses, but a very intimate friend importund me for the trifles,
and I believe I forgot Mr. Watts, or lost sight at the time of his
similar Souvenir. Jamieson conveyed the farce from me to
Mrs. C. Kemble, _he_ will not be in town before the 27th. Give
our kind loves to all at Highgate, and tell them that we have
finally torn ourselves out right away from Colebrooke, where I
had no health, and are about to domiciliate for good at Enfield,
where I have experienced _good_.
Lord what good hours do we keep!
How quietly we sleep!
See the rest in the Complete Angler. We have got our books into our new
house. I am a drayhorse if I was not asham'd of the indigested dirty
lumber, as I toppled 'em out of the cart, and blest Becky that came with
'em for her having an unstuffd brain with such rubbish. We shall get in
by Michael's mass. Twas with some pain we were evuls'd from Colebrook.
You may find some of our flesh sticking to the door posts. To change
habitations is to die to them, and in my time I have died seven deaths.
But I don't know whether every such change does not bring with it a
rejuvenescence. Tis an enterprise, and shoves back the sense of death's
approximating, which tho' not terrible to me, is at all times
particularly distasteful. My house-deaths have generally been
periodical, recurring after seven years, but this last is premature by
half that time. Cut off in the flower of Colebrook. The Middletonian
stream and all its echoes mourn. Even minnows dwindle. A parvis fiunt
MINIMI. I fear to invite Mrs. Hood to our new mansion, lest she envy it,
& rote [? rout] us. But when we are fairly in, I hope she will come &
try it. I heard she & you were made uncomfortable by some unworthy to be
cared for attacks, and have tried to set up a feeble counteraction thro'
the Table Book of last Saturday. Has it not reach'd you, that you are
silent about it? Our new domicile is no manor house, but new, &
externally not inviting, but furnish'd within with every convenience.
Capital new locks to every door, capital grates in every room, with
nothing to pay for incoming & the rent £10 less than the Islington one.
It was built a few years since at £1100 expence, they tell me, & I
perfectly believe it. And I get it for £35 exclusive of moderate taxes.
We think ourselves most lucky. It is not our intention to abandon Regent
Street, & West End perambulations (monastic & terrible thought!), but
occasionally to breathe the FRESHER AIR of the metropolis. We shall put
up a bedroom or two (all we want) for occasional ex-rustication, where
we shall visit, not be visited. Plays too we'll see,--perhaps our own.
Urban! Sylvani, & Sylvan Urbanuses in turns. Courtiers for a spurt, then
philosophers. Old homely tell-truths and learn-truths in the virtuous
shades of Enfield, Liars again and mocking gibers in the coffee houses &
resorts of London. What can a mortal desire more for his bi-parted
nature?
O the curds & cream you shall eat with us here!
O the turtle soup and lobster sallads we shall devour with you there!
O the old books we shall peruse here!
O the new nonsense we shall trifle over there!
O Sir T. Browne!--here.
O Mr. Hood & Mr. Jerdan there,
thine,
C (urbanus) L (sylvanus) (ELIA ambo)--
Inclos'd are verses which Emma sat down to write, her first, on the eve
after your departure. Of course they are only for Mrs. H.'s perusal.
They will shew at least, that one of our party is not willing to cut old
friends. What to call 'em I don't know. Blank verse they are not,
because of the rhymes--Rhimes they are not, because of the blank verse.
Heroics they are not, because they are lyric, lyric they are not,
because of the Heroic measure. They must be call'd EMMAICS.------
[Mr. Watts was Alaric A. Watts.
"Thro' the _Table Book_." Lamb contributed to Hone's _Table Book_ a
prose paraphrase of Hood's _Plea, of the Midsummer Fairies_, just
published, which had been dedicated to him, under the title "The Defeat
of Time." In a previous number Moxon had addressed to Hood a eulogistic
sonnet on the same subject. The attacks on Hood I have not sought.
"We shall put up a bedroom." This project was very imperfectly carried
out. Indeed Lamb practically lost London from this date, his subsequent
visits there being as a rule not fortunate.
"Mr. Jerdan"--William Jerdan, editor of the _Literary Gazette_.
"Emmaics." These verses are no longer forthcoming.
Here should come a letter to Allsop dated September 25, 1827, saying
that Mary Lamb has her nurse Miss James and the house is melancholy.
Given in the Boston Bibliophile edition.]
LETTER 431
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY COLBURN
[Dated at end: September 25, 1827.]
Dear Sir--I beg leave in the warmest manner to recommend to your notice
Mr. Moxon, the Bearer of this, if by any chance yourself should want a
steady hand in your business, or know of any Publisher that may want
such a one. He is at present in the house of Messrs. Longman and Co.,
where he has been established for more than six years, and has the
conduct of one of the four departments of the Country line. A difference
respecting Salary, which he expected to be a little raised on his last
promotion, makes him wish to try to better himself. I believe him to be
a young man of the highest integrity, and a thorough man of business;
and should not have taken the liberty of recommending him, if I had not
thought him capable of being highly useful.
I am,
Sir,
with great respect,
your hble Serv't
CHARLES LAMB.
Enfield, Chace Side, 25th Sep. 1827.
[Moxon did not go to Colburn, but to Hurst & Co. in St. Paul's
Churchyard.]
LETTER 432
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date. ?Sept. 26, 1827.]
Pray, send me the Table Book.
Dear M. Our pleasant meeting[s] for some time are suspended. My sister
was taken very ill in a few hours after you left us (I had suspected
it),--and I must wait eight or nine weeks in slow hope of her recovery.
It is her old complaint. You will say as much to the Hoods, and to Mrs.
Lovekin, and Mrs. Hazlitt, with my kind love.
We are in the House, that is all. I hope one day we shall both enjoy it,
and see our friends again. But till then I must be a solitary nurse.
I am trying Becky's sister to be with her, so don't say anything to Miss
James.
Yours truly
CH. LAMB.
Monday. I will send your books soon.
[Miss James was, as we have seen, Mary Lamb's regular nurse. She had
subsequently to be sent for. I do not identify Mrs. Lovekin.]
LETTER 433
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON
[Dated at end: October 1 (1827).]
Dear R.--I am settled for life I hope, at Enfield. I have taken the
prettiest compactest house I ever saw, near to Antony Robinson's, but
alas! at the expence of poor Mary, who was taken ill of her old
complaint the night before we got into it. So I must suspend the
pleasure I expected in the surprise you would have had in coming down
and finding us householders.
Farewell, till we can all meet comfortable. Pray, apprise Martin Burney.
Him I longed to have seen with you, but our house is too small to meet
either of you without her knowledge.
God bless you.
C. LAMB.
Chase Side 1st Oct'r
[Antony Robinson, a prominent Unitarian, a friend but no relation of
Crabb Robinson's, had died in the previous January. His widow still
lived at Enfield.]
LETTER 434
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN BATES DIBDIN
[P.M. October 2, 1827.]
My dear Dibdin, It gives me great pain to have to say that I cannot have
the pleasure of seeing you for some time. We are in our house, but Mary
has been seized with one of her periodical disorders--a temporary
derangement--which commonly lasts for two months. You shall have the
first notice of her convalescence. Can you not send your manuscript by
the Coach? directed to Chase Side, next to Mr. Westwood's Insurance
office. I will take great care of it.
Yours most Truly C. LAMB.
LETTER 435
CHARLES LAMB TO BARRON FIELD
Oct. 4th, 1827.
I am not in humour to return a fit reply to your pleasant letter. We are
fairly housed at Enfield, and an angel shall not persuade me to wicked
London again. We have now six sabbath days in a week for--_none_! The
change has worked on my sister's mind, to make her ill; and I must wait
a tedious time before we can hope to enjoy this place in unison. Enjoy
it, when she recovers, I know we shall. I see no shadow, but in her
illness, for repenting the step! For Mathews --I know my own utter
unfitness for such a task. I am no hand at describing costumes, a great
requisite in an account of mannered pictures. I have not the slightest
acquaintance with pictorial language even. An imitator of me, or rather
pretender to be _me_, in his Rejected Articles, has made me minutely
describe the dresses of the poissardes at Calais!--I could as soon
resolve Euclid. I have no eye for forms and fashions. I substitute
analysis, and get rid of the phenomenon by slurring in for it its
impression. I am sure you must have observed this defect, or
peculiarity, in my writings; else the delight would be incalculable in
doing such a thing for Mathews, whom I greatly like--and Mrs. Mathews,
whom I almost greatlier like. What a feast 'twould be to be sitting at
the pictures painting 'em into words; but I could almost as soon make
words into pictures. I speak this deliberately, and not out of modesty.
I pretty well know what I can't do.
My sister's verses are homely, but just what they should be; I send
them, not for the poetry, but the good sense and good-will of them. I
was beginning to transcribe; but Emma is sadly jealous of its getting
into more hands, and I won't spoil it in her eyes by divulging it. Come
to Enfield, and _read it_. As my poor cousin, the bookbinder, now with
God, told me, most sentimentally, that having purchased a picture of
fish at a dead man's sale, his heart ached to see how the widow grieved
to part with it, being her dear husband's favourite; and he almost
apologised for his generosity by saying he could not help telling the
widow she was "welcome to come and look at it"--e.g. at _his house_--"as
often as she pleased." There was the germ of generosity in an uneducated
mind. He had just _reading_ enough from the backs of books for the "_nec
sinit esse feros_"--had he read inside, the same impulse would have led
him to give back the two-guinea thing--with a request to see it, now and
then, at _her_ house. We are parroted into delicacy.--Thus you have a
tale for a Sonnet.
Adieu! with (imagine both) our loves. C. LAMB.
[The suggestion had been made to Lamb, through Barron Field, that he
should write a descriptive catalogue of Charles Mathews' collection of
theatrical portraits; Lamb having already touched upon them in his "Old
Actors" articles in the _London Magazine_ (see Vol. II. of this
edition). When they were exhibited, after Mathews' death, at the
Pantheon in Oxford Street, Lamb's remarks were appended to the catalogue
_raisonné_. They are now at the Garrick Club.
"An imitator of me." P.G. Patmore's _Rejected Articles_, 1826, leads off
with "An Unsentimental Journey" by Elia which is, except for a fitful
superficial imitation of some of Lamb's mannerisms, as unlike him as
could well be. The description of the butterwomen's dress, to which Lamb
refers, will illustrate the divergence between Elia and his parodist:--
Her attire is fashioned as follows: and it differs from all her
tribe only in the relative arrangement of its colours. On the body a
crimson jacket, of a thick, solid texture, and tight to the shape;
but without any pretence at ornament. This is met at the waist
(which is neither long, nor short, but exactly where nature placed
it) by a dark blue petticoat, of a still thicker texture, so that it
hangs in large plaits where it is gathered in behind. Over this, in
front, is tied tightly round the waist, so as to keep all trim and
compact, a dark apron, the string of which passes over the little
fulled skirt of the jacket behind, and makes it stick out smartly
and tastily, while it clips the waist in. The head-gear consists of
a sort of mob cap, nothing of which but the edge round the face can
be seen, on account of the kerchief (of flowered cotton) which is
passed over it, hood fashion, and half tied under the chin. This
head-kerchief is in place of the bonnet--a thing not to be seen
among the whole five hundred females who make up this pleasant show.
Indeed, varying the colours of the different articles, this
description applies to every dress of the whole assembly; except
that in some the fineness of the day has dispensed with the
kerchief, and left the snow-white cap exposed; and in others, the
whole figure (except the head) is coyishly covered and concealed by
a large hooded cloak of black cloth, daintily lined with silk, and
confined close up to the throat by an embossed silver clasp, but
hanging loosely down to the heels, in thick, full folds. The
petticoat is very short; the trim ancles are cased in close-fit hose
of dark, sober, slate colour; and the shoes, though thick and
serviceable like all the rest of the costume, fit the foot as neatly
as those which are not made to walk in.
Patmore tells us that his first meeting with the Lambs was immediately
after they had first seen his book; and they left the house intent upon
reading it.
"My sister's verses." I think these would probably be the lines on Emma
learning Latin which I have quoted above.
Here should come a very pleasant letter from Lamb to Dodwell, of the
India House, dated October 7, 1827. Lamb thanks Dodwell, to whom there
is an earlier letter extant, for a pig. He first describes his new house
at Enfield, and then breaks off about the cooking of the pig, bidding
Becky do it "nice and _crips_." The rest is chaff concerning the India
House and Dodwell's fellow-clerks.]
LETTER 436
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HONE
[No date. ? Oct., 1827.]
Dear Hone,--having occasion to write to Clarke I put in a bit to you. I
see no Extracts in this N'o. You should have three sets in hand, one
long one in particular from Atreus and Thyestes, terribly fine. Don't
spare 'em; with fragments, divided as you please, they'll hold out to
Xmas. What I have to say is enjoined me most seriously to say to you by
Moxon. Their country customers grieve at getting the Table Book so late.
It is indispensable it should appear on Friday. Do it but _once_, &
you'll never know the difference.
FABLE
A boy at my school, a cunning fox, for one penny ensured himself a hot
roll & butter every morning for ever. Some favor'd ones were allowed a
roll & butter to their breakfasts. He had none. But he bought one one
morning. What did he do? He did not eat it, but cutting it in two, sold
each one of the halves to a half-breakfasted Blue Boy for _his_ whole
roll to-morrow. The next day he had a whole roll to eat, and two halves
to swap with other two boys, who had eat their cake & were still not
satiated, for whole ones to-morrow. So on ad infinitum. By one morning's
abstinence he feasted seven years after.
APPLICATION
Bring out the next N'o. on Friday, for country correspondents' sake.
I[t] will be one piece of exertion, and you will go right ever after,
for you will have just the time you had before, to bring it out ever
after by the Friday.
You don't know the difference in getting a thing early. Your
correspondents are your authors. You don't know how an author frets to
know the world has got his contribution, when he finds it not on his
breakfast table.
ONCE in this case is EVER without a grain of trouble afterw'ds.
I won't like you or speak to you if you don't try it once.
Yours, on that condition,
C. LAMB.
[This letter is dated by Mr. Hazlitt conjecturally 1826, but I think it
more probably October, 1827, as the extracts (passages from Crowne's
"Thyestes") contributed by Lamb to Hone's _Table Book_ were printed late
in 1827.
In Lamb's next note to Hone he says how glad he was to receive the
_Table Book_ early on Friday: the result of the fable.]
LETTER 437
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS HOOD
[No date. ? 1827.]
Dear H.,--Emma has a favour, besides a bed, to ask of Mrs. Hood. Your
parcel was gratifying. We have all been pleased with Mrs. Leslie; I
speak it most sincerely. There is much manly sense with a feminine
expression, which is my definition of ladies' writing.
[_Mrs. Leslie and Her Grandchildren_, 1827, was the title of a book for
children by Mrs. Reynolds, mother of John Hamilton Reynolds and Mrs.
Hood, and wife of the Writing Master at Christ's Hospital.]
LETTER 438
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[No date. Late 1827.]
My dear B.B.--You will understand my silence when I tell you that my
sister, on the very eve of entering into a new house we have taken at
Enfield, was surprised with an attack of one of her sad long illnesses,
which deprive me of her society, tho' not of her domestication, for
eight or nine weeks together. I see her, but it does her no good. But
for this, we have the snuggest, most comfortable house, with every thing
most compact and desirable. Colebrook is a wilderness. The Books,
prints, etc., are come here, and the New River came down with us. The
familiar Prints, the Bust, the Milton, seem scarce to have changed their
rooms. One of her last observations was "how frightfully like this room
is to our room in Islington"--our up-stairs room, she meant. How I hope
you will come some better day, and judge of it! We have tried quiet here
for four months, and I will answer for the comfort of it enduring.
On emptying my bookshelves I found an Ulysses, which I will send to A.K.
when I go to town, for her acceptance-- unless the Book be out of print.
One likes to have one copy of every thing one does. I neglected to keep
one of "Poetry for Children," the joint production of Mary and me, and
it is not to be had for love or money. It had in the title-page "by the
author of Mrs. Lester's School." Know you any one that has it, and would
exchange it?
Strolling to Waltham Cross the other day, I hit off these lines. It is
one of the Crosses which Edw'd 1st caused to be built for his wife at
every town where her corpse rested between Northamptonsh'r and London.
A stately Cross each sad spot doth attest,
Whereat the corpse of Elinor did rest,
From Herdby fetch'd--her Spouse so honour'd her--
To sleep with royal dust at Westminster.
And, if less pompous obsequies were thine,
Duke Brunswick's daughter, princely Caroline,
Grudge not, great ghost, nor count thy funeral losses:
Thou in thy life-time had'st thy share of crosses.
My dear B.B.--My head akes with this little excursion. Pray accept 2
sides for 3 for once.
And believe me
Yours sadly C.L.
Chace side Enfield.
["An Ulysses"--Lamb's book for children, _The Adventures of Ulysses_,
1808.
_The Poetry for Children_. The known copies of the first edition of this
work can be counted on the fingers.
"A stately Cross..." These verses were printed in the _Englishman's
Magazine_ in September, 1831. Lamb's sympathies were wholly with
Caroline of Brunswick, as his epigrams in _The Champion_ show (see Vol.
IV. of this edition).]
LETTER 439
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. December 4, 1827.]
My dear B.B.--I have scarce spirits to write, yet am harass'd with not
writing. Nine weeks are completed, and Mary does not get any better. It
is perfectly exhausting. Enfield and every thing is very gloomy. But for
long experience, I should fear her ever getting well.
I feel most thankful for the spinsterly attentions of your sister. Thank
the kind "knitter in the sun."
What nonsense seems verse, when one is seriously out of hope and
spirits! I mean that at this time I have some nonsense to write, pain of
incivility. Would to the fifth heaven no coxcombess had invented Albums.
I have not had a Bijoux, nor the slightest notice from Pickering about
omitting 4 out of 5 of my things. The best thing is never to hear of
such a thing as a bookseller again, or to think there are publishers:
second hand Stationers and Old Book Stalls for me. Authorship should be
an idea of the Past.
Old Kings, old Bishops, are venerable. All present is hollow.
I cannot make a Letter. I have no straw, not a pennyworth of chaff, only
this may stop your kind importunity to know about us.
Here is a comfortable house, but no tenants. One does not make a
household.
Do not think I am quite in despair, but in addition to hope protracted,
I have a stupifying cold and obstructing headache, and the sun is dead.
I will not fail to apprise you of the revival of a Beam.
Meantime accept this, rather than think I have forgotten you all.
Best rememb
& Yours and theirs truly, C.L.
LETTER 440
CHARLES LAMB TO LEIGH HUNT
[No date. December, 1827.]
Dear H.,--I am here almost in the eleventh week of the longest illness
my sister ever had, and no symptoms of amendment. Some had begun, but
relapsed with a change of nurse. If she ever gets well, you will like my
house, and I shall be happy to show you Enfield country.
As to my head, it is perfectly at your or any one's service; either
M[e]yers' or Hazlitt's, which last (done fifteen or twenty years since)
White, of the Accountant's office, India House, has; he lives in Kentish
Town: I forget where, but is to be found in Leadenhall daily. Take your
choice. I should be proud to hang up as an alehouse sign even; or,
rather, I care not about my head or anything, but how we are to get well
again, for I am tired out.
God bless you and yours from the worst calamity.--Yours truly, C.L.
Kindest remembrances to Mrs. Hunt. H.'s is in a queer dress. M.'s would
be preferable _ad populum_.
[Leigh Hunt had asked Lamb for his portrait to accompany his _Lord Byron
and Some of His Contemporaries_. Lamb had been painted by Hazlitt in
1804, and by Henry Meyer, full size, in May, 1826, as well as by others.
Hunt chose Meyer's picture, which was beautifully engraved, for his
book, in the large paper edition. The original is now in the India
Office; a reproduction serves as the frontispiece to this volume. The
Hazlitt portrait, representing Lamb in the garb of a Venetian senator,
is now in the National Portrait Gallery; a reproduction serves as the
frontispiece to Vol. I. of this edition.]
LETTER 441
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HONE
[P.M. Dec. 15, 1827.]
My dear Hone, I read the sad accident with a careless eye, the newspaper
giving a wrong name to the poor Sufferer, but learn'd the truth from
Clarke. God send him ease, and you comfort in your thick misfortunes. I
am in a sorry state. Tis the eleventh week of the illness, and I cannot
get her well. To add to the calamity, Miss James is obliged to leave us
in a day or two. We had an Enfield Nurse for seven weeks, and just as
she seem'd mending, _she_ was call'd away. Miss J.'s coming seem'd to
put her back, and now she is going. I do not compare my sufferings to
yours, but you see the world is full of troubles. I wish I could say a
word to comfort you. You must cling to all that is left. I fear to ask
you whether the Book is to be discontinued. What a pity, when it must
have delighted so many! Let me hear about you and it, and believe me
with deepest fellow feeling
Your friend C. LAMB. Friday eveng.
[Hone's son Alfred, who had met with an accident, was a sculptor. The
_Table Book_ was to close with the year.]
LETTER 442
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[No date. ? Middle Dec., 1827.]
My dear Allsop--Thanks for the Birds. Your announcement puzzles me sadly
as nothing came. I send you back a word in your letter, which I can
positively make nothing [of] and therefore return to you as useless. It
means to refer to the birds, but gives me no information. They are at
the fire, however.
My sister's illness is the most obstinate she ever had. It will not go
away, and I am afraid Miss James will not be able to stay above a day or
two longer. I am desperate to think of it sometimes. 'Tis eleven weeks!
The day is sad as my prospects.
With kindest love to Mrs. A. and the children,
Yours, C.L.
No Atlas this week. Poor Hone's good boy Alfred has fractured his skull,
another son is returned "dead" from the Navy office, & his Book is going
to be given up, not having answered. What a world of troubles this is!
[The _Atlas_ was the paper which Allsop sent to Lamb every week.]
LETTER 443
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[December 20, 1827.]
My dear Allsop--I have writ to say to you that I hope to have a
comfortable Xmas-day with Mary, and I can not bring myself to go from
home at present. Your kind offer, and the kind consent of the young Lady
to come, we feel as we should do; pray accept all of you our kindest
thanks: at present I think a visitor (good & excellent as we remember
her to be) might a little put us out of our way. Emma is with us, and
our small house just holds us, without obliging Mary to sleep with
Becky, &c.
We are going on extremely comfortably, & shall soon be in
capacity of seeing our friends. Much weakness is left still.
With thanks and old rememb'rs, Yours, C.L.
LETTER 444
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. Dec. 22, 1827.]
My dear Moxon, I am at length able to tell you that we are all doing
well, and shall be able soon to see our friends as usual. If you will
venture a winter walk to Enfield tomorrow week (Sunday 3Oth) you will
find us much as usual; we intend a delicious quiet Christmas day, dull
and friendless, for we have not spirits for festivities. Pray
communicate the good news to the Hoods, and say I hope he is better. I
should be thankful for any of the books you mention, but I am so
apprehensive of their miscarriage by the stage,--at all events I want
none just now. Pray call and see Mrs. Lovekin, I heard she was ill; say
we shall be glad to see them some fine day after a week or so.
May I beg you to call upon Miss James, and say that we are quite well,
and that Mary hopes she will excuse her writing herself yet; she knows
that it is rather troublesome to her to write. We have rec'd her letter.
Farewell, till we meet.
Yours truly,
C. LAMB.
Enfield.
LETTER 445
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[No date. End of 1827.]
My dear B.--We are all pretty well again and comfortable, and I take a
first opportunity of sending the Adventures of Ulysses, hoping that
among us--Homer, Chapman, and _C'o_.--we shall afford you some pleasure.
I fear, it is out of print, if not, A.K. will accept it, with wishes it
were bigger; if another copy is not to be had, it reverts to me and my
heirs _for ever_. With it I send a trumpery book; to which, without my
knowledge, the Editor of the Bijoux has contributed Lucy's verses: I am
asham'd to ask her acceptance of the trash accompanying it. Adieu to
Albums--for a great while, I said when I came here, and had not been
fixed two days but my Landlord's daughter (not at the Pot house)
requested me to write in her female friend's, and in her own; if I go to
[blank space: something seems to be missing] thou art there also, O all
pervading ALBUM! All over the Leeward Islands, in Newfoundland, and the
Back Settlements, I understand there is no other reading. They haunt me.
I die of Albo-phobia!
["A trumpery book." I have not found it. Writing in the _Englishman's
Magazine_ in 1831, in a review of his own _Album Verses_, Lamb amplifies
his sentiments on albums (see Vol. I.).]
LETTER 446
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[January 9, 1828.]
Dear Allsop--I have been very poorly and nervous lately, but am
recovering sleep, &c. I do not invite or make engagements for particular
days; but I need not say how pleasant your dropping in _any_ Sunday
morn'g would be. Perhaps Jameson would accompany you. Pray beg him to
keep an accurate record of the warning I sent by him to old Pan, for I
dread lest he should at the 12 months' end deny the warning. The house
is his daughter's, but we took it through him, and have paid the rent to
his receipts for his daughter's. Consult J. if he thinks the warning
sufficient. I am very nervous, or have been, about the house; lost my
sleep, & expected to be ill; but slumbered gloriously last night golden
slumbers. I shall not relapse. You fright me with your inserted slips in
the most welcome Atlas. They begin to charge double for it, & call it
two sheets. How can I confute them by opening it, when a note of yours
might slip out, & we get in a hobble? When you write, write real
letters. Mary's best love & mine to Mrs. A.
Yours ever, C. LAMB.
[I cannot explain the business part of this letter.]
LETTER 447
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. (? January, Sunday) 1828.]
Dear Moxon I have to thank you for despatching so much business for me.
I am uneasy respecting the enclosed receipts which you sent me and are
dated Jan. 1827. Pray get them chang'd by Mr. Henshall to 182_8_. I have
been in a very nervous way since I saw you. Pray excuse me to the Hoods
for not answering his very pleasant letter. I am very poorly. The
"Keepsake" I hope is return'd. I sent it back by Mrs. Hazlitt on
Thursday. 'Twas blotted outside when it came. The rest I think are mine.
My heart bleeds about poor Hone, that such an agreeable book, and a Book
there seem'd no reason should not go on for ever, should be given up,
and a thing substituted which in its Nature cannot last. Don't send me
any more "Companions," for it only vexes me about the Table Book. This
is not weather to hope to see any body _to day_, but without any
particular invitations, pray consider that we are _at any time_ most
glad to see you, You (with Hunt's "Lord Byron" or Hazlitt's "Napoleon"
in your hand) or You simply with your switch &c. The night was damnable
and the morning is not too bless-able. If you get my dates changed, I
will not trouble you with business for some time. Best of all rememb'ces
to the Hoods, with a malicious congratulation on their friend Rice's
advancem't.
Yours truly C. LAMB.
[Hone's _Table Book_ ceased with 1827: it was succeeded by a reprint, in
monthly parts, of Strutt's _Sports and Pastimes_.
_The Companion_ would be the periodical started by Leigh Hunt in 1828.
"Hazlitt's 'Napoleon.'" Of this work the first two volumes appeared in
1828, and the next two in 1830.
"Their friend Rice's advancement." I cannot say to what this would
refer. Rice was Edward Rice.]
LETTER 448
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. Feb. 18, 1828.]
Dear M. I had rather thought to have seen you yesterday,
or I should have written to thank you for your attentions
in the Book way &c. Hone's address is, _22_ Belvidere Place,
Southwark. 'Tis near the Obelisk. I can only say we shall
be most glad to see you, when weather suits, and that it will
be a joyful surprisal to see the Hoods. I should write to
them, but am poorly and nervous. Emma is very proud of
her Valentine. Mary does not immediately want Books,
having a damn'd consignment of Novels in MS. from Malta:
which I wish the Mediterranean had in its guts. Believe me
yours truly C.L.
Monday.
[Emma's valentine probably came from Moxon, who, I feel sure, in spite
of Lamb's utterance in a previous letter, had not yet told his love, if
it had really budded.
"Novels in MS."--Lady Stoddart's, we may suppose (see letter above).]
LETTER 449
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE
Enfield, 25 Feb. [1828].
My dear Clarke,--You have been accumulating on me such a heap of
pleasant obligations that I feel uneasy in writing as to a Benefactor.
Your smaller contributions, the little weekly rills, are refreshments in
the Desart, but your large books were feasts. I hope Mrs. Hazlitt, to
whom I encharged it, has taken Hunt's Lord B. to the Novellos. His
picture of Literary Lordship is as pleasant as a disagreeable subject
can be made, his own poor man's Education at dear Christ's is as good
and hearty as the subject. Hazlitt's speculative episodes are capital; I
skip the Battles. But how did I deserve to have the Book? The
_Companion_ has too much of Madam Pasta. Theatricals have ceased to be
popular attractions. His walk home after the Play is as good as the best
of the old Indicators. The watchmen are emboxed in a niche of fame, save
the skaiting one that must be still fugitive. I wish I could send a
scrap for good will. But I have been most seriously unwell and nervous a
long long time. I have scarce mustered courage to begin this short note,
but conscience duns me.
I had a pleasant letter from your sister, greatly over-acknowledging my
poor sonnet. I think I should have replied to it, but tell her I think
so. Alas for sonnetting, 'tis as the nerves are; all the summer I was
dawdling among green lanes, and verses came as thick as fancies. I am
sunk winterly below prose and zero.
But I trust the vital principle is only as under snow. That I shall yet
laugh again.
I suppose the great change of place affects me, but I could not have
lived in Town, I could not bear company.
I see Novello flourishes in the Del Capo line, and dedications are not
forgotten. I read the _Atlas_. When I pitched on the Ded'n I looked for
the Broom of "_Cowden_ knows" to be harmonized, but 'twas summat of
Rossini's.
I want to hear about Hone, does he stand above water, how is his son? I
have delay'd writing to him, till it seems impossible. Break the ice for
me.
The wet ground here is intolerable, the sky above clear and delusive,
but under foot quagmires from night showers, and I am cold-footed and
moisture-abhorring as a cat; nevertheless I yesterday tramped to Waltham
Cross; perhaps the poor bit of exertion necessary to scribble this was
owing to that unusual bracing.
If I get out, I shall get stout, and then something will out --I mean
for the _Companion_--you see I rhyme insensibly.
Traditions are rife here of one Clarke a schoolmaster, and a runaway
pickle named Holmes, but much obscurity hangs over it. Is it possible
they can be any relations?
'Tis worth the research, when you can find a sunny day, with ground
firm, &c. Master Sexton is intelligent, and for half-a-crown he'll pick
you up a Father.
In truth we shall be most glad to see any of the Novellian circle,
middle of the week such as can come, or Sunday, as can't. But Spring
will burgeon out quickly, and then, we'll talk more.
You'd like to see the improvements on the Chase, the new Cross in the
market-place, the Chandler's shop from whence the rods were fetch'd.
They are raised a farthing since the spread of Education. But perhaps
you don't care to be reminded of the Holofernes' days, and nothing
remains of the old laudable profession, but the clear, firm,
impossible-to-be-mistaken schoolmaster text hand with which is
subscribed the ever-welcome name of Chas. Cowden C. Let me crowd in
both our loves to all. C.L.
Let me never be forgotten to include in my rememb'ces my good friend and
whilom correspondent Master Stephen.
How, especially, is Victoria?
I try to remember all I used to meet at Shacklewell. The little
household, cake-producing, wine-bringing out Emma--the old servant, that
didn't stay, and ought to have staid, and was always very dirty and
friendly, and Miss H., the counter-tenor with a fine voice, whose sister
married Thurtell. They all live in my mind's eye, and Mr. N.'s and
Holmes's walks with us half back after supper. Troja fuit!
["_The Companion_." Leigh Hunt's paper lasted only for seven months.
Madame Pasta, of whom too much was written, was Giudetta Pasta
(1798-1865), a singer of unusual compass, for whom Bellini wrote "La
Somnambula."
The following is the account of the Sliding Watchman in the essay,
"Walks Home by Night in Bad Weather. Watchmen":--
But the oddest of all was the _Sliding_ Watchman. Think of walking
up a street in the depth of a frosty winter, with long ice in the
gutters, and sleet over head, and then figure to yourself a sort of
bale of a man in white, coming towards you with a lantern in one
hand, and an umbrella over his head. It was the oddest mixture of
luxury and hardship, of juvenility and old age! But this looked
agreeable. Animal spirits carry everything before them; and our
invincible friend seemed a watchman for Rabelais. Time was run at
and butted by him like a goat. The slide seemed to bear him half
through the night at once; he slipped from out of his box and his
common-places at one rush of a merry thought, and seemed to say,
"Everything's in imagination;--here goes the whole weight of my
office."
"Your sister"--Mrs. Isabella Jane Towers, author of _The Children's
Fireside_, 1828, and other books for children, to whom Lamb had sent a
sonnet (see Vol. IV.).
"Novello... dedications... I read the _Atlas_." In _The Atlas_ for
February 17 was reviewed _Select Airs from Spohr's celebrated Opera of
Faust, arranged as duetts for the Pianoforte and inscribed to his friend
Charles Cowden Clarke by Vincent Novello_. Holmes was musical critic for
_The Atlas_.
"One Clarke a schoolmaster." See note to the letter to Clarke in the
summer of 1821.
"Holofernes' days"--Holofernes, the schoolmaster, in "Love's Labour's
Lost." Cowden Clarke had assisted his father.
"Master Stephen." I do not identify Stephen.
"Victoria"--Mary Victoria Novello, afterwards Mrs. Charles Cowden
Clarke.
"At Shacklewell"--the Novellos' old home. They now lived in Bedford
Street, Covent Garden.
"Whose sister married Thurtell." Thurtell, the murderer of Mr. Weare, I
suppose.
In the Boston Bibliophile edition there is also a brief note to Clarke.]
LETTER 450
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON
[P.M. Feb. 26, 1828.]
My dear Robinson, It will be a very painful thing to us indeed, if you
give up coming to see us, as we fear, on account of the nearness of the
poor Lady you inquire after. It is true that on the occasion she
mentions, which was on her return from last seeing her daughter, she was
very heated and feverish, but there seems to be a great amendment in her
since, and she has within a day or two passed a quiet evening with us.
At the same time I dare not advise any thing one way or another
respecting her daughter coming to live with her. I entirely disclaim the
least opinion about it. If we named any thing before her, it was
erroneously, on the notion that _she_ was the obstacle to the plan which
had been suggested of placing her daughter in a Private Family, _which
seem'd your wish_. But I have quite done with the subject. If we can be
of any amusement to the poor Lady, without self disturbance, we will.
But come and see us after Circuit, as if she were not. You have no more
affect'te friends than C. AND M. LAMB.
["The poor Lady" was, I imagine, the widow of Antony Robinson.]
LETTER 451
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
March 19th, 1828.
My dear M.--It is my firm determination to have nothing to do with
"Forget-me-Nots"--pray excuse me as civilly as you can to Mr. Hurst. I
will take care to refuse any other applications. The things which
Pickering has, if to be had again, I have promised absolutely, you know,
to poor Hood, from whom I had a melancholy epistle yesterday; besides
that, Emma has decided objections to her own and her friend's Album
verses being published; but if she gets over that, they are decidedly
Hood's.
Till we meet, farewell. Loves to Dash. C.L.
[Moxon seems to have asked Lamb for a contribution for one of Hurst's
annuals, probably the _Keepsake_.
Hood was to edit _The Gem_ for 1829.
"Dash."--Moxon seems to have been the present master of the dog.
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Edward Irving, introducing Hone,
who in later life became devout and preached at the Weigh House Chapel
in Eastcheap.]
LETTER 452
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. April 21, 1828.]
DEAR B.B.--You must excuse my silence. I have been in very poor health
and spirits, and cannot write letters. I only write to assure you, as
you wish'd, of my existence. All that which Mitford tells you of H.'s
book is rhodomontade, only H. has written unguardedly about me, and
nothing makes a man more foolish than his own foolish panegyric. But I
am pretty well cased to flattery, or its contrary. Neither affect[s] me
a turnip's worth. Do you see the Author of May you Like it? Do you write
to him? Will you give my present plea to him of ill health for not
acknowledge a pretty Book with a pretty frontispiece he sent me. He is
most esteem'd by me. As for subscribing to Books, in plain truth I am a
man of reduced income, and don't allow myself 12 shillings a-year to buy
OLD BOOKS with, which must be my Excuse. I am truly sorry for Murray's
demur, but I wash my hands of all booksellers, and hope to know them no
more. I am sick and poorly and must leave off, with our joint kind
remembrances to your daughter and friend A.K. C.L.
["H.'s book." In Hunt's _Lord Byron and Some of His Contemporaries_ Lamb
was praised very warmly.
"The Author of May you Like it"--the Rev. C.B. Tayler. The book with a
pretty frontispiece was _A Fireside Book_, 1828, with a frontispiece by
George Cruikshank.
"Murray's demur"-an unfavourable reply, possibly to a suggestion of
Barton's concerning a new volume.]
LETTER 453
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[May 1st, 1828.]
Dear A.--I am better. Mary quite well. We expected to see you before. I
can't write long letters. So a friendly love to you all.
Yours ever,
C.L.
Enfield.
This sunshine is healing.
LETTER 454
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. May 3rd, 1828.]
Dear M.,--My friend Patmore, author of the "Months," a very pretty
publication, [and] of sundry Essays in the "London," "New Monthly," &c.,
wants to dispose of a volume or two of "Tales." Perhaps they might
Chance to suit Hurst; but be that as it may, he will call upon you,
_under favor of my recommendation_; and as he is returning to France,
where he lives, if you can do anything for him in the Treaty line, to
save him dancing over the Channel every week, I am sure you will. I said
I'd never trouble you again; but how vain are the resolves of mortal
man! P. is a very hearty friendly fellow, and was poor John Scott's
second, as I will be yours when you want one. May you never be mine!
Yours truly, C.L.
Enfield.
[Patmore was the author of _The Mirror of the Months_, 1826.]
LETTER 455
CHARLES LAMB TO WALTER WILSON
[Dated at end: 17 May (1828).]
Dear Walter, The sight of your old name again was like a resurrection.
It had passed away into the dimness of a dead friend. We shall be most
joyful to see you here next week,--if I understand you right--for your
note dated the 10th arrived only yesterday, Friday the _16th_. Suppose I
name _Thursday_ next. If that don't suit, write to say so. A morning
coach comes from the Bell or Bell & Crown by Leather Lane Holborn, and
sets you down at our house on the Chase Side, next door to Mr.
Westwood's, whom all the coachmen know.
I have four more notes to write, so dispatch this with again assuring
you how happy we shall be to see you, & to discuss Defoe & old matters.
Yours truly
C. LAMB.
Enf'd. Satur'dy. 17th May.
[The last letter to Wilson was on Feb. 24, 1823. Lamb wrote to Hone a
few days later: "Valter Vilson dines with us to-morrow. Vell! How I
should like to see Hone!"]
LETTER 456
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS NOON TALFOURD
[P.M. May 20, 1828.]
My dear Talfourd, we propose being with you on Wednesday not unearly,
Mary to take a bed with you, and I with Crabbe, if, as I understand, he
be of the party.
Yours ever,
CH. LAMB.
[Lamb's future biographer was then living at 26 Henrietta Street,
Brunswick Square. He had married in 1822. Crabb Robinson's _Diary_ for
May 21 tells us that Talfourd's party consisted of the Lambs,
Wordsworth, Miss Anne Rutt, three barristers and himself. Lamb was in
excellent spirits. He slept at Robinson's that night.]
LETTER 457
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
[No date. May, 1828.]
Dear Wordsworth, we had meant to have tried to see Mrs. Wordsworth and
Dora next Wednesday, but we are intercepted by a violent toothache which
Mary has got by getting up next morning after parting with you, to be
with my going off at 1/2 past 8 Holborn. We are poor travellers, and
moreover we have company (damn 'em) good people, Mr. Hone and an old
crony not seen for 20 years, coming here on Tuesday, one stays night
with us, and Mary doubts my power to get up time enough, and comfort
enough, to be so far as you are. Will you name a day in the same or
coming week that we can come to you in the morning, for it would plague
us not to see the other two of you, whom we cannot individualize from
you, before you go. It is bad enough not to see your Sister Dorothy.
God bless you sincerely
C. LAMB.
[Robinson dates this letter 1810, but this is clearly wrong. It was
obviously written after Lamb's liberation from the India House. If, as I
suppose, the old crony is Walter Wilson, we get the date from Lamb's
letters to him and to Hone, mentioned above.
By "the other two of you" Lamb means Dora Wordsworth and Johnny
Wordsworth. Lamb had already seen William. The address of the present
letter is W. Wordsworth, Esq., 12 Bryanstone Street, Portman Square.
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Cary, dated June 10, 1828,
declining on account of ill-health an invitation to dinner, to meet
Wordsworth. Instead he asks Cary to Enfield with Darley and Procter.]
LETTER 458
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. MORGAN
Enfield, 17 June, 1828.
The gentleman who brings this to you has been 12 years principal
assistant at the first School in Enfield, and bears the highest
character for carefulness and scholarship. He is about opening an
Establishment of his own, a Classical and _Commercial_ Academy at
Peckham. He has just married a very notable and amiable young person,
our next neighbour's daughter, and I do not doubt of their final
success, but everything must have a beginning and he wants pupils. It
strikes me, that one or two of Mr. Thompson's sons may be about leaving
you,--in that case, if you can recommend my friend's school, you will
much oblige me. I can answer for the very excellent manner in which he
has conducted himself here as an assistant, for I have talked it over
with Dr. May's brother and I _know_ him to be very learned. He will
explain to you the situation of our cottage, where we hope to see you
soon--with Mary's kind love.
[The gentleman was a Mr. Sugden.]
LETTER 459
MARY LAMB TO THE THOMAS HOODS
[No date. ? Summer, 1828.]
My dear Friends,--My brother and Emma are to send you a partnership
letter, but as I have a great dislike to my stupid scrap at the fag end
of a dull letter, and, as I am left alone, I will say my say first; and
in the first place thank you for your kind letter; it was a mighty
comfort to me. Ever since you left me, I have been thinking I know not
what, but every possible thing that I could invent, why you should be
angry with me for something I had done or left undone during your
uncomfortable sojourn with us, and now I read your letter and think and
feel all is well again. Emma and her sister Harriet are gone to
Theobalds Park, and Charles is gone to Barnet to cure his headache,
which a good old lady has talked him into. She came on Thursday and left
us yesterday evening. I mean she was Mrs. Paris, with whom Emma's aunt
lived at Cambridge, and she had so much to [tell] her about Cambridge
friends, and to [tell] us about London ditto, that her tongue was never
at rest through the whole day, and at night she took Hood's Whims and
Oddities to bed with her and laught all night. Bless her spirits! I wish
I had them and she were as mopey as I am. Emma came on Monday, and the
week has passed away I know not how. But we have promised all the week
that we should go and see the Picture friday or saturday, and stay a
night or so with you. Friday came and we could not turn Mrs. Paris out
so soon, and on friday evening the thing was wholly given up. Saturday
morning brought fresh hopes; Mrs. Paris agreed to go to see the picture
with us, and we were to walk to Edmonton. My Hat and my _new gown_ were
put on in great haste, and his honor, who decides all things here, would
have it that we could not get to Edmonton in time; and there was an end
of all things. Expecting to see you, I did not write.
Monday evening.
Charles and Emma are taking a second walk. Harriet is gone home. Charles
wishes to know more about the Widow. Is it to be made to match a
drawing? If you could throw a little more light on the subject, I think
he would do it, when Emma is gone; but his time will be quite taken up
with her; for, besides refreshing her Latin, he gives her long lessons
in arithmetic, which she is sadly deficient in. She leaves in a week,
unless she receives a renewal of her holydays, which Mrs. Williams has
half promised to send her. I do verily believe that I may hope to pass
the last one, or two, or three nights with you, as she is to go from
London to Bury. We will write to you the instant we receive Mrs. W.'s
letter. As to my poor sonnet--and it is a very poor sonnet, only [it]
answered very well the purpose it was written for--Emma left it behind
her, and nobody remembers more than one line of it, which is, I think,
sufficient to convince you it would make no great impression in an
Annual. So pray let it rest in peace, and I will make Charles write a
better one instead.
This shall go to the Post to-night. If any [one] chooses to add anything
to it they may. It will glad my heart to see you again.
Yours (both yours) truly and affectionately, M. LAMB.
Becky is going by the Post office, so I will send it away. I mean to
commence letter-writer to the family.
[Mr. Hazlitt dates this letter April, 1828. The reference to the Widow,
towards the end, shows that Hood was preparing _The Gem_, and, what is
not generally known, that Lamb had been asked to write on that subject.
As it happened, Hood wrote the essay for him and signed it Elia (see
note below). Mrs. Paris we have met. Harriet, Emma Isola's sister, we do
not hear of again. I was recently shown a copy of Lamb's _Works_, 1818,
inscribed in his hand to Miss Isola: this would be Harriet Isola. Emma
had just begun her duties at Fornham, in Suffolk, where she taught the
children of a Mr. Williams, a clergyman. I cannot say what the Picture
was. The sonnet was probably that printed in the note to the letter to
Mrs. Shelley of July 26, 1827. Charles Lamb's and Emma's joint letter has
not been preserved.]
LETTER 460
CHARLES LAMB TO B.R. HAYDON
August, 1828.
Dear Haydon,--I have been tardy in telling you that your Chairing the
Member gave me great pleasure;--'tis true broad Hogarthian fun, the High
Sheriff capital. Considering, too, that you had the materials imposed
upon you, and that you did not select them from the rude world as H.
did, I hope to see many more such from your hand. If the former picture
went beyond this I have had a loss, and the King a bargain. I longed to
rub the back of my hand across the hearty canvas that two senses might
be gratified. Perhaps the subject is a little discordantly placed
opposite to another act of Chairing, where the huzzas were
Hosannahs,--but I was pleased to see so many of my old acquaintances
brought together notwithstanding.
Believe me, yours truly,
C. LAMB.
[Haydon's "Chairing the Member" was exhibited in Bond Street this year,
together with "Christ's Entry into Jerusalem," and other of his works.
"The former picture" was his "Mock Election," which the King had bought
for 500 guineas. For "Chairing the Member" Haydon received only half
that price.
Here should come a letter to Rickman, dated September 11, 1828, in which
Lamb thanks him for a present of nuts and apples, but is surprised that
apples should be offered to the owner of a "whole tree, almost an
orchard," and "an apple chamber redolent" to boot.
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Louisa Holcroft, dated October 2,
1828, in which, so soon after Mary Lamb's determination to be the letter
writer of the family, he says, "Mary Lamb has written her last letter in
this world," adding that he has been left her _writing legatee_. He
calls geese "those pretty birds that look like snow in summer, and
cackle like ice breaking up."
Here should come a long Latin letter to Rickman, dated October 4, 1828.
Canon Ainger prints the Latin. I append an English version:--]
LETTER 461
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN RICKMAN
(_Translation_)
[Postmark Oct. 3, 1828.]
I have been thinking of sending some kind of an answer in Latin to your
very elaborate letter, but something has arisen every day to hinder me.
To begin with our awkward friend M.B. has been with us for a while, and
every day and all day we have had such a lecture, you know how he
stutters, on legal, mind, nothing but legal notices, that I have been
afraid the Latin I want to write might prove rather barbaro-forensic
than Ciceronian. He is swallowed up, body and soul, in law; he eats,
drinks, plays (at the card table) Law, nothing but Law. He acts
Ignoramus in the play so thoroughly, that you w'd swear that in the
inmost marrow of his head (is not this the proper anatomical term?)
there have housed themselves not devils but pettifoggers, to bemuddle
with their noisy chatter his own and his friends' wits. He brought here,
'twas all his luggage, a book, Fearn on Contingent Remainders. This book
he has read so hard, and taken such infinite pains to understand, that
the reader's brain has few or no Remainders to continge. Enough,
however, of M.B. and his luggage. To come back to your claims upon me.
Your return journey, with notes, I read again and again, nor have I done
with them yet. You always make something fresh out of a hackneyed theme.
Our milestones, you say, bristle with blunders, but I must shortly
explain why I cannot comply with your directions herein.
Suppose I were to consult the local magnates about a matter of this
kind.--Ha! says one of our waywardens or parish overseers,--What
business is this of _yours_? Do you want to drop the Lodger and come out
as a Householder?--Now you must know that I took this house of mine at
Enfield, by an obvious domiciliary fiction, in my Sister's name, to
avoid the bother and trouble of parish and vestry meetings, and to
escape finding myself one day an overseer or big-wig of some sort. What
then w'd be my reply to the above question?
Leisure I have secured: but of dignity, not a tittle. Besides, to tell
you the truth, the aforesaid irregularities are, to my thinking, most
entertaining, and in fact very touching indeed. Here am I, quit of
worldly affairs of every kind; for if superannuation does not mean that,
what does it mean? The world then, being, as the saying is, beyond my
ken, and being myself entirely removed from any accurate distinctions of
space or time, these mistakes in road-measure do not seriously offend
me. For in the infinite space of the heavens above (which in this
contracted sphere of mine I desire to imitate so far as may be) what
need is there of milestones? Local distance has to do with mortal
affairs. In my walks abroad, limited though they must be, I am quite at
my own disposal, and on that account I have a good word for our Enfield
clocks too. Their hands generally point without any servile reference to
this Sun of our World, in his _sub_-Empyrean position. They strike too
just as it happens, according to their own sweet
wiles,--one--two--three--anything they like, and thus to me, a more
fortunate Whittington, they pleasantly announce, that Time, so far as I
am concerned, is no more. Here you have my reasons for not attending in
this matter to the requests of a busy subsolar such as you are.
Furthermore, when I reach the milestone that counts from the Hicks-Hall
that stands now, I own at once the Aulic dignity, and, were I a
gaol-bird, I should shake in my shoes. When I reach the next which
counts from the site of the old Hall, my thoughts turn to the fallen
grandeur of the pile, and I reflect upon the perishable condition of the
most imposing of human structures. Thus I banish from my soul all pride
and arrogance, and with such meditations purify my heart from day to
day. A wayfarer such as I am, may learn from Vincent Bourne, in words
terser and neater than any of mine, the advantages of milestones
properly arranged. The lines are at the end of a little poem of his,
called Milestones--(Do you remember it or shall I write it all out?)
How well the Milestones' use doth this express,
Which make the miles [seem] more and way seem less.
What do you mean by this--I am borrowing hand and style from this
youngster of mine--your son, I take it. The style looks, nay on careful
inspection by these old eyes, is most clearly your very own, and the
writing too. Either R's or the Devil's. I will defer your explanation
till our next meeting--may it be soon.
My Latin failing me, as you may infer from erasures above, there is only
this to add. Farewell, and be sure to give Mrs. Rickman my kind
remembrances.
C. LAMB.
Enfield, Chase Side, 4th Oct., 1828. I can't put this properly into
Latin. Dabam--what is it?
LETTER 462
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. October 11, 1828.]
A splendid edition of Bunyan's Pilgrim--why, the thought is enough to
turn one's moral stomach. His cockle hat and staff transformed to a
smart cockd beaver and a jemmy cane, his amice gray to the last Regent
Street cut, and his painful Palmer's pace to the modern swagger. Stop
thy friend's sacriligious hand. Nothing can be done for B. but to
reprint the old cuts in as homely but good a style as possible. The
Vanity Fair, and the pilgrims there--the silly soothness in his setting
out countenance--the Christian idiocy (in a good sense) of his
admiration of the Shepherds on the Delectable Mountains--the Lions so
truly Allegorical and remote from any similitude to Pidcock's. The great
head (the author's) capacious of dreams and similitudes dreaming in the
dungeon. Perhaps you don't know _my_ edition, what I had when a child:
if you do, can you bear new designs from--Martin, enameld into copper or
silver plate by--Heath, accompanied with verses from Mrs. Heman's pen O
how unlike his own--
Wouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy?
Wouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly?
Wouldst thou read riddles and their explanation?
Or else be drowned in thy contemplation?
Dost thou love picking meat? or wouldst thou see
A man i' th' clouds, and hear him speak to thee?
Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep?
Or wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep?
Or wouldst thou lose thyself, and catch no harm,
And find thyself again without a charm?
Wouldst read _thyself_, and read thou knowst not what,
And yet know whether thou art blest or not
By reading the same lines? O then come hither,
And lay my book, thy head and heart together.
JOHN BUNYAN.
Shew me such poetry in any of the 15 forthcoming combinations of show
and emptiness, yclept Annuals. Let me whisper in your ear that wholesome
sacramental bread is not more nutritious than papistical wafer stuff,
than these (to head and heart) exceed the visual frippery of Mitford's
Salamander God, baking himself up to the work of creation in a solar
oven, not yet by the terms of the context itself existing. Blake's
ravings made genteel. So there's verses for thy verses; and now let me
tell you that the sight of your hand gladdend me. I have been daily
trying to write to you, but paralysed. You have spurd me on this tiny
effort, and at intervals I hope to hear from and talk to you. But my
spirits have been in a deprest way for a long long time, and they are
things which must be to you of faith, for who can explain depression?
Yes I am hooked into the Gem, but only for some lines written on a dead
infant of the Editor's, which being as it were his property, I could not
refuse their appearing, but I hate the paper, the type, the gloss, the
dandy plates, the names of contributors poked up into your eyes in 1st
page, and whistled thro' all the covers of magazines, the barefaced sort
of emulation, the unmodest candidateship, bro't into so little space--in
those old Londons a signature was lost in the wood of matter--the paper
coarse (till latterly, which spoil'd them)--in short I detest to appear
in an Annual. What a fertile genius (an[d] a quiet good soul withal) is
Hood. He has 50 things in hand, farces to supply the Adelphi for the
season, a comedy for one of the great theatres, just ready, a whole
entertainment by himself for Mathews and Yates to figure in, a meditated
Comic Annual for next year, to be nearly done by himself.-- You'd like
him very much. Wordsworth I see has a good many pieces announced in one
of em, not our Gem. W. Scott has distributed himself like a bribe haunch
among 'em. Of all the poets, Cary has had the good sense to keep quite
clear of 'em, with Clergy-gentle-manly right notions. Don't think I set
up for being proud in this point, I like a bit of flattery tickling my
vanity as well as any one. But these pompous masquerades without masks
(naked names or faces) I hate. So there's a bit of my mind. Besides they
infallibly cheat you, I mean the booksellers. If I get but a copy, I
only expect it from Hood's being my friend. Coleridge has lately been
here. He too is deep among the Prophets--the Yearservers--the mob of
Gentlemen Annuals. But they'll cheat him, I know.
And now, dear B.B., the Sun shining out merrily, and the dirty clouds
we had yesterday having washd their own faces clean with their own rain,
tempts me to wander up Winchmore Hill, or into some of the delightful
vicinages of Enfield, which I hope to show you at some time when you can
get a few days up to the great Town. Believe me it would give both of us
great pleasure to show you all three (we can lodge you) our pleasant
farms and villages.--
We both join in kindest loves to you and yours.--
CH. LAMB REDIVIVUS.
Saturday.
[The edition of Bunyan was that published for Barton's friend, John
Major, and John Murray in 1830, with a life of Bunyan by Southey, and
illustrations by John Martin and W. Harvey, and a prefatory poem not by
Mrs. Hemans but by Bernard Barton immediately before Bunyan's "Author's
Apology for his Book," from which Lamb quotes.
"Pidcock's." Pidcock showed his lions at Bartholomew Fair; he was
succeeded by Polito of Exeter Change.
"Heath." This was Charles Heath (1785-1848), son of James Heath, a great
engraver of steel plates for the Annuals.
"Mitford's Salamander God." I cannot explain this, except by Mr.
Macdonald's supposition that Lamb meant to write "Martin's."
"The Gem." See note below, p. 839.
Hood's entertainment for Mathews and Frederick Yates, then
joint-managers of the Adelphi, I have not identified. Authors' names on
play-bills were, in those days, unimportant. The play was the thing.
Cary. The Rev. H.F. Cary, translator of Dante.
Coleridge and the Annuals. For example, Coleridge's "Names" was in the
_Keepsake_ for 1829; his "Lines written in the Album at Elbingerode" in
part in the _Amulet_ for 1829. He had also contributed previously to the
_Literary Souvenir_, the _Amulet_ and the _Bijou_.
Here should come an unprinted note from Lamb to Charles Mathews, dated
October 27, 1828, referring to the farce "The Pawnbroker's Daughter,"
which Lamb offered to Mathews for the Adelphi. As I have said, this
farce was never acted.]
LETTER 463
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE
[Enfield, October, 1828.]
Dear Clarke,--We did expect to see you with Victoria and the Novellos
before this, and do not quite understand why we have not. Mrs. N. and V.
[Vincent] promised us after the York expedition; a day being named
before, which fail'd. 'Tis not too late. The autumn leaves drop gold,
and Enfield is beautifuller--to a common eye--than when you lurked at
the Greyhound. Benedicks are close, but how I so totally missed you at
that time, going for my morning cup of ale duly, is a mystery. 'Twas
stealing a match before one's face in earnest. But certainly we had not
a dream of your appropinquity. I instantly prepared an Epithalamium, in
the form of a Sonata--which I was sending to Novello to compose--but
Mary forbid it me, as too light for the occasion--as if the subject
required anything heavy-- so in a tiff with her I sent no congratulation
at all. Tho' I promise you the wedding was very pleasant news to me
indeed. Let your reply name a day this next week, when you will come as
many as a coach will hold; such a day as we had at Dulwich. My very
kindest love and Mary's to Victoria and the Novellos. The enclosed is
from a friend nameless, but highish in office, and a man whose accuracy
of statement may be relied on with implicit confidence. He wants the
_exposé_ to appear in a newspaper as the "greatest piece of legal and
Parliamentary villainy he ever rememb'd," and he has had experience in
both; and thinks it would answer afterwards in a cheap pamphlet printed
at Lambeth in 8'o sheet, as 16,000 families in that parish are
interested. I know not whether the present _Examiner_ keeps up the
character of exposing abuses, for I scarce see a paper now. If so, you
may ascertain Mr. Hunt of the strictest truth of the statement, at the
peril of my head. But if this won't do, transmit it me back, I beg, per
coach, or better, bring it with you. Yours unaltered, C. LAMB.
[Clarke had married Mary Victoria Novello on July 5, 1828, and they had
spent their honeymoon at the Greyhound, Enfield, unknown to the Lambs.
See the next letter.
"The enclosed." This has vanished. Hunt was Leigh Hunt.]
LETTER 464
CHARLES LAMB TO VINCENT NOVELLO
[Enfield, November 6, 1828.]
My dear Novello,--I am afraid I shall appear rather tardy in offering my
congratulations, however sincere, upon your daughter's marriage. The
truth is, I had put together a little Serenata upon the occasion, but
was prevented from sending it by my sister, to whose judgment I am apt
to defer too much in these kind of things; so that, now I have her
consent, the offering, I am afraid, will have lost the grace of
seasonableness. Such as it is, I send it. She thinks it a little too
old-fashioned in the manner, too much like what they wrote a century
back. But I cannot write in the modern style, if I try ever so hard. I
have attended to the proper divisions for the music, and you will have
little difficulty in composing it. If I may advise, make Pepusch your
model, or Blow. It will be necessary to have a good second voice, as the
stress of the melody lies there:--
SERENATA, FOR TWO VOICES,
_On the Marriage of Charles Cowden Clarke, Esqre., to Victoria,
eldest daughter of Vincent Novello, Esqre._
DUETTO
Wake th' harmonious voice and string,
Love and Hymen's triumph sing,
Sounds with secret charms combining,
In melodious union joining,
Best the wondrous joys can tell,
That in hearts united dwell.
RECITATIVE
_First Voice_.--To young Victoria's happy fame
Well may the Arts a trophy raise,
Music grows sweeter in her praise.
And, own'd by her, with rapture speaks her name.
To touch the brave Cowdenio's heart,
The Graces all in her conspire;
Love arms her with his surest dart,
Apollo with his lyre.
AIR
The list'ning Muses all around her
Think 'tis Phoebus' strain they hear;
And Cupid, drawing near to wound her,
Drops his bow, and stands to hear.
RECITATIVE
_Second Voice_.--While crowds of rivals with despair
Silent admire, or vainly court the Fair,
Behold the happy conquest of her eyes,
A Hero is the glorious prize!
In courts, in camps, thro' distant realms renown'd,
Cowdenio comes!--Victoria, see,
He comes with British honour crown'd,
Love leads his eager steps to thee.
AIR
In tender sighs he silence breaks,
The Fair his flame approves,
Consenting blushes warm her cheeks,
She smiles, she yields, she loves.
RECITATIVE
_First Voice_.--Now Hymen at the altar stands,
And while he joins their faithful hands,
Behold! by ardent vows brought down,
Immortal Concord, heavenly bright,
Array'd in robes of purest light,
Descends, th' auspicious rites to crown.
Her golden harp the goddess brings;
Its magic sound
Commands a sudden silence all around,
And strains prophetic thus attune the strings.
DUETTO
_First Voice_.-- The Swain his Nymph possessing,
_Second Voice_.-- The Nymph her swain caressing,
_First and Second_.-- Shall still improve the blessing,
For ever kind and true.
_Both_.-- While rolling years are flying,
Love, Hymen's lamp supplying,
With fuel never dying,
Shall still the flame renew.
To so great a master as yourself I have no need to suggest that the
peculiar tone of the composition demands sprightliness, occasionally
checked by tenderness, as in the second air,--
She smiles,--she yields,--she loves.
Again, you need not be told that each fifth line of the two first
recitatives requires a crescendo.
And your exquisite taste will prevent your falling into the error of
Purcell, who at a passage similar to _that_ in my first air,
Drops his bow, and stands to hear,
directed the first violin thus:--
Here the first violin must drop his _bow_.
But, besides the absurdity of disarming his principal performer of so
necessary an adjunct to his instrument, in such an emphatic part of the
composition too, which must have had a droll effect at the time, all
such minutiae of adaptation are at this time of day very properly
exploded, and Jackson of Exeter very fairly ranks them under the head of
puns.
Should you succeed in the setting of it, we propose having it performed
(we have one very tolerable second voice here, and Mr. Holmes, I dare
say, would supply the minor parts) at the Greyhound. But it must be a
secret to the young couple till we can get the band in readiness.
Believe me, dear Novello,
Yours truly,
C. LAMB.
Enfield, 6 Nov., '28.
[Mrs. Cowden Clarke remarks in her notes on this letter that the
references to Purcell and to Jackson of Exeter are inventions. For Mr.
Holmes see note above.
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Laman Blanchard, dated Enfield,
November 9, 1828, thanking him for a book and dedication. Samuel Laman
Blanchard (1804-1845), afterwards known as a journalist, had just
published, through Harrison Ainsworth, a little volume entitled _Lyric
Offerings_, which was dedicated to Lamb. After Lamb's death Blanchard
contributed to the _New Monthly Magazine_ some additional Popular
Fallacies.]
LETTER 465
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS HOOD
Late autumn, 1828.
Enfield.
Dear Lamb--You are an impudent varlet; but I will keep your secret. We
dine at Ayrton's on Thursday, and shall try to find Sarah and her two
spare beds for that night only. Miss M. and her tragedy may be dished:
so may not you and your rib. Health attend you.
Yours, T. HOOD, ESQ.
Miss Bridget Hood sends love.
[In _The Gem_, 1829, in addition to his poem, "On an Infant Dying as
Soon as Born," Lamb was credited with the following piece of prose,
entitled "A Widow," which was really the work of Hood (see letter
above):--
A WIDOW
Hath always been a mark for mockery:--a standing butt for wit to
level at. Jest after jest hath been huddled upon her close cap, and
stuck, like burrs, upon her weeds. Her sables are a perpetual "Black
Joke."
Satirists--prose and verse--have made merry with her bereavements.
She is a stock character on the stage. Farce bottleth up her
crocodile tears, or labelleth her empty lachrymatories. Comedy
mocketh her precocious flirtations--Tragedy even girdeth at her
frailty, and twitteth her with "the funeral baked meats coldly
furnishing forth the marriage tables."
I confess when I called the other day on my kinswoman G.--then in
the second week of her widowhood--and saw her sitting, her young boy
by her side, in her recent sables, I felt unable to reconcile her
estate with any risible associations. The Lady with a skeleton
moiety--in the old print, in Bowles' old shop window--seemed but a
type of her condition. Her husband,--a whole hemisphere in love's
world--was deficient. One complete side--her left--was
death-stricken. It was a matrimonial paralysis, unprovocative of
laughter. I could as soon have tittered at one of those melancholy
objects that drag their poor dead-alive bodies about the streets.
It seems difficult to account for the popular prejudice against lone
women. There is a majority, I trust, of such honest, decorous
mourners as my kinswoman: yet are Widows, like the Hebrew, a proverb
and a byeword amongst nations. From the first putting on of the
sooty garments, they become a stock joke--chimney-sweep or
blackamoor is not surer--by mere virtue of their nigritude.
Are the wanton amatory glances of a few pairs of graceless eyes,
twinkling through their cunning waters, to reflect so evil a light
on a whole community? Verily the sad benighted orbs of that noble
relict--the Lady Rachel Russell--blinded through unserene drops for
her dead Lord,--might atone for such oglings!
Are the traditional freaks of a Dame of Ephesus, or a Wife of Bath,
or a Queen of Denmark, to cast so broad a shadow over
a whole sisterhood. There must be, methinks, some more general
infirmity--common, probably, to all Eve-kind--to justify so sweeping
a stigma.
Does the satiric spirit, perhaps, institute splenetic comparisons
between the lofty poetical pretensions of posthumous tenderness and
their fulfilment? The sentiments of Love especially affect a high
heroical pitch, of which the human performance can present, at best,
but a burlesque parody. A widow, that hath lived only for her
husband, should die with him. She is flesh of his flesh, and bone of
his bone; and it is not seemly for a mere rib to be his survivor.
The prose of her practice accords not with the poetry of her
professions. She hath done with the world,--and you meet her in
Regent Street. Earth hath now nothing left for her--but she swears
and administers. She cannot survive him--and invests in the _Long_
Annuities.
The romantic fancy resents, and the satiric spirit records, these
discrepancies. By the conjugal theory itself there ought to be no
Widows; and, accordingly, a class, that by our milder manners is
merely ridiculed, on the ruder banks of the Ganges is literally
_roasted_. C. LAMB.
"Miss M. and her tragedy." I fancy Miss M. would be Miss Mitford, and
her tragedy "Rienzi," produced at Drury Lane October 9, 1828. It was a
success. Hood's rib would probably be the play I have not identified.
See letter to Barton of October 11.
Here, a little out of its order, might come a letter from Lamb to Hood,
December 17, 1828, which is facsimiled in a privately-printed American
bibliography of Lamb, the owner of which declines to let not only me but
the Boston Bibliophile Society include it with the correspondence. In it
Lamb expresses regret, not so much that Hood had signed "The Widow" with
Lamb's name, but that an unfortunately ambiguous jest, pointed out to
him by certain friends, had crept into it. He asks that the subject may
never be referred to again.
Here perhaps should come a note to Miss Reynolds, Hood's sister-in-law,
accompanying Lamb's Essay on Hogarth.]
LETTER 466
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date. Dec., 1828.]
Dear M.,--As I see no blood-marks on the Green Lanes Road, I conclude
you got in safe skins home. Have you thought of inquiring Miss Wilson's
change of abode? Of the 2 copies of my drama I want one sent to
Wordsworth, together with a complete copy of Hone's "Table Book," for
which I shall be your debtor till we meet. Perhaps Longman will take
charge of this parcel. The other is for Coleridge at Mr. Gilman's,
Grove, Highgate, which may be sent, or, if you have a curiosity to see
him you will make an errand with it to him, & tell him we mean very soon
to come & see him, if the Gilmans can give or get us a bed. I am ashamed
to be so troublesome. Pray let Hood see the "Ecclectic Review"--a rogue!
The 2'd parts of the Blackwood you may make waste paper of. Yours truly,
C.L.
[I do not identify Miss Wilson. Lamb's drama was "A Wife's Trial" in
_Blackwood_ for December, 1828. The same number of the _Eclectic Review_
referred to Hood's parody of Lamb, "The Widow," as profaning Leslie's
picture of the widow by its "heartless ribaldry." By the 2d parts of
_Blackwood_ Lamb referred, I imagine, to the pages on which his play was
not printed.]
LETTER 467
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. December 5, 1828.]
Dear B.B.--I am ashamed to receive so many nice Books from you, and to
have none to send you in return; You are always sending me some fruits
or wholesome pot-herbs, and mine is the garden of the Sluggard, nothing
but weeds or scarce they. Nevertheless if I knew how to transmit it, I
would send you Blackwood's of this month, which contains a little Drama,
to have your opinion of it, and how far I have improved, or otherwise,
upon its prototype. Thank you for your kind Sonnet. It does me good to
see the Dedication to a Christian Bishop. I am for a Comprehension, as
Divines call it, but so as that the Church shall go a good deal more
than halfway over to the Silent Meeting house. I have ever said that the
Quakers are the only _Professors_ of Christianity as I read it in the
Evangiles; I say _Professors_--marry, as to practice, with their gaudy
hot types and poetical vanities, they are much at one with the sinful.
Martin's frontispiece is a very fine thing, let C.L. say what he please
to the contrary. Of the Poems, I like them as a volume better than any
one of the preceding; particularly, Power and Gentleness; The Present;
Lady Russell--with the exception that I do not like the noble act of
Curtius, true or false, one of the grand foundations of old Roman
patriotism, to be sacrificed to Lady R.'s taking notes on her husband's
trial. If a thing is good, why invidiously bring it into light with
something better? There are too few heroic things in this world to admit
of our marshalling them in anxious etiquettes of precedence. Would you
make a poetn on the Story of Ruth (pretty Story!) and then say, Aye, but
how much better is the story of Joseph and his Brethren! To go on, the
Stanzas to "Chalon" want the _name_ of Clarkson in the body of them; it
is left to inference. The Battle of Gibeon is spirited again--but you
sacrifice it in last stanza to the Song at Bethlehem. Is it quite
orthodox to do so. The first was good, you suppose, for that
dispensation. Why set the word against the word? It puzzles a weak
Christian. So Watts's Psalms are an implied censure on David's. But as
long as the Bible is supposed to be an equally divine Emanation with the
Testament, so long it will stagger weaklings to have them set in
opposition. Godiva is delicately touch'd. I have always thought it a
beautiful story characteristic of old English times. But I could not
help amusing myself with the thought--if Martin had chosen this subject
for a frontispiece, there would have been in some dark corner a white
Lady, white as the Walker on the waves--riding upon some mystical
quadruped --and high above would have risen "tower above tower a massy
structure high" the Tenterden steeples of Coventry, till the poor Cross
would scarce have known itself among the clouds, and far above them all,
the distant Clint hills peering over chimney pots, piled up,
Ossa-on-Olympus fashion, till the admiring Spectator (admirer of a noble
deed) might have gone look for the Lady, as you must hunt for the other
in the Lobster. But M. should be made Royal Architect. What palaces he
would pile--but then what parliamentary grants to make them good!
ne'ertheless I like the frontispiece. The Elephant is pleasant; and I am
glad you are getting into a wider scope of subjects. There may be too
much, not religion, but too many _good words_ into a book, till it
becomes, as Sh. says of religion, a rhapsody of words. I will just name
that you have brought in the Song to the Shepherds in four or five if
not six places. Now this is not good economy. The Enoch is fine; and
here I can sacrifice Elijah to it, because 'tis illustrative only, and
not disparaging of the latter prophet's departure. I like this best in
the Book. Lastly, I much like the Heron, 'tis exquisite: know you Lord
Thurlow's Sonnet to a Bird of that sort on Lacken water? If not, 'tis
indispensable I send it you, with my Blackwood, if you tell me how best
to send them. Fludyer is pleasant. You are getting gay and Hood-ish.
What is the Enigma? money--if not, I fairly confess I am foiled--and
sphynx must [_here are words crossed through_] 4 times I've tried to
write eat--eat me--and the blotting pen turns it into cat me. And now I
will take my leave with saying I esteem thy verses, like thy present,
honour thy frontispicer, and right-reverence thy Patron and Dedicatee,
and am, dear B.B.
Yours heartily, C.L.
Our joint kindest Loves to A.K. and your Daughter.
[Barton's new book was _A New Year's Eve and other Poems_, 1828,
dedicated to Charles Richard Sumner, Bishop of Winchester. This volume
contains Barton's "Fireside Quatrains to Charles Lamb" (quoted in Vol.
IV.) and also the following "Sonnet to a Nameless Friend," whom I take
to be Lamb:--
SONNET TO A NAMELESS FRIEND
In each successive tome that bears _my_ name
Hast thou, though veiled _thy own_ from public eyes,
Won from my muse that willing sacrifice
Which worth and talents such as thine should claim:
And I should close my minstrel task with shame,
Could I forget the indissoluble ties
Which every grateful thought of thee supplies
To one who deems thy friendship more than fame.
Accept then, thus imperfectly, once more,
The homage of thy poet and thy friend;
And should thy partial praise my lays commend,
Versed as thou art in all the gentle lore
Of English poesy's exhaustless store,
Whom I most love they never can offend.
Martin's frontispiece represented Christ walking on the water. Lamb
recalls his remarks in a previous letter about this painter, who though
he never became Royal Architect was the originator of the present Thames
Embankment. Macaulay, in his essay on Southey's edition of the
_Pilgrim's Progress_, in the _Edinburgh_ for December, 1831, makes some
very similar remarks about Martin and the way in which he would probably
paint Lear.
In the poem "Lady Rachel Russell; or, A Roman Hero and an English
Heroine Compared," Barton compared the act of Curtius, who leaped into
the gulf in the Forum, with Lady Russell standing beside her lord.
Chalon was the painter of a portrait of Thomas Clarkson.
The "Battle of Gibeon" is a poem inspired by Martin's picture of Joshua;
the last stanza runs thus:--
Made known by marvels awfully sublime!
Yet far more glorious in the Christian's sight
Than these stern terrors of the olden time,
The gentler splendours of that peaceful night,
When opening clouds displayed, in vision bright,
The heavenly host to Bethlehem's shepherd train,
Shedding around them more than cloudless light!
"Glory to God on high!" their opening strain,
Its chorus, "Peace on Earth!" its theme Messiah's reign!
"In the Lobster." Referring to that part of a lobster which is called
Eve.
"The Elephant." Some mildly humorous verses "To an Elephant."
"As Sh. says of religion"--Shakespeare, I assume, in "Hamlet," III., 4,
47, 48:--
And sweet Religion makes
A rhapsody of words.
I quote in the Appendix the poem which Lamb liked best. Barton had
written a poem called "Syr Heron." This is Lord Thurlow's sonnet, of
which Lamb was very fond. He quoted it in a note to his _Elia_ essay on
the sonnets of Sidney in the _London Magazine_, and copied it into his
album:--
TO A BIRD, THAT HAUNTED THE WATERS OF LACKEN, IN THE WINTER
O melancholy Bird, a winter's day,
Thou standest by the margin of the pool,
And, taught by God, dost thy whole being school
To Patience, which all evil can allay.
God has appointed thee the fish thy prey;
And giv'n thyself a lesson to the fool
Unthrifty, to submit to moral rule,
And his unthinking course by thee to weigh.
There need not schools, nor the professor's chair,
Though these be good, true wisdom to impart:
He, who has not enough, for these, to spare,
Of time, or gold, may yet amend his heart,
And teach his soul, by brooks, and rivers fair:
Nature is always wise in every part.
"Fludyer" was a poem to Sir Charles Fludyer on the devastation effected
on his marine villa at Felixstowe by the encroachments of the sea. The
answer to the enigma, Mrs. FitzGerald (Lucy Barton) told Canon Ainger,
was not money but an auctioneer's hammer.
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Louisa Holcroft, dated December
5, 1828. Louisa Holcroft was a daughter of Thomas Holcroft, Lamb's
friend, whose widow married Kenney. A good letter with some excellent
nonsense about measles in it.]
LETTER 468
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE
[December, 1828.]
My dear three C.'s--The way from Southgate to Colney Hatch thro' the
unfrequentedest Blackberry paths that ever concealed their coy bunches
from a truant Citizen, we have accidentally fallen upon--the giant Tree
by Cheshunt we have missed, but keep your chart to go by, unless you
will be our conduct--at present I am disabled from further flights than
just to skirt round Clay Hill, with a peep at the fine back woods, by
strained tendons, got by skipping a skipping-rope at 53--heu mihi non
sum qualis. But do you know, now you come to talk of walks, a ramble of
four hours or so--there and back--to the willow and lavender plantations
at the south corner of Northaw Church by a well dedicated to Saint
Claridge, with the clumps of finest moss rising hillock fashion, which I
counted to the number of two hundred and sixty, and are called
"Claridge's covers"--the tradition being that that saint entertained so
many angels or hermits there, upon occasion of blessing the waters? The
legends have set down the fruits spread upon that occasion, and in the
Black Book of St. Albans some are named which are not supposed to have
been introduced into this island till a century later. But waiving the
miracle, a sweeter spot is not in ten counties round; you are knee deep
in clover, that is to say, if you are not above a middling man's height;
from this paradise, making a day of it, you go to see the ruins of an
old convent at March Hall, where some of the painted glass is yet whole
and fresh.
If you do not know this, you do not know the capabilities of this
country, you may be said to be a stranger to Enfield. I found it out one
morning in October, and so delighted was I that I did not get home
before dark, well a-paid.
I shall long to show you the clump meadows, as they are called; we might
do that, without reaching March Hall. When the days are longer, we might
take both, and come home by Forest Cross, so skirt over Pennington and
the cheerful little village of Churchley to Forty Hill.
But these are dreams till summer; meanwhile we should be most glad to
see you for a lesser excursion--say, Sunday next, you and _another_, or
if more, best on a weekday with a notice, but o' Sundays, as far as a
leg of mutton goes, most welcome. We can squeeze out a bed. Edmonton
coaches run every hour, and my pen has run out its quarter. Heartily
farewell.
[Much of the "Lamb country" touched upon in this letter is now built on.
In my large edition I give a map of Lamb's favourite walking region.
"The giant Tree by Cheshunt" is Goff's Oak.
"The Black Book of St. Albans." The Black Books exposed abuses in the
church.]
LETTER 469
CHARLES LAMB TO T.N. TALFOURD
[No date. End of 1828.]
Dear Talfourd,--You could not have told me of a more friendly thing than
you have been doing. I am proud of my namesake. I shall take care never
to do any dirty action, pick pockets, or anyhow get myself hanged, for
fear of reflecting ignominy upon your young Chrisom. I have now a motive
to be good. I shall not _omnis moriar_;--my name borne down the black
gulf of oblivion.
I shall survive in eleven letters, five more than Caesar. Possibly I
shall come to be knighted, or more: Sir C.L. Talfourd, Bart.!
Yet hath it an authorish twang with it, which will wear out my name for
poetry. Give him a smile from me till I see him. If you do not drop down
before, some day in the _week after next_ I will come and take one
night's lodging with you, if convenient, before you go hence. You shall
name it. We are in town to-morrow _speciali gratia_, but by no
arrangement can get up near you.
Believe us both, with greatest regards, yours and Mrs. Talfourd's.
CHARLES LAMB-PHILO-TALFOURD
I come as near it as I can.
[This may be incorrectly dated, but I place it here because in that to
Hood of December 17, summarised above, Lamb speaks of his godson at
Brighton.
Talfourd (who himself dates this letter 1829) had named his latest child
Charles Lamb Talfourd. The boy lived only until 1835. I quote in the
Appendix the verses which Talfourd wrote on his death. Another of Lamb's
name children, Charles Lamb Kenney, grew to man's estate and became a
ready writer.]
LETTER 470
CHARLES LAMB TO GEORGE DYER
[No date. ? January, 1829.]
Dear Dyer, My very good friend, and Charles Clarke's father in law,
Vincent Novello, wishes to shake hands with you. Make him play you a
tune. He is a damn'd fine musician, and what is better, a good man and
true. He will tell you how glad we should be to have Mrs. Dyer and you
here for a few days. Our young friend, Miss Isola, has been here
holydaymaking, but leaves us tomorrow.
Yours Ever CH. LAMB.
Enfield.
[_Added in a feminine hand_:] Emma's love to Mr. and Mrs. Dyer.
[The date of this note is pure conjecture on my part, but is
unimportant. Novello had become Charles Clarke's father-in-law in 1828,
and Emma Isola, who was now teaching the children of a clergyman named
Williams, at Fornham, in Suffolk, spent her Christmas holidays with the
Lambs that year.
Here, perhaps, should come an undated letter from Lamb to Louisa Martin.
Lamb begins "Dear Monkey," and refers to his "niece," Mrs. Dowden, and
some business which she requires him to transact, Mrs. Dowden being Mrs.
John Lamb's daughter-in-law. Lamb describes himself as "a sick cat that
loves to be alone on housetops or at cellar bottoms."]
LETTER 471
CHARLES LAMB TO B.W. PROCTER
[19th Jan., 1829.]
My dear Procter,--I am ashamed to have not taken the drift of your
pleasant letter, which I find to have been pure invention. But jokes are
not suspected in Boeotian Enfield. We are plain people; and our talk is
of corn, and cattle, and Waltham markets. Besides, I was a little out of
sorts when I received it. The fact is, I am involved in a case which has
fretted me to death; and I have no reliance, except on you, to extricate
me. I am sure you will give me your best legal advice, having no
professional friend besides but Robinson and Talfourd, with neither of
whom at present I am on the best terms. My brother's widow left a will,
made during the lifetime of my brother, in which I am named sole
executor, by which she bequeaths forty acres of arable property, which
it seems she held under Covert Baron, unknown to my brother, to the
heirs of the body of Elizabeth Dowden, her married daughter by a first
husband, in fee-simple, recoverable by fine--_invested_ property, mind;
for there is the difficulty--subject to leet and quit-rent; in short,
worded in the most guarded terms, to shut out the property from Isaac
Dowden, the husband. Intelligence has just come of the death of this
person in India, where he made a will, entailing this property (which
seem'd entangled enough already) to the heirs of his body, that should
not be born of his wife; for it seems by the law in India, natural
children can recover. They have put the cause into Exchequer process,
here removed by Certiorari from the native Courts; and the question is,
whether I should, as executor, try the cause here, or again re-remove it
to the Supreme Sessions at Bangalore? (which I understand I can, or
plead a hearing before the Privy Council here). As it involves all the
little property of Elizabeth Dowden, I am anxious to take the fittest
steps, and what may be least expensive. Pray assist me, for the case is
so embarrassed, that it deprives me of sleep and appetite. M. Burney
thinks there is a case like it in Chapt. 170, sect. 5, in Fearne's
Contingent Remainders. Pray read it over with him dispassionately, and
let me have the result. The complexity lies in the questionable power of
the husband to alienate....
I had another favour to beg, which is the beggarliest of beggings.
A few lines of verse for a young friend's Album (six will be enough). M.
Burney will tell you who she is I want 'em for. A girl of gold. Six
lines--make 'em eight--signed Barry C----. They need not be very good,
as I chiefly want 'em as a foil to mine. But I shall be seriously
obliged by any refuse scrap. We are in the last ages of the world, when
St. Paul prophesied that women should be "headstrong, lovers of their
own wills, having Albums." I fled hither to escape the Albumean
persecution, and had not been in my new house twenty-four hours, when
the daughter of the next house came in with a friend's Album to beg a
contribution, and the following day intimated she had one of her own.
Two more have sprung up since. If I take the wings of the morning and
fly unto the uttermost parts of the earth, there will Albums be. New
Holland has Albums. But the age is to be complied with. M.B. will tell
you the sort of girl I request the ten lines for. Somewhat of a pensive
cast, what you admire. The lines may come before the Law question, as
that can not be determined before Hilary Term, and I wish your
deliberate judgment on that. The other may be flimsy and superficial.
And if you have not burnt your returned letter, pray re-send it me, as a
monumental token of my stupidity. 'Twas a little unthinking of you to
touch upon a sore subject. Why, by dabbling in those accursed Albums, I
have become a byword of infamy all over the kingdom. I have sicken'd
decent women for asking me to write in Albums. There be "dark jests"
abroad, Master Cornwall; and some riddles may live to be clear'd up. And
'tis not every saddle is put on the right steed; and forgeries and false
Gospels are not peculiar to the Age following the Apostles. And some
tubs don't stand on their right bottoms. Which is all I wish to say in
these ticklish Times--and so your Servant,
CHS. LAMB.
[We do not know the nature of the "bite" that Procter had put upon Lamb;
but Lamb quickly retaliated with the first paragraph of this letter,
which is mainly invention. In his _Old Acquaintance_ Mr. Fields wrote:
"He [Procter] told me that the law question raised in this epistle was a
sheer fabrication of Lamb's, gotten up by him to puzzle his young
correspondent, the conveyancer. The coolness referred to between himself
and Robinson and Talfourd, Procter said, was also a fiction invented by
Lamb to carry out his legal mystification."
At the end of the first paragraph came some words in another hand: "_in
usum_ enfeoffments whereof he was only collaterally seized, &c.,"
beneath which Lamb wrote: "The above is some of M. Burney's memoranda
which he has left me, and you may cut out and give him."
Procter's verses for Emma Isola's album I have not seen, but Canon
Ainger says that they refer to "Isola Bella, whom all poets love," the
island in Lago di Maggiore.
This is a list of the contents of Emma Isola's Album, all autographs
(from Quaritch's catalogue, September, 1886):--
CHARLES LAMB. "What is an Album?" a poem addressed to
Miss Emma Isola.
"To Emma on her Twenty-first Birthday," May 25, 1830.
"Harmony in Unlikeness." Without date.
JOHN KEATS. "To my Brother," a sonnet on the birthday of his
brother Tom, dated Nov. 18 (? 1814 or 1815).
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. "She dwelt among the untrodden
ways," three verses of his poem on Lucy, copied in his
own hand on March 18, 1837.
"Blessings be with them, and enduring praise," five lines of
a sonnet dated Rydal, 1838.
ALFRED TENNYSON. "When Lazarus left his charnel-cave," four
stanzas, undated.
THOMAS MOORE. "Woman gleans but sorrow," and note to
Moxon, June, 1844.
LEIGH HUNT. "Apollo's Autograph," from an unpublished poem
called "The Feast of the Violets." Undated, _circa_ 1838.
THOMAS HOOD. "Dreams," a prose fragment, without date, _circa_
1840.
JAMES HOGG. "I'm a' gaen wrang," a song by the Ettrick Shepherd,
_circa_ 1830.
JOANNA BAILLIE. "Up! quit thy bower," a song, undated, _circa_
1830.
ROBERT SOUTHEY. Epitaph on himself, in verse, Feb. 18, 1837.
THOMAS CAMPBELL. "Victoria's sceptre o'er the waves," _circa_
1837.
ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. "The Pirate's Song," _circa_ 1838.
CHARLES DIBDIN. "An Album's like the Dream of Hope," _circa_
1827.
BERNARD BARTON. "To Emma," with a note by Charles Lamb
at foot, 1827.
WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. "To Emma Isola," _circa_ 1827.
BARRY CORNWALL. "To the Spirit of Italy," _circa_ 1827.
SAMUEL ROGERS. Two letters, and a poem, "My Last," 1829-36.
FREDERICK LOCKER (afterwards Locker-Lampson). A quatrain,
dated July, 1873.
George Dyer, J.B. Dibdin, George Darley, Matilda Betham, H.F.
Cary, Mrs. Piozzi, Edward Moxon, T.N. Talfourd, are
the other writers.]
LETTER 472
CHARLES LAMB TO B.W. PROCTER
Jan. 22nd, 1829.
Don't trouble yourself about the verses. Take 'em coolly as they come.
Any day between this and Midsummer will do. Ten lines the extreme. There
is no mystery in my incognita. She has often seen you, though you may
not have observed a silent brown girl, who for the last twelve years has
run wild about our house in her Christmas holidays. She is Italian by
name and extraction. Ten lines about the blue sky of her country will
do, as it's her foible to be proud of it. But they must not be over
courtly or Lady-fied as she is with a Lady who says to her "go and she
goeth; come and she cometh." Item, I have made her a tolerable Latinist.
The verses should be moral too, as for a Clergyman's family. She is
called Emma Isola. I approve heartily of your turning your four vols.
into a lesser compass. 'Twill Sybillise the gold left. I shall, I think,
be in town in a few weeks, when I will assuredly see you. I will put in
here loves to Mrs. Procter and the Anti-Capulets, because Mary tells me
I omitted them in my last. I like to see my friends here. I have put my
lawsuit into the hands of an Enfield practitioner--a plain man, who
seems perfectly to understand it, and gives me hopes of a favourable
result.
Rumour tells us that Miss Holcroft is married; though the varlet has not
had the grace to make any communication to us on the subject. Who is
Badman, or Bed'em? Have I seen him at Montacute's? I hear he is a great
chymist. I am sometimes chymical myself. A thought strikes me with
horror. Pray heaven he may not have done it for the sake of trying
chymical experiments upon her,--young female subjects are so scarce!
Louisa would make a capital shot. An't you glad about Burke's case? We
may set off the Scotch murders against the Scotch novels--Hare, the
Great Un-hanged.
Martin Burney is richly worth your knowing. He is on the top scale of my
friendship ladder, on which an angel or two is still climbing, and some,
alas! descending. I am out of the literary world at present. Pray, is
there anything new from the admired pen of the author of the _Pleasures
of Hope_? Has Mrs. He-mans (double masculine) done anything pretty
lately? Why sleeps the lyre of Hervey, and of Alaric Watts? Is the muse
of L.E.L. silent? Did you see a sonnet of mine in Blackwood's last?
Curious construction! _Elaborata facilitas_! And now I'll tell. 'Twas
written for the "_Gem_;" but the editors declined it, on the plea that
it would _shock all mothers_; so they published "The Widow" instead. I
am born out of time. I have no conjecture about what the present world
calls delicacy. I thought "Rosamund Gray" was a pretty modest thing.
Hessey assures me that the world would not bear it. I have lived to grow
into an indecent character. When my sonnet was rejected, I exclaimed,
"Damn the age; I will write for Antiquity!"
_Erratum_ in sonnet:--Last line but something, for _tender_, read
_tend_. The Scotch do not know our law terms; but I find some remains of
honest, plain, old writing lurking there still. They were not so
mealy-mouthed as to refuse my verses. Maybe, 'tis their oatmeal.
Blackwood sent me £20 for the drama. Somebody cheated me out of it next
day; and my new pair of breeches, just sent home, cracking at first
putting on, I exclaimed, in my wrath, "All tailors are cheats, and all
men are tailors." Then I was better. [_Rest lost_.]
["Your four vols." Procter's poetical works, in three volumes, were
published in 1822. Since then he had issued _The Flood of Thessaly_,
1823. He was perhaps meditating a new one-volume selection.
"Anti-Capulets"--the Basil Montagus (Montacutes).
"Badman." Louisa Holcroft married Carlyle's friend Badams, a
manufacturer and scientific experimentalist of Birmingham, with whom the
philosopher spent some weeks in 1827 in attempting a cure for dyspepsia
(see the _Early Recollections_).
"Burke's case." William Burke and William Hare, the body-snatchers and
murderers of Edinburgh, who killed persons to sell their corpses to
Knox's school of anatomy. Burke was hanged a week later than this
letter, on January 28. Hare turned King's evidence and disappeared. A
"shot" was a subject in these men's vocabulary. The author of the
Waverley novels--the Great Unknown-- had, of course, become known long
before this.
"M.B."--Martin Burney. In 1818 Lamb had dedicated the prose volume of
his _Works_ to Burney, in a sonnet ending with the lines:--
Free from self-seeking, envy, low design,
I have not found a whiter soul than thine.
Hervey was Thomas Kibble Hervey (1799-1859), a great album poet.
"A sonnet of mine in Blackwood"--in the number for January, 1829 (see
below).
"Hessey"--of the firm of Taylor & Hessey, the late publishers of the
_London Magazine_.
Another letter from Lamb to Procter, repeating the request for verses,
was referred to by Canon Ainger in the preface to his edition of the
correspondence. Canon Ainger printed a delightful passage. It is
disappointing not to find it among the letters proper in his latest
edition.
Here (had I permission from its American owner to print it, which I have
not) I should place Lamb's instructions as to playing whist drawn up for
Mrs. Badams' use and as an introduction to Captain Burney's treatise on
the game. It is a very interesting document and England has never seen
it yet.
The Boston Bibliophile edition also gives a letter from Lamb to Badams
apologising for his heatedness yesterday and explaining it by saying
that he had been for some hours dissuading a friend from settling at
Enfield "which friend would have attracted down crowds of literary men,
which men would have driven me wild."]
LETTER 473
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
Jan. 28, 1829.
Dear Allsop--Old Star is setting. Take him and cut him into Little
Stars. Nevertheless the extinction of the greater light is not by the
lesser light (Stella, or Mrs. Star) apprehended so nigh, but that she
will be thankful if you can let young Scintillation (Master Star)
twinkle down by the coach on Sunday, to catch the last glimmer of the
decaying parental light. No news is good news; so we conclude Mrs. A.
and little a are doing well. Our kindest loves, C.L.
[I cannot explain the mystery of these Stars.]
LETTER 474
CHARLES LAMB TO B.W. PROCTER
[? Jan. 29th, 1829.]
When Miss Ouldcroft (who is now Mrs. Beddome, and Bed--dom'd to her!)
was at Enfield, which she was in summertime, and owed her health to its
sun and genial influences, she wisited (with young lady-like
impertinence) a poor man's cottage that had a pretty baby (O the
yearnling!), and gave it fine caps and sweetmeats. On a day, broke into
the parlour our two maids uproarious. "O ma'am, who do you think Miss
Ouldcroft (they pronounce it Holcroft) has been working a cap for?" "A
child," answered Mary, in true Shandean female simplicity. "It's the
man's child as was taken up for sheep-stealing." Miss Ouldcroft was
staggered, and would have cut the connection; but by main force I made
her go and take her leave of her _protégée_ (which I only spell with a g
because I can't make a pretty j). I thought, if she went no more, the
Abactor or Abactor's wife (vide Ainsworth) would suppose she had heard
something; and I have delicacy for a sheep-stealer. The overseers
actually overhauled a mutton-pie at the baker's (his first, last, and
only hope of mutton-pie), which he never came to eat, and thence
inferred his guilt. _Per occasionem cujus_ I framed the sonnet; observe
its elaborate construction. I was four days about it.
THE GYPSY'S MALISON
Suck, baby, suck, Mother's love grows by giving,
Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by wasting;
Black Manhood comes, when riotous guilty living
Hands thee the cup that shall be death in tasting.
Kiss, baby, kiss, Mother's lips shine by kisses,
Choke the warm breath that else would fall in blessings;
Black Manhood comes, when turbulent guilty blisses
Tend thee the kiss that poisons 'mid caressings.
Hang, baby, hang, mother's love loves such forces,
Choke the fond neck that bends still to thy clinging;
Black Manhood comes, when violent lawless courses
Leave thee a spectacle in rude air swinging.
So sang a wither'd Sibyl energetical,
And bann'd the ungiving door with lips prophetical.
Barry, study that sonnet. It is curiously and perversely elaborate. 'Tis
a choking subject, and therefore the reader is directed to the structure
of it. See you? and was this a fourteener to be rejected by a trumpery
annual? forsooth, 'twould shock all mothers; and may all mothers, who
would so be shocked, bed dom'd! as if mothers were such sort of
logicians as to infer the future hanging of _their_ child from the
theoretical hangibility (or capacity of being hanged, if the judge
pleases) of every infant born with a neck on. Oh B.C., my whole heart is
faint, and my whole head is sick (how is it?) at this damned, canting,
unmasculine unbawdy (I had almost said) age! Don't show this to your
child's mother or I shall be Orpheusized, scattered into Hebras. Damn
the King, lords, commons, and _specially_ (as I said on Muswell Hill on
a Sunday when I could get no beer a quarter before one) all Bishops,
Priests and Curates. Vale.
["Ainsworth." Referring to Robert Ainsworth's _Thesaurus_, 1736.
_Abactor_ (see Forcellini), a stealer or driver away of cattle.
Ainsworth gives only _abactus_--to drive away by force.
"The Gypsy's Malison." This is the sonnet in _Blackwood_ for January,
1829.]
LETTER 475
(_Fragment_)
CHARLES LAMB TO B.W. PROCTER
[No date. Early 1829.]
The comings in of an incipient conveyancer are not adequate to the
receipt of three twopenny post non-paids in a week. Therefore, after
this, I condemn my stub to long and deep silence, or shall awaken it to
write to lords. Lest those raptures in this honeymoon of my
correspondence, which you avow for the gentle person of my Nuncio, after
passing through certain natural grades, as Love, Love and Water, Love
with the chill off, then subsiding to that point which the heroic suitor
of his wedded dame, the noble-spirited Lord Randolph in the play,
declares to be the ambition of his passion, a reciprocation of
"complacent kindness,"--should suddenly plump down (scarce staying to
bait at the mid point of indifference, so hungry it is for distaste) to
a loathing and blank aversion, to the rendering probable such counter
expressions as this,--"Damn that infernal twopenny postman" (words which
make the not yet glutted inamorato "lift up his hands and wonder who can
use them.") While, then, you are not ruined, let me assure thee, O thou
above the painter, and next only under Giraldus Cambrensis, the most
immortal and worthy to be immortal Barry, thy most ingenious and golden
cadences do take my fancy mightily. They are at this identical moment
under the snip and the paste of the fairest hands (bating chilblains) in
Cambridge, soon to be transplanted to Suffolk, to the envy of half of
the young ladies in Bury. But tell me, and tell me truly, gentle Swain,
is that Isola Bella a true spot in geographical denomination, or a
floating Delos in thy brain? Lurks that fair island in verity in the
bosom of Lake Maggiore, or some other with less poetic name, which thou
hast Cornwallized for the occasion? And what if Maggiore itself be but a
coinage of adaptation? Of this pray resolve me immediately, for my
albumess will be catechised on this subject; and how can I prompt her?
Lake Leman, I know, and Lemon Lake (in a punch bowl) I have swum in,
though those lymphs be long since dry. But Maggiore may be in the moon.
Unsphinx this riddle for me, for my shelves have no gazetteer. And
mayest thou never murder thy father-in-law in the Trivia of Lincoln's
Inn New Square Passage, where Searl Street and the Street of Portugal
embrace, nor afterwards make absurd proposals to the Widow M. But I know
you abhor any such notions. Nevertheless so did O-Edipus (as Admiral
Burney used to call him, splitting the diphthong in spite or ignorance)
for that matter. C.L.
["Above the painter"--James Barry, R.A., but I do not understand the
allusion here.
"Giraldus Cambrensis"--the historian, Giraldus de Barri.
Procter's poem for Emma Isola's album, as we have seen, mentions Isola
Bella, the island in Lago de Maggiore. Delos was the floating island
which Neptune fixed in order that Latona might rest there and Apollo and
Diana be born.
Oedipus, who solved the riddle of the Sphinx, was the murderer of his
father. Basil Montagu was Procter's father-in-law. Procter's address was
10 Lincolns Inn, New Square.
At the end of the letter came a passage which for family reasons cannot
be printed.]
LETTER 476
CHARLES LAMB TO B.W. PROCTER
February 2, 1829.
Facundissime Poeta! quanquam istiusmodi epitheta oratoribus potiùs quam
poetis attinere facilè scio--tamen, facundissime!
Commoratur nobiscum jamdiu, in agro Enfeldiense, scilicet, leguleius
futurus, illustrissimus Martinus Burneius, otium agens, negotia
nominalia, et officinam clientum vacuam, paululum fugiens. Orat,
implorat te--nempe, Martinus--ut si (quòd Dii faciant) fortè fortunâ,
absente ipso, advenerit tardus cliens, eum certiorem feceris per literas
hûc missas. Intelligisne? an me Anglicè et barbarice ad te hominem
perdoctum scribere oportet?
Si status de franco tenemento datur avo, et in codem facto si mediate
vel immediate datur _haeredibus vel haeredibus corporis dicti avi_,
postrema, haec verba sunt Limitations, non Perquisitionis.
Dixi.
CARLAGNULUS.
[Mr. Stephen Gwynn has made the following translation for me:--
"Most eloquent Poet: though I know well such epithet befits orators
rather than poets--and yet, Most eloquent!
"There has been staying with us this while past at our country seat of
Enfield to wit, the future attorney, the illustrious Martin Burney,
taking his leisure, flying for a space from his nominal occupations, and
his office empty of clients. He--that is, Martin--begs and entreats of
you that if (heaven send it so!) by some stroke of fortune, in his
absence there should arrive a belated client, you would inform him by
letter here. Do you understand? or must I write in barbarous English to
a scholar like you?
"If an estate in freehold is given to an ancestor, and if in the same
deed directly or indirectly the gift is made to the heir or heirs of the
body of the said ancestor, these last words have the force of Limitation
not of Purchase.
"I have spoken.
CHARLES LAMB."
The last passage was copied probably direct from some law book of
Burney's, and is unintelligible except to students of law-Latin.]
LETTER 477
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE
Edmonton, Feb. 2, 1829.
Dear Cowden,--Your books are as the gushing of streams in a desert. By
the way, you have sent no autobiographies. Your letter seems to imply
you had. Nor do I want any. Cowden, they are of the books which I give
away. What damn'd Unitarian skewer-soul'd things the general biographies
turn out. Rank and Talent you shall have when Mrs. May has done with
'em. Mary likes Mrs. Bedinfield much. For me I read nothing but
Astrea--it has turn'd my brain--I go about with a switch turn'd up at
the end for a crook; and Lambs being too old, the butcher tells me, my
cat follows me in a green ribband. Becky and her cousin are getting
pastoral dresses, and then we shall all four go about Arcadizing. O
cruel Shepherdess! Inconstant yet fair, and more inconstant for being
fair! Her gold ringlets fell in a disorder superior to order!
Come and join us.
I am called the Black Shepherd--you shall be Cowden with the Tuft.
Prosaically, we shall be glad to have you both,--or any two of you--drop
in by surprise some Saturday night. This must go off.
Loves to Vittoria. C.L.
["Rank and Talent"-a novel by W.P. Scargill, 1829.
Mrs. Bedinfield wrote _Longhollow: a Country Tale_, 1829.
"Astrea." Probably the romance by Honoré D'Urfé.
"Cowden with the Tuft." So called from his hair, and from _Riquet with
the Tuft_, the fairy tale. We read in the Cowden Clarkes' _Recollections
of Writers:_ "The latter name ('Cowden with the Tuft') slyly implies the
smooth baldness with scant curly hair distinguishing the head of the
friend addressed, and which seemed to strike Charles Lamb so forcibly,
that one evening, after gazing at it for some time, he suddenly broke
forth with the exclamation, ''Gad, Clarke! what whiskers you have behind
your head!'"]
LETTER 478
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON
[P.M. February 27, 1829.]
Dear R.--Expectation was alert on the receit of your strange-shaped
present, while yet undisclosed from its fuse envelope. Some said,'tis a
viol da Gamba, others pronounced it a fiddle. I myself hoped it a Liquer
case pregnant with Eau de Vie and such odd Nectar. When midwifed into
daylight, the gossips were at loss to pronounce upon its species. Most
took it for a marrow spoon, an apple scoop, a banker's guinea shovel. At
length its true scope appeared, its drift-- to save the backbone of my
sister stooping to scuttles. A philanthropic intent, borrowed no doubt
from some of the Colliers. You save people's backs one way, and break
'em again by loads of obligation. The spectacles are delicate and
Vulcanian. No lighter texture than their steel did the cuckoldy
blacksmith frame to catch Mrs. Vulcan and the Captain in. For ungalled
forehead, as for back unbursten, you have Mary's thanks. Marry, for my
own peculium of obligation, 'twas supererogatory. A second part of
Pamela was enough in conscience. Two Pamelas in a house is too much
without two Mr. B.'s to reward 'em.
Mary, who is handselling her new aerial perspectives upon a pair of old
worsted stockings trod out in Cheshunt lanes, sends love. I, great good
liking. Bid us a personal farewell before you see the Vatican.
Chas. Lamb, Enfield.
[Crabb Robinson, just starting for Rome, had sent Lamb a copy of
_Pamela_ under the impression that he had borrowed one.
"Two Mr. B.'s." In Richardson's novel Pamela marries the young Squire B.
and reforms him.]
LETTER 479
CHARLES LAMB TO SAMUEL ROGERS
Chase, Enfield: 22nd Mar., 1829.
My dear Sir,--I have but lately learned, by letter from Mr. Moxon, the
death of your brother. For the little I had seen of him, I greatly
respected him. I do not even know how recent your loss may have been,
and hope that I do not unseasonably present you with a few lines
suggested to me this morning by the thought of him. I beg to be most
kindly remembered to your remaining brother, and to Miss Rogers.
Your's truly, CHARLES LAMB.
Rogers, of all the men that I have known
But slightly, who have died, your brother's loss
Touched me most sensibly. There came across
My mind an image of the cordial tone
Of your fraternal meetings, where a guest
I more than once have sate; and grieve to think,
That of that threefold cord one precious link
By Death's rude hand is sever'd from the rest.
Of our old gentry he appear'd a stem;
A magistrate who, while the evil-doer
He kept in terror, could respect the poor,
And not for every trifle harass them--
As some, divine and laic, too oft do.
This man's a private loss and public too.
[Daniel Rogers, the banker's elder brother, had just died.]
LETTER 480
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. March 25, 1829.]
Dear B.B.--I send you by desire Barley's very poetical poem. You will
like, I think, the novel headings of each scene. Scenical directions in
verse are novelties. With it I send a few _duplicates_, which are
_therefore_ no value to me, and may amuse an idle hour. Read
"Christmas," 'tis the production of a young author, who reads all your
writings. A good word from you about his little book would be as balm to
him. It has no pretensions, and makes none. But parts are pretty. In
"Field's Appendix" turn to a Poem called the Kangaroo. It is in the best
way of our old poets, if I mistake not. I have just come from Town,
where I have been to get my bit of quarterly pension. And have brought
home, from stalls in Barbican, the old Pilgrim's Progress with the
prints--Vanity Fair, &c.--now scarce. Four shillings. Cheap. And also
one of whom I have oft heard and had dreams, but never saw in the
flesh--that is, in sheepskin--The whole theologic works of--
THOMAS AQUINAS!
My arms aked with lugging it a mile to the stage, but the burden was a
pleasure, such as old Anchises was to the shoulders of Aeneas--or the
Lady to the Lover in old romance, who having to carry her to the top of
a high mountain--the price of obtaining her--clamber'd with her to the
top, and fell dead with fatigue.
O the glorious old Schoolmen!
There must be something in him. Such great names imply greatness. Who
hath seen Michael Angelo's things--of us that never pilgrimaged to
Rome--and yet which of us disbelieves his greatness. How I will revel in
his cobwebs and subtleties, till my brain spins!
N.B. I have writ in the old Hamlet, offer it to Mitford in my name, if
he have not seen it. Tis woefully below our editions of it. But keep it,
if you like. (What is M. to me?)
I do not mean this to go for a letter, only to apprize you, that the
parcel is booked for you this 25 March 1829 from the Four Swans
Bishopsgate.
With both our loves to Lucy and A.K. Yours Ever
C.L.
["Darley's... poem"--_Sylvia; or, The May Queen_, by George Darley.
"Christmas"--a poem by Edward Moxon, dedicated to Lamb.
"Field's Appendix"--_Geographical Memoirs on New South Wales_, edited by
Barron Field, with his _First-Fruits of Australian Poetry_ as Appendix.
The old romance, Dr. Paget Toynbee points out, is _Les Dous Amanz_ of
Marie of France, which Lamb had read in Miss Betham's metrical
translation, _The Lay of Marie_.]
LETTER 481
CHARLES LAMB TO MISS SARAH JAMES
[No date. ? April, 1829.]
We have just got your letter. I think Mother Reynolds will go on
quietly, Mrs. Scrimpshaw having kittened. The name of the late Laureat
was Henry James Pye, and when his 1st Birthday Ode came out, which was
very poor, somebody being asked his opinion of it, said:--
And when the Pye was open'd
The birds began to sing,
And was not this a dainty dish
To set before the King!
Pye was brother to old Major Pye, and father to Mrs. Arnold, and uncle
to a General Pye, all friends of Miss Kelly. Pye succeeded Thos. Warton,
Warton succeeded Wm. Whitehead, Whitehead succeeded Colley Cibber,
Cibber succeeded Eusden, Eusden succeeded Thos. Shadwell, Shadwell
succeeded Dryden, Dryden succeeded Davenant, Davenant God knows whom.
There never was a Rogers a Poet Laureat; there is an old living Poet of
that name, a Banker as you know, Author of the "Pleasures of Memory,"
where Moxon goes to breakfast in a fine house in the green Park, but he
was never Laureat. Southey is the present one, and for anything I know
or care, Moxon may succeed him. We have a copy of "Xmas" for you, so you
may give your own to Mary as soon as you please. We think you need not
have exhibited your mountain shyness before M.B. He is neither shy
himself, nor patronizes it in others.--So with many thanks, good-bye.
Emma comes on Thursday. C.L.
The Poet Laureat, whom Davenant succeeded was Rare 'Ben Jonson,' who I
believe was the first regular Laureat with the appointment of £100 a
year and a Butt of Sack or Canary--so add that to my little list.--C.L.
[Mr. Macdonald dates this letter December 31, 1828, perhaps rightly. I
have dated it at a venture April, 1829, because Moxon's _Christmas_ was
published in March of that year. It is the only letter to Mary Lamb's
nurse, Miss James, that exists. Mrs. Reynolds was Lamb's aged pensioner,
whom we have met. Pye died in 1813 and was succeeded by Southey. The
author of the witticism on his first ode was George Steevens, the
critic. The comment gained point from the circumstance that Pye had
drawn largely on images from bird life in his verses.]
LETTER 482
CHARLES LAMB TO H. CRABB ROBINSON
[P.M. April ? 1829.]
Dear Robinson, we are afraid you will slip from us from England without
again seeing us. It would be charity to come and see me. I have these
three days been laid up with strong rheumatic pains, in loins, back,
shoulders. I shriek sometimes from the violence of them. I get scarce
any sleep, and the consequence is, I am restless, and want to change
sides as I lie, and I cannot turn without resting on my hands, and so
turning all my body all at once like a log with a lever. While this
rainy weather lasts, I have no hope of alleviation. I have tried
flannels and embrocation in vain. Just at the hip joint the pangs
sometimes are so excruciating, that I cry out. It is as violent as the
cramp, and far more continuous. I am ashamed to whine about these
complaints to you, who can ill enter into them. But indeed they are
sharp. You go about, in rain or fine at all hours without discommodity.
I envy you your immunity at a time of life not much removed from my own.
But you owe your exemption to temperance, which it is too late for me to
pursue. I in my life time have had my good things. Hence my frame is
brittle--yours strong as brass. I never knew any ailment you had. You
can go out at night in all weathers, sit up all hours. Well, I don't
want to moralise. I only wish to say that if you are enclined to a game
at Doubly Dumby, I would try and bolster up myself in a chair for a
rubber or so. My days are tedious, but less so and less painful than my
nights. May you never know the pain and difficulty I have in writing so
much. Mary, who is most kind, joins in the wish.
C. LAMB.
LETTER 483
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON
[P.M. April 17, 1829.]
I do confess to mischief. It was the subtlest diabolical piece of
malice, heart of man has contrived. I have no more rheumatism than that
poker. Never was freer from all pains and aches. Every joint sound, to
the tip of the ear from the extremity of the lesser toe. The report of
thy torments was blown circuitously here from Bury. I could not resist
the jeer. I conceived you writhing, when you should just receive my
congratulations. How mad you'd be. Well, it is not in my method to
inflict pangs. I leave that to heaven. But in the existing pangs of a
friend, I have a share. His disquietude crowns my exemption. I imagine
you howling, and pace across the room, shooting out my free arms legs
&c.
[Illustration: Handrawn lines]
this way and that way, with an assurance of not kindling a spark of pain
from them. I deny that Nature meant us to sympathise with agonies. Those
face-contortions, retortions, distortions, have the merriness of antics.
Nature meant them for farce--not so pleasant to the actor indeed, but
Grimaldi cries when we laugh, and 'tis but one that suffers to make
thousands rejoyce.
You say that Shampooing is ineffectual. But _per se_ it is good, to show
the introv[ol]utions, extravolutions, of which the animal frame is
capable. To show what the creature is receptible of, short of
dissolution.
You are worst of nights, a'nt you?
Twill be as good as a Sermon to you to lie abed all this night, and
meditate the subject of the day. 'Tis Good Friday. How appropriate!
Think when but your little finger pains you, what endured to white-wash
you and the rest of us.
Nobody will be the more justified for your endurance. You won't save the
soul of a mouse. 'Tis a pure selfish pleasure.
You never was rack'd, was you? I should like an authentic map of those
feelings.
You seem to have the flying gout.
You can scarcely scrue a smile out of your face--can you? I sit at
immunity, and sneer _ad libitum._
'Tis now the time for you to make good resolutions. I may go on breaking
'em, for any thing the worse I find myself.
Your Doctor seems to keep you on the long cure. Precipitate healings are
never good.
Don't come while you are so bad. I shan't be able to attend to your
throes and the dumbee at once.
I should like to know how slowly the pain goes off. But don't write,
unless the motion will be likely to make your sensibility more
exquisite.
Your affectionate and truly healthy friend C. LAMB.
Mary thought a Letter from me might amuse you in your torment--
[Robinson was the victim of a sudden attack of acute rheumatism. He had
a course of Turkish baths at Brighton to cure him.]
LETTER 484
CHARLES LAMB TO GEORGE DYER
Enfield, April 29, 1829.
Dear Dyer--As well as a bad pen can do it, I must thank you for your
friendly attention to the wishes of our young friend Emma, who was
packing up for Bury when your sonnet arrived, and was too hurried to
express her sense of its merits. I know she will treasure up that and
your second communication among her choicest rarities, as from her
_grandfather's_ friend, whom not having seen, she loves to hear talked
of. The second letter shall be sent after her, with our first parcel to
Suffolk, where she is, to us, alas dead and Bury'd; we solely miss her.
Should you at any hour think of four or six lines, to send her,
addressed to herself simply, naming her grandsire, and to wish she may
pass through life as much respected, with your own G. Dyer at the end,
she would feel rich indeed, for the nature of an Album asks for verses
that have not been in print before; but this quite at your convenience:
and to be less trouble to yourself, four lines would be sufficient.
Enfield has come out in summer beauty. Come when you will and we will
give you a bed. Emma has left hers, you know. I remain, my dear Dyer,
your affectionate friend,
CHARLES LAMB.
[From _The Mirror_, 1841. Lamb made the same pun--Bury'd--to George Dyer
in his letter of December 5, 1808. His Album verses for Miss Isola I
have not seen.]
LETTER 485
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS HOOD
[No date. ? May, 1829.]
Dear Hood,--We will look out for you on Wednesday, be sure, tho' we have
not eyes like Emma, who, when I made her sit with her back to the window
to keep her to her Latin, literally saw round backwards every one that
past, and, O, [that] she were here to jump up and shriek out "There are
the Hoods!" We have had two pretty letters from her, which I long to
show you--together with Enfield in her May beauty.
Loves to Jane.
[_Here follow rough caricatures of Charles and his sister, and_] "I
can't draw no better."
[I have dated this letter May, 1829, because Miss Isola had just gone to
Fornham, in Suffolk, whence presumably the two letters had come.]
LETTER 486
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date.]
Calamy is _good reading_. Mary is always thankful for Books in her way.
I won't trouble you for any in _my way_ yet, having enough to read.
Young Hazlitt lives, at least his father does, at _3_ or _36_ [36 I have
it down, with the _6_ scratch'd out] Bouverie Street, Fleet Street. If
not to be found, his mother's address is, Mrs. Hazlitt, Mrs.
Tomlinson's, Potters Bar. At one or other he must be heard of. We shall
expect you with the full moon. Meantime, our thanks.
C.L.
We go on very quietly &c.
["Calamy" would be Edmund Calamy (1671-1732), the historian of
Nonconformity.
Mr. W.C. Hazlitt in his _Memoir of Hazlitt_ says that his grandfather
moved in 1829 to 3 Bouverie Street, and in the beginning of 1830 to 6
Frith Street, Soho. Young Hazlitt was William junior, afterwards Mr.
Registrar Hazlitt and then seventeen years of age.]
LETTER 487
CHARLES LAMB TO WALTER WILSON
May 28, 1829.
Dear W.,--Introduce this, or omit it, as you like. I think I wrote
better about it in a letter to you from India H. If you have that,
perhaps out of the two I could patch up a better thing, if you'd return
both. But I am very poorly, and have been harassed with an illness of my
sister's.
The Ode was printed in the "New Times" nearly the end of 1825, and I
have only omitted some silly lines. Call it a corrected copy.
Yours ever, C. LAMB.
Put my name to either or both, as you like.
[This letter contains Lamb's remarks on the Secondary Novels of Defoe,
printed in Wilson's _Life and Times of De Foe_, Chapter XVII. of Vol.
III., and also his "Ode to the Treadmill," which Wilson omitted from
that work. See Vols. I. and IV. of the present edition for both pieces.]
LETTER 488
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. June 3, 1829.]
Dear B.B.--I am very much grieved indeed for the indisposition of poor
Lucy. Your letter found me in domestic troubles. My sister is again
taken ill, and I am obliged to remove her out of the house for many
weeks, I fear, before I can hope to have her again. I have been very
desolate indeed. My loneliness is a little abated by our young friend
Emma having just come here for her holydays, and a schoolfellow of hers
that was, with her. Still the house is not the same, tho' she is the
same. Mary had been pleasing herself with the prospect of seeing her at
this time; and with all their company, the house feels at times a
frightful solitude. May you and I in no very long time have a more
cheerful theme to write about, and congratulate upon a daughter's and a
Sister's perfect recovery. Do not be long without telling me how Lucy
goes on. I have a right to call her by her quaker-name, you know.
Emma knows that I am writing to you, and begs to be remembered to you
with thankfulness for your ready contribution. Her album is filling
apace. But of her contributors one, almost the flower of it, a most
amiable young man and late acquaintance of mine, has been carried off by
consumption, on return from one of the Azores islands, to which he went
with hopes of mastering the disease, came back improved, went back to a
most close and confined counting house, and relapsed. His name was
Dibdin, Grandson of the Songster. You will be glad to hear that Emma,
tho' unknown to you, has given the highest satisfaction in her little
place of Governante in a Clergyman's family, which you may believe by
the Parson and his Lady drinking poor Mary's health on her birthday,
tho' they never saw her, merely because she was a friend of Emma's, and
the Vicar also sent me a brace of partridges. To get out of home themes,
have you seen Southey's Dialogues? His lake descriptions, and the
account of his Library at Keswick, are very fine. But he needed not have
called up the Ghost of More to hold the conversations with, which might
as well have pass'd between A and B, or Caius and Lucius. It is making
too free with a defunct Chancellor and Martyr.
I feel as if I had nothing farther to write about--O! I forget the
prettiest letter I ever read, that I have received from "Pleasures of
Memory" Rogers, in acknowledgment of a Sonnet I sent him on the Loss of
his Brother. It is too long to transcribe, but I hope to shew it you
some day, as I hope sometime again to see you, when all of us are well.
Only it ends thus "We were nearly of an age (he was the elder). He was
the only person in the world in whose eyes I always appeared young."--
I will now take my leave with assuring you that I am most interested in
hoping to hear favorable accounts from you.--
With kindest regards to A.K. and you
Yours truly, C.L.
["Lucy"--Lucy Barton.
"Your ready contribution." I do not find that Barton ever printed his
lines for Emma Isola's album.
"Dibdin"-John Bates Dibdin died in May, 1828.
Southey's _Sir Thomas More; or, Colloquies on the Progress and Prospects
of Society_, had just been published.
This was Rogers' letter:--
Many, many thanks. The verses are beautiful. I need not say with
what feelings they were read. Pray accept the grateful
acknowledgments of us all, and believe me when I say that nothing
could have been a greater cordial to us in our affliction than such
a testimony from such a quarter. He was --for none knew him so
well--we were born within a year or two of each other--a man of a
very high mind, and with less disguise than perhaps any that ever
lived. Whatever he was, _that_ we saw. He stood before his fellow
beings (if I may be forgiven for saying so) almost as before his
Maker: and God grant that we may all bear as severe an examination.
He was an admirable scholar. His Dante and his Homer were as
familiar to him as his Alphabets: and he had the tenderest heart.
When a flock of turkies was stolen from his farm, the indignation of
the poor far and wide was great and loud. To me he is the greatest
loss, for we were nearly of an age; and there is now no human being
alive in whose eyes I have always been young.
Under the date June 10, 1829, Mr. Macdonald prints a note from Lamb to
Ayrton, which states that he has two young friends in the house. Here,
therefore, I think, should come a letter from Lamb to William Hazlitt,
Junior, in which Lamb says that he cannot see Mrs. Hazlitt this time. He
adds that the ladies are very pleasant. Emma Isola adds a letter which
tells us that the ladies are herself and her friend Maria. This would be
the Maria of Lamb's sonnet "Harmony in Unlikeness," evidently written at
this time (see Vol. IV.).]
LETTER 489
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
Enfield Chase Side
Saturday 25 July A.D. 1829.--11 A.M.
There--a fuller plumper juiceier date never dropt from Idumean palm. Am
I in the dateive case now? if not, a fig for dates, which is more than a
date is worth. I never stood much affected to these limitary
specialities. Least of all since the date of my superannuation.
What have I with Time to do? } Dear B.B.--Your hand writing has
Slaves of desks, twas meant for you.} conveyed much pleasure to me
in report of Lucy's restoration. Would I could send you as good news of
my poor Lucy. But some wearisome weeks I must remain lonely yet. I have
had the loneliest time near 10 weeks, broken by a short apparition of
Emma for her holydays, whose departure only deepend the returning
solitude, and by 10 days I have past in Town. But Town, with all my
native hankering after it, is not what it was. The streets, the shops
are left, but all old friends are gone. And in London I was frightfully
convinced of this as I past houses and places--empty caskets now. I have
ceased to care almost about any body. The bodies I cared for are in
graves, or dispersed. My old Clubs, that lived so long and flourish'd so
steadily, are crumbled away. When I took leave of our adopted young
friend at Charing Cross, 'twas heavy unfeeling rain, and I had no where
to go. Home have I none--and not a sympathising house to turn to in the
great city. Never did the waters of the heaven pour down on a forlorner
head. Yet I tried 10 days at a sort of a friend's house, but it was
large and straggling--one of the individuals of my old long knot of
friends, card players, pleasant companions--that have tumbled to pieces
into dust and other things--and I got home on Thursday, convinced that I
was better to get home to my hole at Enfield, and hide like a sick cat
in my corner. Less than a month I hope will bring home Mary. She is at
Fulham, looking better in her health than ever, but sadly rambling, and
scarce showing any pleasure in seeing me, or curiosity when I should
come again. But the old feelings will come back again, and we shall
drown old sorrows over a game at Picquet again. But 'tis a tedious cut
out of a life of sixty four, to lose twelve or thirteen weeks every year
or two. And to make me more alone, our illtemperd maid is gone, who with
all her airs, was yet a home piece of furniture, a record of better
days; the young thing that has succeeded her is good and attentive, but
she is nothing--and I have no one here to talk over old matters with.
Scolding and quarreling have something of familiarity and a community of
interest--they imply acquaintance--they are of resentment, which is of
the family of dearness. I can neither scold nor quarrel at this
insignificant implement of household services; she is less than a cat,
and just better than a deal Dresser. What I can do, and do overdo, is to
walk, but deadly long are the days--these summer all-day days, with but
a half hour's candlelight and no firelight. I do not write, tell your
kind inquisitive Eliza, and can hardly read. In the ensuing Blackwood
will be an old rejected farce of mine, which may be new to you, if you
see that same dull Medley. What things are all the Magazines now! I
contrive studiously not to see them. The popular New Monthly is perfect
trash. Poor Hessey, I suppose you see, has failed. Hunt and Clarke too.
Your "Vulgar truths" will be a good name--and I think your prose must
please--me at least--but 'tis useless to write poetry with no
purchasers. 'Tis cold work Authorship without something to puff one into
fashion. Could you not write something on Quakerism--for Quakers to
read--but nominally addrest to Non Quakers? explaining your
dogmas--waiting on the Spirit--by the analogy of human calmness and
patient waiting on the judgment? I scarcely know what I mean, but to
make Non Quakers reconciled to your doctrines, by shewing something like
them in mere human operations--but I hardly understand myself, so let it
pass for nothing. I pity you for over-work, but I assure you no-work is
worse. The mind preys on itself, the most unwholesome food. I brag'd
formerly that I could not have too much time. I have a surfeit. With few
years to come, the days are wearisome. But weariness is not eternal.
Something will shine out to take the load off, that flags me, which is
at present intolerable. I have killed an hour or two in this poor
scrawl. I am a sanguinary murderer of time, and would kill him inchmeal
just now. But the snake is vital. Well, I shall write merrier
anon.--'Tis the present copy of my countenance I send--and to complain
is a little to alleviate.--May you enjoy yourself as far as the wicked
wood will let you--and think that you are not quite alone, as I am.
Health to Lucia and to Anna and kind rememb'ces.
Yours forlorn.
C.L.
["Out of a life of sixty-four." Mary Lamb was born December 3, 1764.
"Your kind ... Eliza"--Eliza Barton, Bernard's sister.
"Rejected farce." "The Pawnbroker's Daughter" was printed in
_Blackwood_, January, 1830.
"I brag'd formerly." Referring I think to his sonnet "Leisure."]
LETTER 490
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
[No date. Late July, 1829.]
My dear Allsop--I thank you for thinking of my recreation. But I am best
here, I feel I am. I have tried town lately, but came back worse. Here I
must wait till my loneliness has its natural cure. Besides that, though
I am not very sanguine, yet I live in hopes of better news from Fulham,
and can not be out of the way. 'Tis ten weeks to-morrow.--I saw Mary a
week since, she was in excellent bodily health, but otherwise far from
well. But a week or so may give a turn. Love to Mrs. A. and children,
and fair weather accomp'y you.
C.L.
Tuesday.
LETTER 491
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. Sept. 22, 1829.]
Dear Moxon, If you can oblige me with the Garrick Papers or Ann of
Gierstien, I shall be thankful. I am almost fearful whether my Sister
will be able to enjoy any reading at present for since her coming home,
after 12 weeks, she has had an unusual relapse into the saddest low
spirits that ever poor creature had, and has been some weeks under
medical care. She is unable to see any yet. When she is better I shall
be very glad to talk over your ramble with you. Have you done any
sonnets, can you send me any to overlook? I am almost in despair, Mary's
case seems so hopeless.
Believe me
Yours
C.L.
I do not want Mr. Jameson or Lady Morgan.
Enfield
Wedn'y
["The Garrick Papers." Lamb refers, I suppose, to the _Private
Correspondence of David Garrick_, in some form previous to its
publication in 1832.
"Anne of Geierstein." Scott's novel was published this year.
"Mr. Jameson." I cannot find any book by a Mr. Jameson likely to have
been offered to Lamb; but Mrs. Jameson's _Loves of the Poets_ was
published this year. Probably he meant to write Mrs. Jameson. Lady
Morgan was the author of _The Wild Irish Girl_ and other novels. Her
1829 book was _The Book of the Boudoir_.]
LETTER 492
CHARLES LAMB TO JAMES GILLMAN
Chase-Side, Enfield, 26th Oct., 1829.
Dear Gillman,--Allsop brought me your kind message yesterday. How can I
account for having not visited Highgate this long time? Change of place
seemed to have changed me. How grieved I was to hear in what indifferent
health Coleridge has been, and I not to know of it! A little school
divinity, well applied, may be healing. I send him honest Tom of Aquin;
that was always an obscure great idea to me: I never thought or dreamed
to see him in the flesh, but t'other day I rescued him from a stall in
Barbican, and brought him off in triumph. He comes to greet Coleridge's
acceptance, for his shoe-latchets I am unworthy to unloose. Yet there
are pretty pro's and con's, and such unsatisfactory learning in him.
Commend me to the question of etiquette-- "_utrum annunciatio debuerit
fieri per angelum_"--_Quaest. 30, Articilus 2_. I protest, till now I
had thought Gabriel a fellow of some mark and livelihood, not a simple
esquire, as I find him. Well, do not break your lay brains, nor I
neither, with these curious nothings. They are nuts to our dear friend,
whom hoping to see at your first friendly hint that it will be
convenient, I end with begging our very kindest loves to Mrs. Gillman.
We have had a sorry house of it here. Our spirits have been reduced till
we were at hope's end what to do-- obliged to quit this house, and
afraid to engage another, till in extremity I took the desperate resolve
of kicking house and all down, like Bunyan's pack; and here we are in a
new life at board and lodging, with an honest couple our neighbours. We
have ridded ourselves of the cares of dirty acres; and the change,
though of less than a week, has had the most beneficial effects on Mary
already. She looks two years and a half younger for it. But we have had
sore trials.
God send us one happy meeting!--Yours faithfully,
C. LAMB.
["The question of etiquette." See the _Summa Theologies_, Pars Tertia,
Quest. XXX., Articulus II. It would be interesting to know whether Lamb
remembered an earlier letter in which he had set Coleridge some similar
"nuts."
"In a new life." The Lambs moved next door, to the Westwoods. The house,
altered externally, still stands (1912) and is known as "Westwood
Cottage."]
LETTER 493
CHARLES LAMB TO VINCENT NOVELLO
[P.M. Probably Nov. 10, 1829.]
Dear FUGUE-IST,
or hear'st thou rather
CONTRAPUNTIST--?
We expect you four (as many as the Table will hold without squeeging) at
Mrs. Westwood's Table D'Hote on Thursday. You will find the White House
shut up, and us moved under the wing of the Phoenix, which gives us
friendly refuge. Beds for guests, marry, we have none, but cleanly
accomodings at the Crown & Horseshoe.
Yours harmonically,
C.L.
[Addressed: Vincentio (what Ho!) Novello, a Squire, 66, Great Queen
Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields.]
["The Phoenix." Mr. Westwood was agent for the Phoenix Insurance
Company, and the badge of that office was probably on the house.]
LETTER 494
CHARLES LAMB TO WALTER WILSON
Enfield, 15th November, 1829.
My dear Wilson,--I have not opened a packet of unknown contents for many
years, that gave me so much pleasure as when I disclosed your three
volumes. I have given them a careful perusal, and they have taken their
degree of classical books upon my shelves. De Foe was always my darling;
but what darkness was I in as to far the larger part of his writings! I
have now an epitome of them all. I think the way in which you have done
the "Life" the most judicious you could have pitched upon. You have made
him tell his own story, and your comments are in keeping with the tale.
Why, I never heard of such a work as "the Review." Strange that in my
stall-hunting days I never so much as lit upon an odd volume of it. This
circumstance looks as if they were never of any great circulation. But I
may have met with 'em, and not knowing the prize, overpast 'em. I was
almost a stranger to the whole history of Dissenters in those reigns,
and picked my way through that strange book the "Consolidator" at
random. How affecting are some of his personal appeals! what a machine
of projects he set on foot! and following writers have picked his pocket
of the patents. I do not understand where-abouts in _Roxana_ he himself
left off. I always thought the complete-tourist-sort of description of
the town she passes through on her last embarkation miserably
unseasonable and out of place. I knew not they were spurious. Enlighten
me as to where the apocryphal matter commences. I, by accident, can
correct one A.D. "Family Instructor," vol. ii. 1718; you say his first
volume had then reached the fourth edition; now I have a fifth, printed
for Eman. Matthews, 1717. So have I plucked one rotten date, or rather
picked it up where it had inadvertently fallen, from your flourishing
date tree, the Palm of Engaddi. I may take it for my pains. I think
yours a book which every public library must have, and every English
scholar should have. I am sure it has enriched my meagre stock of the
author's works. I seem to be twice as opulent. Mary is by my side just
finishing the second volume. It must have interest to divert her away so
long from her modern novels. Colburn will be quite jealous. I was a
little disappointed at my "Ode to the Treadmill" not finding a place;
but it came out of time. The two papers of mine will puzzle the reader,
being so akin. Odd that, never keeping a scrap of my own letters, with
some fifteen years' interval I should nearly have said the same things.
But I shall always feel happy in having my name go down any how with De
Foe's, and that of his historiographer. I promise myself, if not
immortality, yet diuternity of being read in consequence. We have both
had much illness this year; and feeling infirmities and fretfulness grow
upon us, we have cast off the cares of housekeeping, sold off our goods,
and commenced boarding and lodging with a very comfortable old couple
next door to where you found us. We use a sort of common table.
Nevertheless, we have reserved a private one for an old friend; and when
Mrs. Wilson and you revisit Babylon, we shall pray you to make it yours
for a season. Our very kindest remembrances to you both. From your old
friend and _fellow-journalist_, now in _two instances_,
C. LAMB.
Hazlitt is going to make your book a basis for a review of De Foe's
Novels in the "Edinbro'." I wish I had health and spirits to do it. Hone
I have not seen, but I doubt not he will be much pleased with your
performance. I very much hope you will give us an account of Dunton, &c.
But what I should more like to see would be a Life and Times of Bunyan.
Wishing health to you and long life to your healthy book, again I
subscribe me,
Yours in verity,
C.L.
[Wilson's _Memoirs of the Life and Times of Daniel De Foe_ had just been
published in three volumes, with the date 1830.
Defoe's _Review_ was started in February, 1704, under the title, _A
Review of the Affairs of France.... purged from the Errors and
Partiality of News-writers, and Petty-Statesmen, of all sides_. It
continued until May, 1713. _The Consolidator; or, Memoirs of sundry
Transactions from the world in the moon. Translated from the Lunar
Language_, was published in 1765, a political satire, which, it has been
thought, gave hints to Swift for Gulliver.
Lamb had sent Wilson his "Ode to the Treadmill." The substance of his
letter of December 16, 1822, was printed by Wilson in Chapter XXII. of
Vol. III.; the new material which he wrote especially for the book, was
printed in Chapter XVII. of the same volume. The space dividing them was
not fifteen years but seven.
"Diuternity." Spelt "diuturnity." A rare word signifying long duration.
"_Fellow-journalist_." The other instance would be in connection with
the journals of the India House, where Wilson had once been a clerk with
Lamb.
Hazlitt's review of Wilson's book is in the _Edinburgh_ for January,
1830, with this reference to Lamb's criticisms: "_Captain Singleton_ is
a hardened, brutal desperado, without one redeeming trait, or almost
human feeling; and, in spite of what Mr. Lamb says of his lonely musings
and agonies of a conscience-stricken repentance, we find nothing of this
in the text."
"Dunton." This would be John Dunton (1659-1733), the bookseller, and
author of _The Athenian Gazette, Dunton's Whipping-Post_, and scores of
pamphlets and satires.]
LETTER 495
(_? Fragment_)
CHARLES LAMB TO JAMES GILLMAN
[No date. ? November 29, 1829.]
Pray trust me with the "Church History," as well as the "Worthies." A
moon shall restore both. Also give me back Him of Aquinum. In return you
have the _light of my countenance_. Adieu.
P.S.--A sister also of mine comes with it. A son of Nimshi drives her.
Their driving will have been furious, impassioned. Pray God they have
not toppled over the tunnel! I promise you I fear their steed, bred out
of the wind without father, semi-Melchisedecish, hot, phaetontic. From
my country lodgings at Enfield.
C.L.
[The _Church History_ and the _Worthies_ are by Fuller.
"Light of my countenance." Mr. Hazlitt says that this was a copy of
Brook Pulham's etching.
"The tunnel"--the Highgate Archway.]
LETTER 496
CHARLES LAMB TO JAMES GILLMAN
30 Nov., 1829.
Dear G.,--The excursionists reached home, and the good town of Enfield a
little after four, without slip or dislocation. Little has transpired
concerning the events of the back-journey, save that on passing the
house of 'Squire Mellish, situate a stone-bow's cast from the hamlet,
Father Westwood, with a good-natured wonderment, exclaimed, "I cannot
think what is gone of Mr. Mellish's rooks. I fancy they have taken
flight somewhere; but I have missed them two or three years past." All
this while, according to his fellow-traveller's report, the rookery was
darkening the air above with undiminished population, and deafening all
ears but his with their cawings. But nature has been gently withdrawing
such phenomena from the notice of Thomas Westwood's senses, from the
time he began to miss the rooks. T. Westwood has passed a retired life
in this hamlet of thirty or forty years, living upon the minimum which
is consistent with gentility, yet a star among the minor gentry,
receiving the bows of the tradespeople and courtesies of the alms' women
daily. Children venerate him not less for his external show of gentry,
than they wonder at him for a gentle rising endorsation of the person,
not amounting to a hump, or if a hump, innocuous as the hump of the
buffalo, and coronative of as mild qualities. 'Tis a throne on which
patience seems to sit--the proud perch of a self-respecting humility,
stooping with condescension. Thereupon the cares of life have sate, and
rid him easily. For he has thrid the _angustiae domûs_ with dexterity.
Life opened upon him with comparative brilliancy. He set out as a rider
or traveller for a wholesale house, in which capacity he tells of many
hair-breadth escapes that befell him; one especially, how he rode a mad
horse into the town of Devizes; how horse and rider arrived in a foam,
to the utter consternation of the expostulating hostlers, inn-keepers,
&c. It seems it was sultry weather, piping hot; the steed tormented into
frenzy with gad-flies, long past being roadworthy; but safety and the
interest of the house he rode for were incompatible things; a fall in
serge cloth was expected; and a mad entrance they made of it. Whether
the exploit was purely voluntary, or partially; or whether a certain
personal defiguration in the man part of this extraordinary centaur
(non-assistive to partition of natures) might not enforce the
conjunction, I stand not to inquire. I look not with 'skew eyes into the
deeds of heroes. The hosier that was burnt with his shop, in Field-lane,
on Tuesday night, shall have past to heaven for me like a Marian Martyr,
provided always, that he consecrated the fortuitous incremation with a
short ejaculation in the exit, as much as if he had taken his state
degrees of martyrdom _in formâ_ in the market vicinage. There is
adoptive as well as acquisitive sacrifice. Be the animus what it might,
the fact is indisputable, that this composition was seen flying all
abroad, and mine host of Daintry may yet remember its passing through
his town, if his scores are not more faithful than his memory. After
this exploit (enough for one man), Thomas Westwood seems to have
subsided into a less hazardous occupation; and in the twenty-fifth year
of his age we find him a haberdasher in Bow Lane: yet still retentive of
his early riding (though leaving it to rawer stomachs), and Christmasly
at night sithence to this last, and shall to his latest Christmas, hath
he, doth he, and shall he, tell after supper the story of the insane
steed and the desperate rider. Save for Bedlam or Luke's no eye could
have guessed that melting day what house he rid for. But he reposes on
his bridles, and after the ups and downs (metaphoric only) of a life
behind the counter--hard riding sometimes, I fear, for poor T.W.--with
the scrapings together of the shop, and _one anecdote_, he hath finally
settled at Enfield; by hard economising, gardening, building for
himself, hath reared a mansion, married a daughter, qualified a son for
a counting-house, gotten the respect of high and low, served for self or
substitute the greater parish offices: hath a special voice at vestries;
and, domiciliating us, hath reflected a portion of his house-keeping
respectability upon your humble servants. We are greater, being his
lodgers, than when we were substantial renters. His name is a passport
to take off the sneers of the native Enfielders against obnoxious
foreigners. We are endenizened. Thus much of T. Westwood have I thought
fit to acquaint you, that you may see the exemplary reliance upon
Providence with which I entrusted so dear a charge as my own sister to
the guidance of a man that rode the mad horse into Devizes. To come from
his heroic character, all the amiable qualities of domestic life
concentre in this tamed Bellerophon. He is excellent over a glass of
grog; just as pleasant without it; laughs when he hears a joke, and when
(which is much oftener) he hears it not; sings glorious old sea songs on
festival nights; and but upon a slight acquaintance of two years,
Coleridge, is as dear a deaf old man to us, as old Norris, rest his
soul! was after fifty. To him and his scanty literature (what there is
of it, _sound_) have we flown from the metropolis and its cursed
annualists, reviewers, authors, and the whole muddy ink press of that
stagnant pool.
Now, Gillman again, you do not know the treasure of the Fullers. I
calculate on having massy reading till Christmas. All I want here, is
books of the true sort, not those things in boards that moderns mistake
for books--what they club for at book clubs.
I did not mean to cheat you with a blank side; but my eye smarts, for
which I am taking medicine, and abstain, this day at least, from any
aliments but milk-porridge, the innocent taste of which I am anxious to
renew after a half-century's dis-acquaintance. If a blot fall here like
a tear, it is not pathos, but an angry eye.
Farewell, while my _specilla_ are sound.
Yours and yours,
C. LAMB.
[This letter records the safe return of Mary Lamb with the Fullers.
"Squire Mellish." William Mellish, M.P. for Middlesex for some years.
Thomas Westwood's son, for whom Lamb found an appointment, wrote some
excellent articles in _Notes and Queries_ many years later describing
the Lambs' life at his father's.
"Old Norris." See letter to Crabb Robinson, Jan. 20, 1827.
_Specilla_ is probably a slip for _Conspicilla_.]
LETTER 497
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. December 8, 1829.]
My dear B.B.--You are very good to have been uneasy
about us, and I have the satisfaction to tell you, that we
are both in better health and spirits than we have been for a year
or two past; I may say, than we have been since we have been
at Enfield. The cause may not appear quite adequate, when
I tell you, that a course of ill health and spirits brought us to the
determination of giving up our house here, and we are boarding
and lodging with a worthy old couple, long inhabitants
of Enfield, where everything is done for us without our trouble,
further than a reasonable weekly payment. We should have
done so before, but it is not easy to flesh and blood to give up an
ancient establishment, to discard old Penates, and from house
keepers to turn house-sharers. (N.B. We are not in the Work-house.)
Dioclesian in his garden found more repose than
on the imperial seat of Rome, and the nob of Charles the Fifth
aked seldomer under a monk's cowl than under the diadem.
With such shadows of assimilation we countenance our degradation.
With such a load of dignifyd cares just removed from
our shoulders, we can the more understand and pity the accession
to yours, by the advancement to an Assigneeship. I will
tell you honestly B.B. that it has been long my deliberate judgment,
that all Bankrupts, of what denomination civil or religious
whatever, ought to be hang'd. The pity of mankind has for
ages run in a wrong channel, and has been diverted from poor
Creditors (how many I have known sufferers! Hazlitt has just
been defrauded of £100 by his Bookseller-friend's breaking)
to scoundrel Debtors. I know all the topics, that distress may
come upon an honest man without his fault, that the failure of
one that he trusted was his calamity &c. &c. Then let _both_ be
hang'd. O how careful it would make traders! These are
my deliberate thoughts after many years' experience in matters
of trade. What a world of trouble it would save you, if Friend
* * * * * had been immediately hangd, without benefit of
clergy, which (being a Quaker I presume) he could not
reasonably insist upon. Why, after slaving twelve months
in your assign-business, you will be enabled to declare seven
pence in the Pound in all human probabilty. B.B., he should
be _hanged_. Trade will never re-flourish in this land till such
a Law is establish'd. I write big not to save ink but eyes,
mine having been troubled with reading thro' three folios of
old Fuller in almost as few days, and I went to bed last
night in agony, and am writing with a vial of eye water before
me, alternately dipping in vial and inkstand. This may enflame
my zeal against Bankrupts--but it was my speculation when
I could see better. Half the world's misery (Eden else) is
owing to want of money, and all that want is owing to Bankrupts.
I declare I would, if the State wanted Practitioners,
turn Hangman myself, and should have great pleasure in
hanging the first after my salutary law should be establish'd.
I have seen no annuals and wish to see none. I like your
fun upon them, and was quite pleased with Bowles's sonnet.
Hood is or was at Brighton, but a note, prose or rhime, to him,
Robert Street, Adelphi, I am sure would extract a copy of
_his_, which also I have not seen. Wishing you and yours all
Health, I conclude while these frail glasses are to me--eyes.
C.L.
["Dioclesian." The Emperor Diocletian abdicated the throne after
twenty-one years' reign, and retired to his garden. Charles V. of
Germany imitated the Roman Emperor, and after thirty-six years took the
cowl.
"Hazlitt has just been defrauded." The failure of Hunt & Clarke, the
publishers of the _Life of Napoleon_, cost Hazlitt £500. He had received
only £140 towards this, in a bill which on their insolvency became
worthless.
"Friend * * * * *." Not identifiable.]
LETTER 498
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
[P.M. January 22, 1830.]
And is it a year since we parted from you at the steps of Edmonton
Stage? There are not now the years that there used to be. The tale of
the dwindled age of men, reported of successional mankind, is true of
the same man only. We do not live a year in a year now. 'Tis a punctum
stans. The seasons pass us with indifference. Spring cheers not, nor
winter heightens our gloom, Autumn hath foregone its moralities, they
are hey-pass re-pass [as] in a show-box. Yet as far as last year occurs
back, for they scarce shew a reflex now, they make no memory as
heretofore--'twas sufficiently gloomy. Let the sullen nothing pass.
Suffice it that after sad spirits prolonged thro' many of its months, as
it called them, we have cast our skins, have taken a farewell of the
pompous troublesome trifle calld housekeeping, and are settled down into
poor boarders and lodgers at next door with an old couple, the Baucis
and Baucida of dull Enfield. Here we have nothing to do with our
victuals but to eat them, with the garden but to see it grow, with the
tax gatherer but to hear him knock, with the maid but to hear her
scolded. Scot and lot, butcher, baker, are things unknown to us save as
spectators of the pageant. We are fed we know not how, quietists,
confiding ravens. We have the otium pro dignitate, a respectable
insignificance. Yet in the self condemned obliviousness, in the
stagnation, some molesting yearnings of life, not quite kill'd, rise,
prompting me that there was a London, and that I was of that old
Jerusalem. In dreams I am in Fleetmarket, but I wake and cry to sleep
again. I die hard, a stubborn Eloisa in this detestable Paraclete. What
have I gained by health? intolerable dulness. What by early hours and
moderate meals?--a total blank. O never let the lying poets be believed,
who 'tice men from the chearful haunts of streets--or think they mean it
not of a country village. In the ruins of Palmyra I could gird myself up
to solitude, or muse to the snorings of the Seven Sleepers, but to have
a little teazing image of a town about one, country folks that do not
look like country folks, shops two yards square, half a dozen apples and
two penn'orth of overlookd gingerbread for the lofty fruiterers of
Oxford Street--and, for the immortal book and print stalls, a
circulating library that stands still, where the shew-picture is a last
year's Valentine, and whither the fame of the last ten Scotch novels has
not yet travel'd (marry, they just begin to be conscious of the Red
Gauntlet), to have a new plasterd flat church, and to be wishing that it
was but a Cathedral. The very blackguards here are degenerate. The
topping gentry, stock brokers. The passengers too many to ensure your
quiet, or let you go about whistling, or gaping--too few to be the fine
indifferent pageants of Fleet Street. Confining, room-keeping thickest
winter is yet more bearable here than the gaudy months. Among one's
books at one's fire by candle one is soothed into an oblivion that one
is not in the country, but with the light the green fields return, till
I gaze, and in a calenture can plunge myself into Saint Giles's. O let
no native Londoner imagine that health, and rest, and innocent
occupation, interchange of converse sweet and recreative study, can make
the country any thing better than altogether odious and detestable. A
garden was the primitive prison till man with promethean felicity and
boldness luckily sinn'd himself out of it. Thence followd Babylon,
Nineveh, Venice, London, haberdashers, goldsmiths, taverns, playhouses,
satires, epigrams, puns--these all came in on the town part, and the
thither side of innocence. Man found out inventions.
From my den I return you condolence for your decaying sight, not for any
thing there is to see in the country, but for the miss of the pleasure
of reading a London newspaper. The poets are as well to listen to, any
thing high may, nay must, be read out--you read it to yourself with an
imaginary auditor--but the light paragraphs must be glid over by the
proper eye, mouthing mumbles their gossamery substance. 'Tis these
trifles I should mourn in fading sight. A newspaper is the single gleam
of comfort I receive here, it comes from rich Cathay with tidings of
mankind. Yet I could not attend to it read out by the most beloved
voice. But your eyes do not get worse, I gather. O for the collyrium of
Tobias inclosed in a whiting's liver to send you with no apocryphal good
wishes! The last long time I heard from you, you had knock'd your head
against something. Do not do so. For your head (I do not flatter) is not
a nob, or the top of a brass nail, or the end of a nine pin--unless a
Vulcanian hammer could fairly batter a Recluse out of it, then would I
bid the smirch'd god knock and knock lustily, the two-handed skinker.
What a nice long letter Dorothy has written! Mary must squeeze out a
line propriâ manu, but indeed her fingers have been incorrigibly nervous
to letter writing for a long interval. 'Twill please you all to hear
that, tho' I fret like a lion in a net, her present health and spirits
are better than they have been for some time past: she is absolutely
three years and a half younger, as I tell her, since we have adopted
this boarding plan. Our providers are an honest pair, dame Westwood and
her husband--he, when the light of prosperity shined on them, a
moderately thriving haberdasher within Bow Bells, retired since with
something under a competence, writes himself parcel gentleman, hath
borne parish offices, sings fine old sea songs at threescore and ten,
sighs only now and then when he thinks that he has a son on his hands
about 15, whom he finds a difficulty in getting out into the world, and
then checks a sigh with muttering, as I once heard him prettily, not
meaning to be heard, "I have married my daughter however,"--takes the
weather as it comes, outsides it to town in severest season, and a'
winter nights tells old stories not tending to literature, how
comfortable to author-rid folks! and has _one anecdote_, upon which and
about forty pounds a year he seems to have retired in green old age. It
was how he was a _rider_ in his youth, travelling for shops, and once
(not to baulk his employer's bargain) on a sweltering day in August,
rode foaming into Dunstable upon a _mad horse_ to the dismay and
expostulary wonderment of innkeepers, ostlers &c. who declared they
would not have bestrid the beast to win the Darby. Understand the
creature gall'd to death and desperation by gad flies, cormorants
winged, worse than beset Inachus' daughter. This he tells, this he
brindles and burnishes on a' winter's eves, 'tis his star of set glory,
his rejuvenescence to descant upon. Far from me be it (dii avertant) to
look a gift story in the mouth, or cruelly to surmise (as those who
doubt the plunge of Curtius) that the inseparate conjuncture of man and
beast, the centaur-phenomenon that staggerd all Dunstable, might have
been the effect of unromantic necessity, that the horse-part carried the
reasoning, willy nilly, that needs must when such a devil drove, that
certain spiral configurations in the frame of Thomas Westwood unfriendly
to alighting, made the alliance more forcible than voluntary. Let him
enjoy his fame for me, nor let me hint a whisper that shall dismount
Bellerophon. Put case he was an involuntary martyr, yet if in the fiery
conflict he buckled the soul of a constant haberdasher to him, and
adopted his flames, let Accident and He share the glory! You would all
like Thomas Westwood.
[Illustration: Hand drawn sketch]
How weak is painting to describe a man! Say that he stands four feet and
a nail high by his own yard measure, which like the Sceptre of Agamemnon
shall never sprout again, still you have no adequate idea, nor when I
tell you that his dear hump, which I have favord in the picture, seems
to me of the buffalo--indicative and repository of mild qualities, a
budget of kindnesses, still you have not the man. Knew you old Norris of
the Temple, 60 years ours and our father's friend, he was not more
natural to us than this old W. the acquaintance of scarce more weeks.
Under his roof now ought I to take my rest, but that back-looking
ambition tells me I might yet be a Londoner. Well, if we ever do move,
we have encumbrances the less to impede us: all our furniture has faded
under the auctioneer's hammer, going for nothing like the tarnishd
frippery of the prodigal, and we have only a spoon or two left to bless
us. Clothed we came into Enfield, and naked we must go out of it. I
would live in London shirtless, bookless. Henry Crabb is at Rome,
advices to that effect have reach'd Bury. But by solemn legacy he
bequeath'd at parting (whether he should live or die) a Turkey of
Suffolk to be sent every succeeding Xmas to us and divers other friends.
What a genuine old Bachelor's action! I fear he will find the air of
Italy too classic. His station is in the Hartz forest, his soul is
_Bego'ethed_. Miss Kelly we never see; Talfourd not this half-year; the
latter flourishes, but the exact number of his children, God forgive me,
I have utterly forgotten, we single people are often out in our count
there. Shall I say two? One darling I know they have lost within a
twelvemonth, but scarce known to me by sight, and that was a second
child lost. We see scarce anybody. We have just now Emma with us for her
holydays; you remember her playing at brag with Mr. Quillinan at poor
Monkhouse's! She is grown an agreeable young woman; she sees what I
write, so you may understand me with limitations. She was our inmate for
a twelvemonth, grew natural to us, and then they told us it was best for
her to go out as a Governess, and so she went out, and we were only two
of us, and our pleasant house-mate is changed to an occasional visitor.
If they want my sister to go out (as they call it) there will be only
one of us. Heaven keep us all from this acceding to Unity!
Can I cram loves enough to you all in this little O? Excuse
particularizing.
C.L.
LETTER 499
MARY LAMB TO DOROTHY WORDSWORTH
(_Same letter_)
My dear Miss Wordsworth, Charles has left me space to fill up with my
own poor scribble; which I must do as well as I can, being quite out of
practise, and after he has been reading his queer letter out to us I can
hardly put down in a plain style all I had to tell you, how pleasant
your handwriting was to me. He has lumped you all together in one rude
remembrance at the end, but I beg to send my love individually and by
name to Mr. and Mrs. Wordsworth, to Miss Hutchinson, whom we often talk
of, and think of as being with you always, to the dutiful good daughter
and patient amanuensis Dora, and even to Johanna, whom we have not seen,
if she will accept it. Charles has told you of my long illness and our
present settlement, which I assure you is very quiet and comfortable to
me, and to him too, if he would own it. I am very sorry we shall not see
John, but I never go to town, nor my brother but at his quarterly visits
at the India House, and when he does, he finds it melancholy, so many of
our old friends being dead or dispersed, and the very streets, he says
altering every day. Many thanks for your Letter and the nice news in it,
which I should have replied to more at large than I see he has done. I
am sure it deserved it. He has not said a word about your intentions for
Rome, which I sincerely wish you health one day to accomplish. In that
case we may meet by the way. We are so glad to hear dear _little_
William is doing well. If you knew how happy your letters made us you
would write I know more frequently. Pray think of this. How chearfully
should we pay the postage _every week_.
Your affectionate
MARY LAMB.
["Baucis and Baucida." A slip, I suppose, for Philemon and Baucis (Ovid,
_Metamorphoses_).
_Redgauntlet_ dated from 1824.
"In a calenture." A calenture is a form of fever at sea in which the
sufferer believes himself to be surrounded by green fields, and often
leaps overboard. Wordsworth describes one in "The Brothers."
"A Recluse"--Wordsworth's promised poem, that was never completed. First
printed in 1888.
Inachus' daughter was Io, persecuted by a malignant insect sent by Juno.
"Henry Crabb." Crabb Robinson was a personal friend of Goethe's. He had
spent some days with him at Weimar in the summer of 1829. Goethe told
Robinson that he admired Lamb's sonnet "The Family Name."
"Mr. Quillinan"--Edward Quillinan, afterwards Wordsworth's son-in-law.
"Johanna." Joanna Hutchinson, Mrs. Wordsworth's sister. Joanna of the
laugh.
"John." John Wordsworth, Wordsworth's eldest son, was now twenty-six;
William, Wordsworth's second son, no longer little, was nineteen.]
LETTER 500
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. 25 February, 1830.]
Dear B.B.--To reply to you by return of post, I must gobble up my
dinner, and dispatch this in propriâ Personâ to the office, to be in
time. So take it from me hastily, that you are perfectly welcome to
furnish A.C. with the scrap, which I had almost forgotten writing. The
more my character comes to be known, the less my veracity will come to
be suspected. Time every day clears up some suspected narrative of
Herodotus, Bruce, and others of us great Travellers. Why, that Joseph
Paice was as real a person as Joseph Hume, and a great deal pleasanter.
A careful observer of life, Bernard, has no need to invent. Nature
romances it for him. Dinner plates rattle, and I positively shall incur
indigestion by carrying it half concocted to the Post House. Let me
congratulate you on the Spring coming in, and do you in return condole
with me for the Winter going out. When the old one goes, seldome comes a
better. I dread the prospect of Summer, with his all day long days. No
need of his assistance to make country places dull. With fire and candle
light, I can dream myself in Holborn. With lightsome skies shining in to
bed time, I can not. This Meseck, and these tents of Kedar--I would
dwell in the skirts of Jericho rather, and think every blast of the
coming in Mail a Ram's Horn. Give me old London at Fire and Plague
times, rather than these tepid gales, healthy country air, and
purposeless exercise. Leg of mutton absolutely on the table.
Take our hasty loves and short farewell.
C.L.
[A.C. was Allan Cunningham, who wanted Lamb's letter on Blake (see
above) for his _Lives of the Painters_. It was not, however, used there
until included in Mrs. Charles Heaton's edition in Bohn's Library.
"Bruce"--the Abyssinian explorer, whom the Christ's Hospital boys used
to emulate, as Lamb tells us in the _Elia_ essay on Newspapers.
"Joseph Paice"--a Director of the South-Sea Company and Lamb's first
employer, of whom he writes in the _Elia_ essay on "Modern Gallantry"
(see notes to Vol. II.).
Here should come a letter to Moxon, February 21, 1830, saying that a
letter has just arrived from Mrs. Williams indicating that Miss Isola
was not well and must have a long holiday. The illness increased very
rapidly, becoming a serious attack of brain fever.]
LETTER 501
CHARLCHARLES TO MRS. WILLIAMS
[February 26, 1830.]
Dear Madam,--May God bless you for your attention to our poor Emma! I am
so shaken with your sad news I can scarce write. She is too ill to be
removed at present; but we can only say that if she is spared, when that
can be practicable, we have always a home for her. Speak to her of it,
when she is capable of understanding, and let me conjure you to let us
know from day to day, the state she is in. But one line is all we crave.
Nothing we can do for her, that shall not be done. We shall be in the
terriblest suspense. We had no notion she was going to be ill. A line
from anybody in your house will much oblige us. I feel for the situation
this trouble places you in.
Can I go to her aunt, or do anything? I do not know what to offer. We
are in great distress. Pray relieve us, if you can, by somehow letting
us know. I will fetch her here, or anything. Your kindness can never be
forgot. Pray excuse my abruptness. I hardly know what I write. And take
our warmest thanks. Hoping to hear something, I remain, dear Madam,
Yours most faithfully,
C. LAMB.
Our grateful respects to Mr. Williams.
LETTER 502
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. WILLIAMS
Enfield, 1 March, 1830.
Dear Madam,--We cannot thank you enough. Your two words "much better"
were so considerate and good. The good news affected my sister to an
agony of tears; but they have relieved us from such a weight. We were
ready to expect the worst, and were hardly able to bear the good
hearing. You speak so kindly of her, too, and think she may be able to
resume her duties. We were prepared, as far as our humble means would
have enabled us, to have taken her from all duties. But, far better for
the dear girl it is that she should have a prospect of being useful.
I am sure you will pardon my writing again; for my heart is so full,
that it was impossible to refrain. Many thanks for your offer to write
again, should any change take place. I dare not yet be quite out of
fear, the alteration has been so sudden. But I will hope you will have a
respite from the trouble of writing again. I know no expression to
convey a sense of your kindness. We were in such a state expecting the
post. I had almost resolved to come as near you as Bury; but my sister's
health does not permit my absence on melancholy occasions. But, O, how
happy will she be to part with me, when I shall hear the agreeable news
that I may come and fetch her. She shall be as quiet as possible. No
restorative means shall be wanting to restore her back to you well and
comfortable.
She will make up for this sad interruption of her young friend's
studies. I am sure she will--she must--after you have spared her for a
little time. Change of scene may do very much for her. I think this last
proof of your kindness to her in her desolate state can hardly make her
love and respect you more than she has ever done. O, how glad shall we
be to return her fit for her occupation. Madam, I trouble you with my
nonsense; but you would forgive me, if you knew how light-hearted you
have made two poor souls at Enfield, that were gasping for news of their
poor friend. I will pray for you and Mr. Williams. Give our very best
respects to him, and accept our thanks. We are happier than we hardly
know how to bear. God bless you! My very kindest congratulations to Miss
Humphreys.
Believe me, dear Madam,
Your ever obliged servant,
C. LAMB.
LETTER 503
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HAZLITT
March 4th, 1830.
Dear Sarah,--I was meditating to come and see you, but I am unable for
the walk. We are both very unwell, and under affliction for poor Emma,
who has had a very dangerous brain fever, and is lying very ill at Bury,
from whence I expect a summons to fetch her. We are very sorry for your
confinement. Any books I have are at your service. I am almost, I may
say _quite_, sure that letters to India pay no postage, and may go by
the regular Post Office, now in St. Martin's le Grand. I think any
receiving house would take them--
I wish I could confirm your hopes about Dick Norris. But it is quite a
dream. Some old Bencher of his surname is made _Treasurer_ for the year,
I suppose, which is an annual office. Norris was Sub-Treasurer, quite a
different thing. They were pretty well in the Summer, since when we have
heard nothing of them. Mrs. Reynolds is better than she has been for
years; she is with a disagreeable woman that she has taken a mighty
fancy to out of spite to a rival woman she used to live and quarrel
with; she grows quite _fat_, they tell me, and may live as long as I do,
to be a tormenting rent-charge to my diminish'd income. We go on pretty
comfortably in our new plan. I will come and have a talk with you when
poor Emma's affair is settled, and will bring books. At present I am
weak, and could hardly bring my legs home yesterday after a much shorter
stroll than to Northaw. Mary has got her bonnet on for a short
expedition. May you get better, as the Spring comes on. She sends her
best love with mine.
C.L.
[Addressed to "Mrs. Hazlitt, Mrs. Tomlinson's, Northaw, near Potter's
Bar, Herts."
Mrs. Hazlitt was in later years a sufferer from rheumatism. Dick Norris
was the son of Randal Norris. He had retired to Widford. Mrs. Reynolds,
Lamb's old schoolmistress and dependant, we have met.]
LETTER 504
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. WILLIAMS
Enfield, 5 Mar., 1830.
Dear Madam,--I feel greatly obliged by your letter of Tuesday, and
should not have troubled you again so soon, but that you express a wish
to hear that our anxiety was relieved by the assurances in it. You have
indeed given us much comfort respecting our young friend, but
considerable uneasiness respecting your own health and spirits, which
must have suffered under such attention. Pray believe me that we shall
wait in quiet hope for the time when I shall receive the welcome summons
to come and relieve you from a charge, which you have executed with such
tenderness. We desire nothing so much as to exchange it with you.
Nothing shall be wanting on my part to remove her with the best judgment
I can, without (I hope) any necessity for depriving you of the services
of your valuable housekeeper. Until the day comes, we entreat that you
will spare yourself the trouble of writing, which we should be ashamed
to impose upon you in your present weak state. Not hearing from you, we
shall be satisfied in believing that there has been no relapse.
Therefore we beg that you will not add to your troubles by unnecessary,
though _most kind_, correspondence. Till I have the pleasure of thanking
you personally, I beg you to accept these written acknowledgments of all
your kindness. With respects to Mr. Williams and sincere prayers for
both your healths, I remain,
Your ever obliged servant,
C. LAMB.
My sister joins me in respects and thanks.
LETTER 505
CHARLES LAMB TO JAMES GILLMAN
March 8th, 1830.
My dear G.,--Your friend Battin (for I knew him immediately by the
smooth satinity of his style) must excuse me for advocating the cause of
his friends in Spitalfields. The fact is, I am retained by the Norwich
people, and have already appeared in their paper under the signatures of
"Lucius Sergius," "Bluff," "Broad-Cloth,"
"No-Trade-to-the-Woollen-Trade," "Anti-plush," &c., in defence of
druggets and long camblets. And without this pre-engagement, I feel I
should naturally have chosen a side opposite to ----, for in the silken
seemingness of his nature there is that which offends me. My flesh
tingles at such caterpillars. He shall not crawl me over. Let him and
his workmen sing the old burthen,
"Heigh ho, ye weavers!"
for any aid I shall offer them in this emergency. I was over Saint
Luke's the other day with my friend Tuthill, and mightily pleased with
one of his contrivances for the comfort and amelioration of the
students. They have double cells, in which a pair may lie feet to feet
horizontally, and chat the time away as rationally as they can. It must
certainly be more sociable for them these warm raving nights. The
right-hand truckle in one of these friendly recesses, at present vacant,
was preparing, I understood, for Mr. Irving. Poor fellow! it is time he
removed from Pentonville. I followed him as far as to Highbury the other
day, with a mob at his heels, calling out upon Ermigiddon, who I suppose
is some Scotch moderator. He squinted out his favourite eye last Friday,
in the fury of possession, upon a poor woman's shoulders that was crying
matches, and has not missed it. The companion truck, as far as I could
measure it with my eye, would conveniently fit a person about the length
of Coleridge, allowing for a reasonable drawing up of the feet, not at
all painful. Does he talk of moving this quarter? You and I have too
much sense to trouble ourselves with revelations; marry, to the same in
Greek you may have something professionally to say. Tell C. that he was
to come and see us some fine day. Let it be before he moves, for in his
new quarters he will necessarily be confined in his conversation to his
brother prophet. Conceive the two Rabbis foot to foot, for there are no
Gamaliels there to affect a humbler posture! All are masters in that
Patmos, where the law is perfect equality--Latmos, I should rather say,
for they will be Luna's twin darlings; her affection will be ever at the
full. Well; keep _your_ brains moist with gooseberry this mad March, for
the devil of exposition seeketh dry places.
C.L.
[The letter is assigned to the Rev. James Gillman by some editors; but I
think that a mistake. See the reference below to a medical matter.
Battin was interested in the Spitalfields weavers to the detriment of
the Norwich.
Major Butterworth in a letter to _Notes and Queries_, March 24, 1906,
thus explains the reference to Battin:--
"In lately going over the pages of _The New Monthly Magazine_ for
1826 I came across a paragraph in the June number, extracted from a
daily newspaper, in which the following occurs: 'Great merit is due
to Mr. Lamb junior for his exertions to relieve the weavers of
Norwich.'...
"As his 'Reminiscences of Juke Judkins, Esq.,' was printed in the
same number of the _Magazine_, Lamb's attention would no doubt be
arrested by the remarks about his namesake, which would probably be
retained in his memory, to be used subsequently, as occasion served,
in mystifying his friend."
Tuthill, whom we have met, was one of the physicians at St. Luke's
Hospital for the insane.
"He squinted out...." Irving had sight only in one eye, an obliquity
caused, it is suggested, by lying when a baby in a wooden cradle, the
sides of which prevented the other from gathering light.
"To the same in Greek." An atrocious pun, which I leave to the reader to
discover. Gillman was a doctor.]
LETTER 506
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM AYRTON
Mr. Westwood's, Chase Side, Enfield,
14th March, 1830.
My dear Ayrton,--Your letter, which was only not so pleasant as your
appearance would have been, has revived some old images; Phillips (not
the Colonel), with his few hairs bristling up at the charge of a revoke,
which he declares impossible; the old Captain's significant nod over the
right shoulder (was it not?); Mrs. Burney's determined questioning of
the score, after the game was absolutely gone to the devil, the plain
but hospitable cold boiled-beef suppers at sideboard; all which fancies,
redolent of middle age and strengthful spirits, come across us ever and
anon in this vale of deliberate senectitude, ycleped Enfield.
You imagine a deep gulf between you and us; and there is a pitiable
hiatus in _kind_ between St. James's Park and this extremity of
Middlesex. But the mere distance in turnpike roads is a trifle. The roof
of a coach swings you down in an hour or two. We have a sure hot joint
on a Sunday, and when had we better? I suppose you know that ill health
has obliged us to give up housekeeping; but we have an asylum at the
very next door--only twenty-four inches further from town, which is not
material in a country expedition--where a _table d'hôte_ is kept for us,
without trouble on our parts, and we adjourn after dinner, when one of
the old world (old friends) drops casually down among us. Come and find
us out, and seal our judicious change with your approbation, whenever
the whim bites, or the sun prompts. No need of announcement, for we are
sure to be at home.
I keep putting off the subject of my answer. In truth I am not in
spirits at present to see Mr. Murray on such a business; but pray offer
him my acknowledgments and an assurance that I should like at least one
of his propositions, as I have so much additional matter for the
SPECIMENS, as might make two volumes in all, or ONE (new edition)
omitting such better known authors as Beaumont and Fletcher, Jonson, &c.
But we are both in trouble at present. A very dear young friend of ours,
who passed her Christmas holidays here, has been taken dangerously ill
with a fever, from which she is very precariously recovering, and I
expect a summons to fetch her when she is well enough to bear the
journey from Bury. It is Emma Isola, with whom we got acquainted at our
first visit to your sister at Cambridge, and she has been an occasional
inmate with us--and of late years much more frequently--ever since.
While she is in this danger, and till she is out of it and here in a
probable way to recovery, I feel that I have no spirits for an
engagement of any kind. It has been a terrible shock to us; therefore I
beg that you will make my handsomest excuses to Mr. Murray.
Our very kindest loves to Mrs. A. and the younger A.'s.
Your unforgotten,
C. LAMB.
["Phillips." This would be Edward Phillips, who, I think, succeeded
Rickman as secretary to Abbot (afterwards Lord Colchester), the Speaker.
Colonel Erasmus Phillips we have also met. The Captain was Captain
Burney.
Mr. Murray's propositions. I presume that Murray had, through Ayrton,
suggested either the republication of the _Dramatic Specimens_, 1808, in
one volume, or in two volumes, with the Garrick Extracts added. The plan
came to nothing. Moxon published them in the two volume style in 1835.
Murray had refused Lamb's "Works" some twelve years before. For the
_Dramatic Specimens_ see Vol. IV. of my large edition.]
LETTER 507
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. WILLIAMS
[Dated at end: March 22 (1830).]
Dear Madam,--Once more I have to return you thanks for a very kind
letter. It has gladdened us very much to hear that we may have hope to
see our young friend so soon, and through your kind nursing so well
recovered. I sincerely hope that your own health and spirits will not
have been shaken: you have had a sore trial indeed, and greatly do we
feel indebted to you for all which you have undergone. If I hear nothing
from you in the mean time, I shall secure myself a place in the
Cornwallis Coach for Monday. It will not be at all necessary that I
shall be met at Bury, as I can well find my way to the Rectory, and I
beg that you will not inconvenience yourselves by such attention.
Accordingly as I find Miss Isola able to bear the journey, I intend to
take the care of her by the same stage or by chaises perhaps, dividing
the journey; but exactly as you shall judge fit. It is our misfortune
that long journeys do not agree with my sister, who would else have
taken this care upon herself, perhaps more properly. It is quite out of
the question to rob you of the services of any of your domestics. I
cannot think of it. But if in your opinion a female attendant would be
requisite on the journey, and if you or Mr. Williams would feel _more
comfortable_ by her being in charge of two, I will most gladly engage
one of her nurses or any young person near you, that you can recommend;
for my object is to remove her in the way that shall be most
satisfactory to yourselves.
On the subject of the young people that you are interesting yourselves
about, I will have the pleasure to talk to you, when I shall see you. I
live almost out of the world and out of the sphere of being useful; but
no pains of mine shall be spared, if but a prospect opens of doing a
service. Could I do all I wish, and I indeed have grown helpless to
myself and others, it must not satisfy the arrears of obligation I owe
to Mr. Williams and yourself for all your kindness.
I beg you will turn in your mind and consider in what most comfortable
way Miss Isola can leave your house, and I will implicitly follow your
suggestions. What you have done for her can never be effaced from our
memories, and I would have you part with her in the way that would best
satisfy yourselves.
I am afraid of impertinently extending my letter, else I feel I have not
said half what I would say. So, dear madam, till I have the pleasure of
seeing you both, of whose kindness I have heard so much before, I
respectfully take my leave with our kindest love to your poor patient
and most sincere regards for the health and happiness of Mr. Williams
and yourself.
May God bless you. CH. LAMB.
Enfield, Monday, 22 March.
LETTER 508
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. WILLIAMS
Enfield, 2 Apr., 1830.
Dear Madam
I have great pleasure in letting you know that Miss Isola has suffered
very little from fatigue on her long journey. I am ashamed to say that I
came home rather the more tired of the two. But I am a very unpractised
traveller. She has had two tolerable nights' sleeps since, and is
decidedly not worse than when we left you. I remembered the Magnesia
according to your directions, and promise that she shall be kept very
quiet, never forgetting that she is still an invalid. We found my Sister
very well in health, only a little impatient to see her; and, after a
few hysterical tears for gladness, all was comfortable again. We arrived
here from Epping between five and six. The incidents of our journey were
trifling, but you bade me tell them. We had then in the coach a rather
talkative Gentleman, but very civil, all the way, and took up a servant
maid at Stamford, going to a sick mistress. To the _latter_, a
participation in the hospitalities of your nice rusks and sandwiches
proved agreeable, as it did to my companion, who took merely a sip of
the weakest wine and water with them. The _former_ engaged me in a
discourse for full twenty miles on the probable advantages of Steam
Carriages, which being merely problematical, I bore my part in with some
credit, in spite of my totally un-engineer-like faculties. But when
somewhere about Stanstead he put an unfortunate question to me as to the
"probability of its turning out a good turnip season;" and when I, who
am still less of an agriculturist than a steam-philosopher, not knowing
a turnip from a potato ground, innocently made answer that I believed it
depended very much upon boiled legs of mutton, my unlucky reply set Miss
Isola a laughing to a degree that disturbed her tranquility for the only
moment in our journey. I am afraid my credit sank very low with my other
fellow-traveller, who had thought he had met with a _well-informed
passenger_, which is an accident so desirable in a Stage Coach. We were
rather less communicative, but still friendly, the rest of the way. How
I employed myself between Epping and Enfield the poor verses in the
front of my paper may inform you which you may please to Christen an
Acrostic in a Cross Road, and which I wish were worthier of the Lady
they refer to. But I trust you will plead my pardon to her on a subject
so delicate as a Lady's good _name_. Your candour must acknowledge that
they are written _strait_. And now dear Madam, I have left myself hardly
space to express my sense of the friendly reception I found at Fornham.
Mr. Williams will tell you that we had the pleasure of a slight meeting
with him on the road, where I could almost have told him, but that it
seemed ungracious, that such had been your hospitality, that I scarcely
missed the good Master of the Family at Fornham, though heartily I
should [have] rejoiced to have made a little longer acquaintance with
him. I will say nothing of our deeper obligations to both of you,
because I think we agreed at Fornham, that gratitude may be over-exacted
on the part of the obliging, and over-expressed on the part of the
obliged, person. My Sister and Miss Isola join in respects to Mr.
Williams and yourself, and I beg to be remembered kindly to the Miss
Hammonds and the two gentlemen whom I had the good fortune to meet at
your house. I have not forgotten the Election in which you are
interesting yourself, and the little that I can, I will do immediately.
Miss Isola will have the pleasure of writing to you next week, and we
shall hope, at your leisure, to hear of your own health, etc. I am, Dear
Madam, with great respect,
your obliged
CHARLES LAMB.
[_Added in Miss Isola's hand:_] I must just add a line to beg you will
let us hear from you, my dear Mrs. Williams. I have just received the
forwarded letter. Fornham we have talked about constantly, and I felt
quite strange at this home the first day. I will attend to all you said,
my dear Madam.
[I do not know which of Lamb's acrostics was the one in question.
Possibly this, on Mrs. Williams' youngest daughter, Louisa Clare
Williams:--
Least Daughter, but not least beloved, of _Grace_!
O frown not on a stranger, who from place
Unknown and distant these few lines hath penn'd.
I but report what thy Instructress Friend
So oft hath told us of thy gentle heart.
A pupil most affectionate thou art,
Careful to learn what elder years impart.
_Louisa_--_Clare_--by which name shall I call thee?
A prettier pair of names sure ne'er was found,
Resembling thy own sweetness in sweet sound.
Ever calm peace and innocence befal thee!
See Vol. IV. of this edition.]
LETTER 509
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. WILLIAMS
Enfield, Good Friday [April 9, 1830].
P.S.--I am the worst folder-up of a letter in the world, except certain
Hottentots, in the land of Caffre, who never fold up their letters at
all, writing very badly upon skins, &c.
Dear Madam,--I do assure you that your verses gratified me very much,
and my sister is quite _proud_ of them. For the first time in my life I
congratulated myself upon the shortness and meanness of my name. Had it
been Schwartzenberg or Esterhazy, it would have put you to some puzzle.
I am afraid I shall sicken you of acrostics; but this last was written
_to order_. I beg you to have inserted in your county paper something
like this advertisement. "To the nobility, gentry, and others, about
Bury.--C. Lamb respectfully informs his friends and the public in
general, that he is leaving off business in the acrostic line, as he is
going into an entirely new line. Rebuses and charades done as usual, and
upon the old terms. Also, Epitaphs to suit the memory of any person
deceased." I thought I had adroitly escaped the rather unpliable name of
"Williams," curtailing your poor daughters to their proper surnames; but
it seems you would not let me off so easily. If these trifles amuse you,
I am paid. Tho really 'tis an operation too much like--"A, apple-pye; B,
bit it." To make amends, I request leave to lend you the "Excursion,"
and to recommend, in particular, the "Churchyard Stories," in the
seventh book, I think. They will strengthen the tone of your mind after
its weak diet on acrostics. Miss Isola is writing, and will tell you
that we are going on very comfortably. Her sister is just come. She
blames my last verses, as being more written on _Mr._ Williams than on
yourself; but how should I have parted whom a Superior Power has brought
together? I beg you will jointly accept of our best respects, and pardon
your obsequious if not troublesome Correspondent, C.L.
[Mr. Cecil Turner, a grandson of Mrs. Williams, tells me that her
acrostic on Lamb ran thus:--
TO CHARLES LAMB
_Answer to Acrostics on the Names of Two Friends_
Charmed with the lines thy hand has sent,
Honour I feel the compliment,
Amongst thy products that have won the ear,
Ranged in thy verse two friends most dear.
Lay not thy winning pen away,
Each line thou writest we bid thee stay,
Still ask to charm us with another lay.
Long liked, long lived by public Fame
A friend to misery, whate'er its claim.
Marvel I must if e'er we find
Bestowed by heaven a kindlier mind.
The two friends were probably Edward Hogg and Cecilia Catherine Lawton,
on whose names Lamb wrote acrostics (see Vol. IV.).
This was Lamb's effort:--
Go little Poem, and present
Respectful terms of compliment;
A gentle lady bids thee speak!
Courteous is she, tho' thou be weak--
Evoke from Heaven as thick as manna
Joy after joy on Grace Joanna:
On Fornham's Glebe and Pasture land
A blessing pray. Long, long may stand,
Not touched by Time, the Rectory blithe;
No grudging churl dispute his Tithe;
At Easter be the offerings due
With cheerful spirit paid; each pew
In decent order filled; no noise
Loud intervene to drown the voice,
Learning, or wisdom of the Teacher;
Impressive be the Sacred Preacher,
And strict his notes on holy page;
May young and old from age to age
Salute, and still point out, "The good man's Parsonage!"]
LETTER 510
CHARLES LAMB TO JAMES GILLMAN
[? Early Spring, 1830.]
Dear Gillman,--Pray do you, or S.T.C., immediately write to say you have
received back the golden works of the dear, fine, silly old angel, which
I part from, bleeding, and to say how the Winter has used you all.
It is our intention soon, weather permitting, to come over for a day at
Highgate; for beds we will trust to the Gate-House, should you be full:
tell me if we may come casually, for in this change of climate there is
no naming a day for walking. With best loves to Mrs. Gillman, &c.
Yours, mopish, but in health,
C. LAMB.
I shall be uneasy till I hear of Fuller's safe arrival.
[See letter to Gillman above. The "dear, fine, silly old angel" was
Thomas Fuller.]
LETTER 511
CHARLES LAMB TO JACOB VALE ASBURY
[? April, 1830.]
Dear Sir--Some draughts and boluses have been brought here which we
conjecture were meant for the young lady whom you saw this morning,
though they are labelled for
MISS ISOLA LAMB.
No such person is known on the Chase Side, and she is fearful of taking
medicines which may have been made up for another patient. She begs me
to say that she was born an _Isola_ and christened _Emma_. Moreover that
she is Italian by birth, and that her ancestors were from Isola Bella
(Fair Island) in the kingdom of Naples. She has never changed her name
and rather mournfully adds that she has no prospect at present of doing
so. She is literally I. SOLA, or single, at present. Therefore she begs
that the obnoxious monosyllable may be omitted on future Phials,--an
innocent syllable enough, you'll say, but she has no claim to it. It is
the bitterest pill of the seven you have sent her. When a lady loses her
good _name_, what is to become of her? Well she must swallow it as well
as she can, but begs the dose may not be repeated.
Yours faithfully,
CHARLES LAMB (not Isola).
[Asbury was a doctor at Enfield. I append another letter to him, without
date:--]
LETTER 512
CHARLES LAMB TO JACOB VALE ASBURY
Dear Sir, It is an observation of a wise man that "moderation is best in
all things." I cannot agree with him "in liquor." There is a smoothness
and oiliness in wine that makes it go down by a natural channel, which I
am positive was made for that descending. Else, why does not wine choke
us? could Nature have made that sloping lane, not to facilitate the
down-going? She does nothing in vain. You know that better than I. You
know how often she has helped you at a dead lift, and how much better
entitled she is to a fee than yourself sometimes, when you carry off the
credit. Still there is something due to manners and customs, and I
should apologise to you and Mrs. Asbury for being absolutely carried
home upon a man's shoulders thro' Silver Street, up Parson's Lane, by
the Chapels (which might have taught me better), and then to be
deposited like a dead log at Gaffar Westwood's, who it seems does not
"insure" against intoxication. Not that the mode of conveyance is
objectionable. On the contrary, it is more easy than a one-horse chaise.
Ariel in the "Tempest" says
"On a Bat's back do I fly,
After sunset merrily."
Now I take it that Ariel must sometimes have stayed out late of nights.
Indeed, he pretends that "where the bee sucks, there lurks he," as much
as to say that his suction is as innocent as that little innocent (but
damnably stinging when he is provok'd) winged creature. But I take it,
that Ariel was fond of metheglin, of which the Bees are notorious
Brewers. But then you will say: What a shocking sight to see a
middle-aged gentleman-and-a-half riding upon a Gentleman's back up
Parson's Lane at midnight. Exactly the time for that sort of conveyance,
when nobody can see him, nobody but Heaven and his own conscience; now
Heaven makes fools, and don't expect much from her own creation; and as
for conscience, She and I have long since come to a compromise. I have
given up false modesty, and she allows me to abate a little of the true.
I like to be liked, but I don't care about being respected. I don't
respect myself. But, as I was saying, I thought he would have let me
down just as we got to Lieutenant Barker's Coal-shed (or emporium) but
by a cunning jerk I eased myself, and righted my posture. I protest, I
thought myself in a palanquin, and never felt myself so grandly carried.
It was a slave under me. There was I, all but my reason. And what is
reason? and what is the loss of it? and how often in a day do we do
without it, just as well? Reason is only counting, two and two makes
four. And if on my passage home, I thought it made five, what matter?
Two and two will just make four, as it always did, before I took the
finishing glass that did my business. My sister has begged me to write
an apology to Mrs. A. and you for disgracing your party; now it does
seem to me, that I rather honoured your party, for every one that was
not drunk (and one or two of the ladies, I am sure, were not) must have
been set off greatly in the contrast to me. I was the scapegoat. The
soberer they seemed. By the way is magnesia good on these occasions?
_iii_ pol: med: sum: ante noct: in rub: can:. I am no licentiate, but
know enough of simples to beg you to send me a draught after this model.
But still you'll say (or the men and maids at your house will say) that
it is not a seemly sight for an old gentleman to go home pick-a-back.
Well, may be it is not. But I have never studied grace. I take it to be
a mere superficial accomplishment. I regard more the internal
acquisitions. The great object after supper is to get home, and whether
that is obtained in a horizontal posture or perpendicular (as foolish
men and apes affect for dignity) I think is little to the purpose. The
end is always greater than the means. Here I am, able to compose a
sensible rational apology, and what signifies how I got here? I have
just sense enough to remember I was very happy last night, and to thank
our kind host and hostess, and that's sense enough, I hope.
CHARLES LAMB.
N.B.--What is good for a desperate head-ache? Why, Patience, and a
determination not to mind being miserable all day long. And that I have
made my mind up to.
So, here goes. It is better than not being alive at all, which I might
have been, had your man toppled me down at Lieut. Barker's Coal-shed. My
sister sends her sober compliments to Mrs. A. She is not much the worse.
Yours truly,
C. LAMB.
["Ariel." In two other of his letters, Lamb confesses similarly to a
similar escapade. And in his _Elia_ essay "Rejoicings on the New Year's
Coming of Age," he sends Ash Wednesday home in the same manner.
Lieut. John Barker, R.N., was a local character, a coal merchant and a
man with a grievance. He had thirteen children, some of whose names
probably greatly amused Lamb--John Thomas, William Charles, Frederick
Alexander, Marius Collins, Caius Marcius, Marcus Aurelius Antonius,
Coriolanus Aurelius, Horatius Tertius Decimus, Elizabeth Mary,
Concordia, Lousia Clarissa, Caroline Maria Quiroja and Volumnia
Hortensia.]
LETTER 513
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. WILLIAMS
Enfield, Tuesday [April 21, 1830].
Dear Madam,--I have ventured upon some lines, which combine my old
acrostic talent (which you first found out) with my new profession of
epitaph-monger. As you did not please to say, when you would die, I have
left a blank space for the date. May kind heaven be a long time in
filling it up. At least you cannot say that these lines are not about
you, though not much to the purpose. We were very sorry to hear that you
have not been very well, and hope that a little excursion may revive
you. Miss Isola is thankful for her added day; but I verily think she
longs to see her young friends once more, and will regret less than ever
the end of her holydays. She cannot be going on more quietly than she is
doing here, and you will perceive amendment.
I hope all her little commissions will all be brought home to your
satisfaction. When she returns, we purpose seeing her to Epping on her
journey. We have had our proportion of fine weather and some pleasant
walks, and she is stronger, her appetite good, but less wolfish than at
first, which we hold a good sign. I hope Mr. Wing will approve of its
abatement. She desires her very kindest respects to Mr. Williams and
yourself, and wishes to rejoin you. My sister and myself join in
respect, and pray tell Mr. Donne, with our compliments, that we shall be
disappointed, if we do not see him. This letter being very neatly
written, I am very unwilling that Emma should club any of her
disproportionate scrawl to deface it.
Your obliged servant,
C. LAMB.
[Addressed to "Mrs. Williams, W.B. Donne, Esq., Matteshall, East
Dereham, Norfolk."
Mr. Wing was probably Miss Isola's doctor. Mr. Donne was William Bodham
Donne (1807-1882), the friend of Edward FitzGerald, and Examiner of
Plays.
This was Lamb's acrostic-epitaph on Mrs. Williams:--
Grace Joanna here doth lie:
Reader, wonder not that I
Ante-date her hour of rest.
Can I thwart her wish exprest,
Ev'n unseemly though the laugh
Jesting with an Epitaph?
On her bones the turf lie lightly,
And her rise again be brightly!
No dark stain be found upon her--
No, there will not, on mine honour--
Answer that at least I can.
Would that I, thrice happy man,
In as spotless garb might rise,
Light as she will climb the skies,
Leaving the dull earth behind,
In a car more swift than wind.
All her errors, all her failings,
(Many they were not) and ailings,
Sleep secure from Envy's railings.
Here should come an undated note from Lamb to Basil Montagu, in which
Lamb asks for help for Hone in his Coffee-House. "If you can help a
worthy man you will have _two worthy men_ obliged to you." Hone, having
fallen upon bad times, Lamb helped in the scheme to establish him in the
Grasshopper Coffee-House, at 13 Gracechurch Street (see next letter).]
LETTER 514
CHARLES LAMB TO ROBERT SOUTHEY
May 10, 1830.
Dear Southey,--My friend Hone, whom you would like _for a friend_, I
found deeply impressed with your generous notice of him in your
beautiful "Life of Bunyan," which I am just now full of. He has written
to you for leave to publish a certain good-natured letter. I write not
this to enforce his request, for we are fully aware that the refusal of
such publication would be quite consistent with all that is good in your
character. Neither he nor I expect it from you, nor exact it; but if you
would consent to it, you would have me obliged by it, as well as him. He
is just now in a critical situation: kind friends have opened a
coffee-house for him in the City, but their means have not extended to
the purchase of coffee-pots, credit for Reviews, newspapers, and other
paraphernalia. So I am sitting in the skeleton of a possible divan. What
right I have to interfere, you best know. Look on me as a dog who went
once temporarily insane, and bit you, and now begs for a crust. Will you
set your wits to a dog?
Our object is to open a subscription, which my friends of the "Times"
are most willing to forward for him, but think that a leave from you to
publish would aid it.
But not an atom of respect or kindness will or shall it abate in either
of us if you decline it. Have this strongly in your mind.
Those "Every-Day" and "Table" Books will be a treasure a hundred years
hence; but they have failed to make Hone's fortune.
Here his wife and all his children are about me, gaping for coffee
customers; but how should they come in, seeing no pot boiling!
Enough of Hone. I saw Coleridge a day or two since. He has had some
severe attack, not paralytic; but, if I had not heard of it, I should
not have found it out. He looks, and especially speaks, strong. How are
all the Wordsworths and all the Southeys? whom I am obliged to you if
you have not brought up haters of the name of
C. LAMB.
P.S.--I have gone lately into the acrostic line. I find genius (such as
I had) declines with me, but I get clever. Do you know anybody that
wants charades, or such things, for Albums? I do 'em at so much a sheet.
Perhaps an epigram (not a very happy-gram) I did for a school-boy
yesterday may amuse. I pray Jove he may not get a flogging for any false
quantity; but 'tis, with one exception, the only Latin verses I have
made for forty years, and I did it "to order."
SUUM CUIQUE
Adsciscit sibi divitias et opes alienas
Fur, rapiens, spolians, quod mihi, quod-que tibi,
Proprium erat, temnens haec verba, Meum-que, Suum-que;
Omne suum est: tandem Cui-que Suum tribuit.
Dat laqueo collum; vestes, vah! carnifici dat;
Sese Diabolo: sic bene: Cuique Suum.
I write from Hone's, therefore Mary cannot send her love to Mrs.
Southey, but I do.
Yours ever, C.L.
[Major's edition of _The Pilgrim's Progress_, mentioned in a letter to
Barton above, was issued in 1830 with a memoir of Bunyan by Southey. It
was reviewed in _The Times_ for May 7, 1830, I think probably by Lamb,
in the following terms:--
The public is aware that the unexhausted diligence and unwearied pen
of Mr. Southey have produced a new and excellent edition of the
celebrated _Pilgrim's Progress_, with the Life of the Author
prefixed. This Life is, no doubt, an interesting work, though we
wish the author, both in that and in the account, which is
attributed to him, of the founder of the Jesuits, contained in a
recent periodical work, had taken more time. The narrative in both
is hasty and tumultuary, if we may use the latter expression: there
is no time or room for reflection; and when a reflection comes, it
is so mixed and jambed in with the story, or with quotations from
the works or words of the respective heroes of the history, that it
escapes unobserved. Could we, without grievous offence, recommend,
both to Mr. Southey and Sir Walter Scott, to recollect the man
spoken of by Horace?--
quem fama est esse librisque Ambustum propriis."--_Sat_, i., 61.
Yet still, as we said above, the Life of Bunyan is an interesting
work. How different the origin of all the sects and their founders,
from that of our sober, staid, and, we trust, permanent
establishment, and the learned and pious reformers from whom it
sprang!
But that for which we chiefly notice this work of Mr. Southey, is
the very last sentence in it, wherein is contained his frank and
honourable recommendation (though not more than they deserve) of the
works of one whom the iron hand of oppression would have levelled
with the dust:--
"In one of the volumes collected from various quarters, which were
sent to me for this purpose, I observe the name of W. Hone, and
notice it that I may take the opportunity of recommending his
_Every-Day Book_ and _Table Book_ to those who are interested in the
preservation of our national and local customs. By these very
curious publications their compiler has rendered good service in an
important department of literature; and he may render yet more, if
he obtain the encouragement which he well deserves."
Not only we, and the person mentioned in this paragraph, but all the
friends of pure English literature,--all the curious in old English
customs,--in short, all intelligent men, with the hearts of
Englishmen in them,--owe Mr. Southey their gratitude for this
recommendation: it springs from a just taste and right feeling
united.
Hone wrote to _The Times_ at once to thank both the paper and Southey
for the compliment. A few days later, on May 21, appeared an article in
_The Times_ containing correspondence between Hone and Southey. I quote
the introduction, again probably the work of Lamb, and Southey's letter
(see Lamb's letter to Hone below):--
We alluded some days ago to the handsome notice of Mr. Hone in Mr.
Southey's _Life of Bunyan_. The following correspondence has since
been sent to us: it displays in an advantageous light the modesty of
Mr. Hone and the amiable and candid disposition of Mr. Southey. The
business, wholly foreign to Mr. Hone's former pursuits, which is
alluded to in the letter, is explained in an advertisement in this
day's paper.
* * * * *
"To Mr. Hone, 13, Gracechurch-Street,
"Keswick, April 26.
"Sir,--Your letter has given me both pain and pleasure. I am sorry
to learn that you are still, in the worldly sense of the word, an
unfortunate man,--that you are withdrawn from pursuits which were
consonant to your habits and inclinations, and that a public
expression of respect and good-will, made in the hope that it might
have been serviceable to you, can have no such effect.
"When I observed your autograph in the little book, I wrote to
inquire of Mr. Major whether it had come to his hands from you,
directly or indirectly, for my use, that, in that case, I might
thank you for it. It proved otherwise, but I would not lose an
opportunity which I had wished for.
"Judging of you (as I would myself be judged) by your works, I saw
in the editor of the _Every-Day_ and _Table Books_ a man who had
applied himself with great diligence to useful and meritorious
pursuits. I thought that time, and reflection, and affliction, (of
which it was there seen that he had had his share,) had contributed
to lead him into this direction, which was also that of his better
mind. What alteration had been produced in his opinions it concerned
not me to inquire; here there were none but what were
unexceptionable,--no feelings but what were to be approved. From all
that appeared, I supposed he had become 'a sadder and a wiser man:'
I therefore wished him success in his literary undertakings.
"The little parcel which you mention I shall receive with pleasure.
"I wish you success in your present undertaking, whatever it be, and
that you may one day, under happier circumstances, resume a pen
which has, of late years, been so meritoriously employed. If your
new attempt prosper, you will yet find leisure for intellectual
gratification, and for that self-improvement which may be carried on
even in the busiest concerns of life.
"I remain, Sir, yours with sincere good will,
"ROBERT SOUTHEY."
In the advertisement columns of the same issue of _The Times_ (May 21)
was the following notice, drawn up, I assume, by Lamb:--
THE FAMILY OF WILLIAM HONE, in the course of last winter, were
kindly assisted by private friends to take and alter the premises
they now reside in, No. 13, Gracechurch-street, for the purpose of a
coffeehouse, to be managed by Mrs. Hone and her elder daughters; but
they are in a painful exigency which increases hourly, and renders a
public appeal indispensable. The wellwishers to Mr. Hone throughout
the kingdom, especially the gratified readers of his literary
productions (in all of which he has long ceased to have an interest,
and from none of which can he derive advantage), are earnestly
solicited to afford the means of completing the fittings and opening
the house in a manner suited to its proposed respectability. If this
aid be yielded without loss of time, it will be of indescribable
benefit, inasmuch as it will put an end to many grievous anxieties
and expenses, inseparable from the lengthened delay which has
hitherto been inevitable, and will enable the family to immediately
commence the business, which alone they look forward to for support.
Subscriptions will be received by the following bankers:--Messrs.
Ransom and Co., Pall-mall east; Messrs. Dixon, Sons, and Brookes,
Chancery-lane; Messrs. Ladbroke and Co., Bank-buildings, Cornhill;
and by Mr. Clowes, printer, 14, Charing-cross; Mr. Thomas Rodd,
bookseller, 2, Great Newport-street; Mr. Griffiths, bookseller, 13,
Wellington-street, Strand; Mr. Effingham Wilson, bookseller, Royal
Exchange; and Messrs. Fisher and Moxhay, biscuit-bakers, 55,
Threadneedle-street.
The first list of subscriptions, headed by "Charles Lamb, Esq., Enfield,
£10," came to £103. This was Monday, May 31. The next list was published
on June 10, accompanied by the following note in the body of the
paper:--
The subscriptions for Mr. Hone, it will be perceived, are going on
favourably. In the list now published is the name of the Duke of
Bedford, who has sent 20_l_. His cause has been warmly espoused by
the provincial journals, more than 20 of which have inserted his
appeal gratuitously, with offers to receive and remit subscriptions.
The aphorism, "he gives twice who gives quickly," could not receive
a more cogent application than in the present instance, for the
funds are required to enable Mr. Hone to commence business in his
new undertaking, where he is already placed with his family, liable
to rent and taxes, and other claims, but gaining nothing until his
outfit is completed.
Hone, however, did not prosper, in spite of his friends, who were
not sufficiently numerous to find the requisite capital.
"Suum Cuique." The boy for whom this epigram was composed was a son
of Hessey, the publisher, afterwards Archdeacon Hessey. He was at
the Merchant Taylors' School, where it was a custom to compose Latin
and English epigrams for speech day, the boys being permitted to get
help. Archdeacon Hessey wrote as follows in the Taylorian a few
years ago:--
The subjects for 1830 were _Suum Cuique_ and _Brevis esse laboro_.
After some three or four exercise nights I confess that I was
literally "at my wits' end." But a brilliant idea struck me. I had
frequently, boy as I was, seen Charles Lamb at my father's house,
and once, in 1825 or 1826, I had been taken to have tea with him and
his sister, Mary Lamb, at their little house, Colebrook Cottage, a
whitish-brown tenement, standing by itself, close to the New River,
at Islington. He was very kind, as he always was to young people,
and very quaint. I told him that I had devoured his "Roast Pig"; he
congratulated me on possessing a thorough schoolboy's appetite. And
he was pleased when I mentioned my having seen the boys at Christ's
Hospital at their public suppers, which then took place on the
Sunday evenings in Lent. "Could this good-natured and humorous old
gentleman be prevailed upon to give me an Epigram?" "I don't know,"
said my father, to whom I put the question, "but I will ask him at
any rate, and send him the mottoes." In a day or two there arrived
from Enfield, to which Lamb had removed some time in 1827, not one,
but two epigrams, one on each subject. That on _Suum Cuique_ was in
Latin, and was suggested by the grim satisfaction which had recently
been expressed by the public at the capture and execution of some
notorious highwayman.
See also Vol. IV. of this edition for a slightly differing version. Lamb
had many years before, he says in a letter to Godwin, written similar
epigrams.
"With one exception." Perhaps the Latin verses on Haydon's picture. See
Vol. IV.]
LETTER 515
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
Enfield, Tuesday. [P.M. May 12, 1830.]
Dear M. I dined with your and my Rogers at Mr. Gary's yesterday. Gary
consulted me on the proper bookseller to offer a Lady's MS novel to. I
said I would write to you. But I wish you would call on the Translator
of Dante at the British Museum, and talk with him. He is the pleasantest
of clergymen. I told him of all Rogers's handsome behaviour to you, and
you are already no stranger. Go. I made Rogers laugh about your
Nightingale sonnet, not having heard one. 'Tis a good sonnet
notwithstanding. You shall have the books shortly.
C.L.
[Samuel Rogers had just lent Moxon £500 on which to commence publisher.
Moxon had dedicated his first book to Rogers. This is Moxon's "Sonnet to
the Nightingale," but I cannot explain why Rogers laughed:--
Lone midnight-soothing melancholy bird,
That send'st such music to my sleepless soul,
Chaining her faculties in fast controul,
Few listen to thy song; yet I have heard,
When Man and Nature slept, nor aspen stirred,
Thy mournful voice, sweet vigil of the sleeping
And liken'd thee to some angelic mind,
That sits and mourns for erring mortals weeping.
The genius, not of groves, but of mankind,
Watch at this solemn hour o'er millions keeping.
In Eden's bowers, as mighty poets tell,
Did'st thou repeat, as now that wailing call--
Those sorrowing notes might seem, sad Philomel,
Prophetic to have mourned of _man_ the _fall_.]
LETTER 516
CHARLES LAMB TO VINCENT NOVELLO
Friday. [P.M. May 14, 1830.]
Dear Novello, Mary hopes you have not forgot you are to spend a day with
us on Wednesday. That it may be a long one, cannot you secure places now
for Mrs. Novello yourself and the Clarkes? We have just table room for
four. Five make my good Landlady fidgetty; six, to begin to fret; seven,
to approximate to fever point. But seriously we shall prefer four to two
or three; we shall have from 1/2 past 10 to six, when the coach goes
off, to scent the country. And pray write _now_, to say you do so come,
for dear Mrs. Westwood else will be on the tenters of incertitude.
C. LAMB.
LETTER 517
CHARLES LAMB TO VINCENT NOVELLO
[May 20, 1830.]
Dear N.--pray write immediately to say "The book has come safe." I am
anxious, not so much for the autographs, as for that bit of the hair
brush. I enclose a cinder, which belonged to _Shield_, when he was poor,
and lit his own fires. Any memorial of a great Musical Genius, I know,
is acceptable; and Shield has his merits, though Clementi, in my
opinion, is far above him in the Sostenuto. Mr. Westwood desires his
compliments, and begs to present you with a nail that came out of
Jomelli's coffin, who is buried at Naples.
[Vincent Novello writes on this: "A very characteristic note from Dear
Charles Lamb, who always pretended to Rate all kinds of memorials and
_Relics_, and assumed a look of fright and horror whenever he reproached
me with being a _Papist_, instead of a _Quaker_, which sect he pretended
to doat upon." The book would be Novello's album, with Lamb's "Free
Thoughts on Eminent Composers" in it (see next letter but one).
Shield was William Shield (1748-1829), the composer. He was buried in
Westminster Abbey in the same grave as Clementi. Nicolo Jomelli
(1714-1774) was a Neapolitan composer.]
LETTER 518
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HONE
May 21, 1830.
Dear Hone--I thought you would be pleased to see this letter. Pray if
you have time to, call on Novello, No. 66, Great Queen St. I am anxious
to learn whether he received his album I sent on Friday by our nine
o'clock morning stage. If not, beg inquire at the _Old Bell_, Holborn.
CHARLES LAMB.
Southey will see in the _Times_ all we proposed omitting is omitted.
[See notes to the letter to Southey above.]
LETTER 519
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HAZLITT
[Enfield, Saturday, May 24th, 1830.]
Mary's love? Yes. Mary Lamb quite well.
Dear Sarah,--I found my way to Northaw on Thursday and a very good woman
behind a counter, who says also that you are a very good lady but that
the woman who was with you was naught. These things may be so or not. I
did not accept her offered glass of wine (home-made, I take it) but
craved a cup of ale, with which I seasoned a slice of cold Lamb from a
sandwich box, which I ate in her back parlour, and proceeded for
Berkhampstead, &c.; lost myself over a heath, and had a day's pleasure.
I wish you could walk as I do, and as you used to do. I am sorry to find
you are so poorly; and, now I have found my way, I wish you back at
Goody Tomlinson's. What a pretty village 'tis! I should have come
sooner, but was waiting a summons to Bury. Well, it came, and I found
the good parson's lady (he was from home) exceedingly hospitable.
Poor Emma, the first moment we were alone, took me into a corner, and
said, "Now, pray, don't _drink_; do check yourself after dinner, for my
sake, and when we get home to Enfield, you shall drink as much as ever
you please, and I won't say a word about it." How I behaved, you may
guess, when I tell you that Mrs. Williams and I have written acrostics
on each other, and she hoped that she should have "no reason to regret
Miss Isola's recovery, by its depriving _her_ of our begun
correspondence." Emma stayed a month with us, and has gone back (in
tolerable health) to her long home, for _she_ comes not again for a
twelvemonth. I amused Mrs. Williams with an occurrence on our road to
Enfield. We travelled with one of those troublesome fellow-passengers in
a stage-coach, that is called a well-informed man. For twenty miles we
discoursed about the properties of steam, probabilities of carriages by
ditto, till all my science, and more than all, was exhausted, and I was
thinking of escaping my torment by getting up on the outside, when,
getting into Bishops Stortford, my gentleman, spying some farming land,
put an unlucky question to me: "What sort of a crop of turnips I thought
we should have this year?" Emma's eyes turned to me, to know what in the
world I could have to say; and she burst into a violent fit of laughter,
maugre her pale, serious cheeks, when, with the greatest gravity, I
replied, that "it depended, I believed, upon boiled legs of mutton."
This clench'd our conversation; and my Gentleman, with a face half wise,
half in scorn, troubled us with no more conversation, scientific or
philosophical, for the remainder of the journey. Ayrton was here
yesterday, and as _learned_ to the full as my fellow-traveller. What a
pity that he will spoil a wit and a devilish pleasant fellow (as he is)
by wisdom! He talk'd on Music; and by having read Hawkins and Burney
recently I was enabled to talk of Names, and show more knowledge than he
had suspected I possessed; and in the end he begg'd me to shape my
thoughts upon paper, which I did after he was gone, and sent him.
FREE THOUGHTS ON SOME EMINENT COMPOSERS
Some cry up Haydn, some Mozart,
Just as the whim bites. For my part,
I do not care a farthing candle
For either of them, or for Handel.
Cannot a man live free and easy,
Without admiring Pergolesi!
Or thro' the world with comfort go
That never heard of Doctor Blow!
So help me God, I hardly have;
And yet I eat, and drink, and shave,
Like other people, (if you watch it,)
And know no more of stave and crotchet
Than did the un-Spaniardised Peruvians;
Or those old ante-queer-Diluvians
That lived in the unwash'd world with Jubal,
Before that dirty Blacksmith Tubal,
By stroke on anvil, or by summ'at,
Found out, to his great surprise, the gamut.
I care no more for Cimerosa
Than he did for Salvator Rosa,
Being no Painter; and bad luck
Be mine, if I can bear that Gluck!
Old Tycho Brahe and modern Herschel
Had something in them; but who's Purcel?
The devil, with his foot so cloven,
For aught I care, may take Beethoven;
And, if the bargain does not suit,
I'll throw him Weber in to boot!
There's not the splitting of a splinter
To chuse 'twixt _him last named_, and Winter.
Of Doctor Pepusch old queen Dido
Knew just as much, God knows, as I do.
I would not go four miles to visit
Sebastian Bach-or Batch-which is it?
No more I would for Bononcini.
As for Novello and Rossini,
I shall not say a word about [to grieve] 'em,
Because they're living. So I leave 'em.
Martin Burney is as odd as ever. We had a dispute about the word "heir,"
which I contended was pronounced like "air;" he said that might be in
common parlance; or that we might so use it, speaking of the
"Heir-at-Law," a comedy; but that in the Law Courts it was necessary to
give it a full aspiration, and to say _Hayer_; he thought it might even
vitiate a cause, if a Counsel pronounced it otherwise. In conclusion, he
"would consult Serjeant Wilde;" who gave it against him. Sometimes he
falleth into the water, sometimes into the fire. He came down here, and
insisted on reading Virgil's "Eneid" all through with me (which he did,)
because a Counsel must know Latin. Another time he read out all the
Gospel of St. John, because Biblical quotations are very emphatic in a
Court of Justice. A third time, he would carve a fowl, which he did very
ill-favoredly, because "we did not know how indispensable it was for a
Barrister to do all those sort of things well. Those little things were
of more consequence than we supposed." So he goes on, harassing about
the way to prosperity, and losing it. With a long head, but somewhat a
wrong one--harum-scarum. Why does not his guardian angel look to him? He
deserves one--: may be, he has tired him out.
I am----with this long scrawl, but I thought in your exile, you might
like a letter. Commend me to all the wonders in Derbyshire, and tell the
devil I humbly kiss--my hand to him. Yours ever,
C. LAMB.
["Free Thoughts." The version in Ayrton's album differs a little from
this, the principal difference being in line 13, "primitive" for
"un-Spaniardised." Lamb's story of the origin of the verses is not
necessarily correct. I fancy that he had written them for Novello before
he produced them in reply to Ayrton's challenge. When sending the poem
to Ayrton in a letter at this time, not available for this edition
(written apparently just after Novello had paid the visit, referred to
above), Lamb wrote that it was written to gratify Novello.
Mary Lamb (or Charles Lamb, personating her) appended the following
postscript to the verses in Novello's album:--
The reason why my brother's so severe,
Vincentio is--my brother has no ear:
And Caradori her mellifluous throat
Might stretch in vain to make him learn a note.
Of common tunes he knows not anything,
Nor "Rule, Britannia" from "God save the King."
He rail at Handel! He the gamut quiz!
I'd lay my life he knows not what it is.
His spite at music is a pretty whim--
He loves not it, because it loves not him.
M. LAMB.
"Serjeant Wilde"-Thomas Wilde (1782-1855), afterwards Lord Truro, a
friend of Lamb's, who is said to have helped him with squibs in the
Newark election in 1829, when Martin Burney was among his supporters
(see Vol. V. of my large edition, page 341).
Here had I permission, I would print Lamb's letter to Ayrton, given in
the Boston Bibliophile edition, incorporating the same poem.]
LETTER 520
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HAZLITT
June 3, 1830.
Dear Sarah,--I named your thought about William to his father, who
expressed such horror and aversion to the idea of his singing in public,
that I cannot meddle in it directly or indirectly. Ayrton is a kind
fellow, and if you chuse to consult him by Letter, or otherwise, he will
give you the best advice, I am sure, very readily. _I have no doubt that
M. Burney's objection to interfering was the same--with mine._ With
thanks for your pleasant long letter, which is not that of an Invalid,
and sympathy for your sad sufferings, I remain, in haste,
Yours Truly,
Mary's kindest Love.
[There was some talk of William Hazlitt Junr. becoming a pupil of Braham
and taking up music seriously. He did not do so.
Here should come a note from Lamb to Hone, dated Enfield, June 17, 1830,
in which Lamb offers Hone £1 per quarter for yesterday's Times, after
the Coffee-House customers have done with it. He ends with the wish,
"Vivant Coffee, Coffee-potque!"]
LETTER 521
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. June 28, 1830.]
DEAR B.B.--Could you dream of my publishing without sending a copy to
you? You will find something new to you in the vol. particularly the
Translations. Moxon will send to you the moment it is out. He is the
young poet of Xmas, whom the Author of the Pleasures of Memory has set
up in the bookvending business with a volunteer'd loan of £500--such
munificence is rare to an almost stranger. But Rogers, I am told, has
done many goodnatured things of this nature. I need not say how glad to
see A.K. and Lucy we should have been,--and still shall be, if it be
practicable. Our direction is Mr. Westwood's, Chase Side Enfield, but
alas I know not theirs. We can give them a bed. Coaches come daily from
the Bell, Holborn.
You will see that I am worn to the poetical dregs, condescending to
Acrostics, which are nine fathom beneath Album verses--but they were
written at the request of the Lady where our Emma is, to whom I paid a
visit in April to bring home Emma for a change of air after a severe
illness, in which she had been treated like a daughter by the good
Parson and his whole family. She has since return'd to her occupation. I
thought on you in Suffolk, but was 40 miles from Woodbridge. I heard of
you the other day from Mr. Pulham of the India House.
Long live King William the 4th.
S.T.C. says, we have had wicked kings, foolish kings, wise kings, good
kings (but few) but never till now have we had a Blackguard King--
Charles 2d was profligate, but a Gentleman.
I have nineteen Letters to dispatch this leisure Sabbath for Moxon to
send about with Copies-so you will forgive me short measure--and believe
me
Yours ever
C.L.
Pray do let us see your Quakeresses if possible.
[Lamb's _Album Verses_ was almost ready. The translations were those
from Vincent Bourne.
William IV. came to the throne on June 26, 1830.
"I have nineteen Letters." The fact that none of these is forthcoming
helps to illustrate the imperfect state of Lamb's correspondence as
(even among so many differing editions) we now have it. But of course
the number may have been an exaggeration.
Here should come a note from Lamb to Hone, dated July 1, 1830, in which
Lamb asks that the newspaper be kept as he is meditating a town
residence (see next letter).
Here probably should come an undated letter to Mrs. John Rickman,
accompanying a gift of _Album Verses_. Lamb says: "Will you re-give, or
_lend_ me, by the bearer, the one Volume of juvenile Poetry? I have
tidings of a second at Brighton." He proposes that he and Mrs. Rickman
shall some day play old whist for the two.]
LETTER 522
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. 30 August, 1830.]
Dear B.B.--my address is 34 Southampton Buildings, Holborn. For God's
sake do not let me [be] pester'd with Annuals. They are all rogues who
edit them, and something else who write in them. I am still alone, and
very much out of sorts, and cannot spur up my mind to writing. The sight
of one of those Year Books makes me sick. I get nothing by any of 'em,
not even a Copy--
Thank you for your warm interest about my little volume, for the critics
on which I care [? not] the 5 hundred thousandth part of the tythe of a
half-farthing. I am too old a Militant for that. How noble, tho', in
R.S. to come forward for an old friend, who had treated him so
unworthily. Moxon has a shop without customers, I a Book without
readers. But what a clamour against a poor collection of album verses,
as if we had put forth an Epic. I cannot scribble a long Letter--I am,
when not at foot, very desolate, and take no interest in any thing,
scarce hate any thing, but annuals. I am in an interregnum of thought
and feeling--
What a beautiful Autumn morning this is, if it was but with me as in
times past when the candle of the Lord shined round me--
I cannot even muster enthusiasm to admire the French heroism.
In better times I hope we may some day meet, and discuss an old poem or
two. But if you'd have me not sick no more of Annuals.
C.L. Ex-Elia.
Love to Lucy and A.K. always.
[_The Literary Gazette_, Jerdan's paper, had written offensively of
_Album Verses_ and its author's vanity in the number for July 10, 1830.
Southey published in _The Times_ of August 6 some lines in praise of
Lamb and against Jerdan. It was Southey's first public utterance on Lamb
since the famous letter by Elia to himself, and is the more noble in
consequence. The lines ran thus:--
TO CHARLES LAMB
On the Reviewal of his _Album Verses_ in the _Literary Gazette_
Charles Lamb, to those who know thee justly dear
For rarest genius, and for sterling worth,
Unchanging friendship, warmth of heart sincere,
And wit that never gave an ill thought birth,
Nor ever in its sport infix'd a sting;
To us who have admired and loved thee long,
It is a proud as well as pleasant thing
To hear thy good report, now borne along
Upon the honest breath of public praise:
We know that with the elder sons of song
In honouring whom thou hast delighted still,
Thy name shall keep its course to after days.
The empty pertness, and the vulgar wrong,
The flippant folly, the malicious will,
Which have assailed thee, now, or heretofore,
Find, soon or late, their proper meed of shame;
The more thy triumph, and our pride the more,
When witling critics to the world proclaim,
In lead, their own dolt incapacity.
Matter it is of mirthful memory
To think, when thou wert early in the field,
How doughtily small Jeffrey ran at thee
A-tilt, and broke a bulrush on thy shield.
And now, a veteran in the lists of fame,
I ween, old Friend! thou art not worse bested
When with a maudlin eye and drunken aim,
Dulness hath thrown a _jerdan_ at thy head.
SOUTHEY.
Leigh Hunt attacked Jerdan in the _Examiner_ in a number of "Rejected
Epigrams" signed T.A. See later. He also took up the matter in the
Tatler, in the first number of which the following "Inquest
Extraordinary" was printed:--
Last week a porter died beneath his burden;
Verdict: Found carrying a _Gazette_ from Jerdan.
Moxon's shop without customers was at 64 New Bond Street. "The candle of
the Lord." In my large edition I gave this reference very thoughtlessly
to Proverbs xx. 27. It is really to Job. xxix. 3.
"The French heroism." The July Revolution, in which the Bourbons were
routed and Louis Philippe placed on the throne.]
LETTER 523
CHARLES LAMB TO SAMUEL ROGERS
[Dated at end: Oct. 5, 1830.]
Dear Sir,--I know not what hath bewitch'd me that I have delayed
acknowledging your beautiful present. But I have been very unwell and
nervous of late. The poem was not new to me, tho' I have renewed
acquaintance with it. Its metre is none of the least of its
excellencies. 'Tis so far from the stiffness of blank verse--it gallops
like a traveller, as it should do--no crude Miltonisms in [it]. Dare I
pick out what most pleases me? It is the middle paragraph in page
thirty-four. It is most tasty. Though I look on every impression as a
_proof_ of your kindness, I am jealous of the ornaments, and should have
prized the verses naked on whitybrown paper.
I am, Sir, yours truly,
C. LAMB.
Oct. 5th.
[Rogers had sent Lamb a copy of his Italy, with illustrations by Turner
and Stothard, which was published by Moxon with other firms in 183O.
This is the middle paragraph on page 34:--
Here I received from thee, Basilico,
One of those _courtesies so sweet, so rare!_
When, as I rambled thro' thy vineyard-ground
On the hill-side, thou sent'st thy little son,
Charged with a bunch almost as big as he,
To press it on the stranger. May thy vats
O'erflow, and he, thy willing gift-bearer,
Live to become a giver; and, at length,
When thou art full of honour and wouldst rest,
The staff of thine old age!]
LETTER 524
CHARLES LAMB TO VINCENT NOVELLO
[P.M. November 8, 1830.]
Tears are for lighter griefs. Man weeps the doom
That seals a single victim to the tomb.
But when Death riots, when with whelming sway
Destruction sweeps a family away;
When Infancy and Youth, a huddled mass,
All in an instant to oblivion pass,
And Parent's hopes are crush'd; what lamentation
Can reach the depth of such a desolation?
Look upward, Feeble Ones! look up, and trust
That He, who lays this mortal frame in dust,
Still hath the immortal Spirit in His keeping.
In Jesus' sight they are not dead, but sleeping.
Dear N., will these lines do? I despair of better. Poor Mary is in a
deplorable state here at Enfield.
Love to all,
C. LAMB.
[The four sons and two daughters of John and Ann Rigg, of York, had been
drowned in the Ouse. A number of poets were asked for verses, the best
to be inscribed on a monument in York Minster. Those of James Montgomery
were chosen.
It was possibly the death of Hazlitt, on September 18, while the Lambs
were in their London lodgings, that brought on Mary Lamb's attack.]
LETTER 525
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
November 12, 1830.
Dear Moxon,--I have brought my sister to Enfield, being sure that she
had no hope of recovery in London. Her state of mind is deplorable
beyond any example. I almost fear whether she has strength at her time
of life ever to get out of it. Here she must be nursed, and neither see
nor hear of anything in the world out of her sick chamber. The mere
hearing that Southey had called at our lodgings totally upset her. Pray
see him, or hear of him at Mr. Rickman's, and excuse my not writing to
him. I dare not write or receive a letter in her presence; every little
task so agitates her. Westwood will receive any letter for me, and give
it me privately. Pray assure Southey of my kindliest feelings towards
him; and, if you do not see him, send this to him.
Kindest remembrances to your sister, and believe me ever yours, C. LAMB.
Remember me kindly to the Allsops.
[Southey was visiting Rickman, then Clerk Assistant to the House of
Commons, where he lived.]
LETTER 526
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date. ? Dec., 1830.]
Dear M. Something like this was what I meant. But on reading it over, I
see no great fun or use in it. It will only stuff up and encroach upon
the sheet you propose. Do as, and _what_, you please. Send Proof, or
not, as you like. If you send, send me a copy or 2 of the Album Verses,
and the Juvenile Poetry if _bound_.
I am happy to say Mary is mending, but not enough to give me hopes of
being able to leave her. I sadly regret that I shall possibly not see
Southey or Wordsworth, but I dare not invite either of them here, for
fear of exciting my sister, whose only chance is quiet. You don't know
in what a sad state we have been.
I think the Devil may come out without prefaces, but use your
discretion.
Make my kindest remembces to Southey, with my heart's thanks for his
kind intent. I am a little easier about my Will, and as Ryle is
Executor, and will do all a friend can do at the Office, and what little
I leave will buy an annuity to piece out tolerably, I am much easier.
Yours ever
C.L.
To 64 New Bond St.
[I cannot say to what the opening sentences refer: probably an
advertisement for _Satan in Search of a Wife_ ("the Devil"), which Lamb
had just written and Moxon was publishing.
The reference to the Juvenile Poetry suggests that Moxon had procured
some of the sheets of the _Poetry for Children_ which Godwin brought out
in 1809, and was binding up a few. This theory is borne out by the
statement in the letter to Mrs. Norris, later, that the book was not to
be had for love or money, and the circumstance that in 1833 Lamb seems
to send her a copy. Ryle was Charles Ryle. an India House clerk, and
Lamb's executor with Talfourd.]
LETTER 527
CHARLES LAMB TO GEORGE DYER
Dec. 20, 1830.
Dear Dyer,--I would have written before to thank you for your kind
letter, written with your own hand. It glads us to see your writing. It
will give you pleasure to hear that, after so much illness, we are in
tolerable health and spirits once more. Miss Isola intended to call upon
you after her night's lodging at Miss Buffam's, but found she was too
late for the stage. If she comes to town before she goes home, she will
not miss paying her respects to Mrs. Dyer and you, to whom she desires
best love. Poor Enfield, that has been so peaceable hitherto, has caught
the inflammatory fever, the tokens are upon her! and a great fire was
blazing last night in the barns and haystacks of a farmer, about half a
mile from us. Where will these things end? There is no doubt of its
being the work of some ill-disposed rustic; but how is he to be
discovered? They go to work in the dark with strange chemical
preparations unknown to our forefathers. There is not even a dark
lantern to have a chance of detecting these Guy Fauxes. We are past the
iron age, and are got into the fiery age, undream'd of by Ovid. You are
lucky in Clifford's Inn where, I think, you have few ricks or stacks
worth the burning. Pray keep as little corn by you as you can, for fear
of the worst.
It was never good times in England since the poor began to speculate
upon their condition. Formerly, they jogged on with as little reflection
as horses: the whistling ploughman went cheek by jowl with his brother
that neighed. Now the biped carries a box of phosphorus in his
leather-breeches; and in the dead of night the half-illuminated beast
steals his magic potion into a cleft in a barn, and half a country is
grinning with new fires. Farmer Graystock said something to the touchy
rustic that he did not relish, and he writes his distaste in flames.
What a power to intoxicate his crude brains, just muddlingly awake, to
perceive that something is wrong in the social system!-what a hellish
faculty above gunpowder!
Now the rich and poor are fairly pitted; we shall see who can hang or
burn fastest. It is not always revenge that stimulates these kindlings.
There is a love of exerting mischief. Think of a disrespected clod that
was trod into earth, that was nothing, on a sudden by damned arts
refined into an exterminating angel, devouring the fruits of the earth
and their growers in a mass of fire! What a new existence!--what a
temptation above Lucifer's! Would clod be any thing but a clod, if he
could resist it? Why, here was a spectacle last night for a whole
country!--a Bonfire visible to London, alarming her guilty towers, and
shaking the Monument with an ague fit--all done by a little vial of
phosphor in a Clown's fob! How he must grin, and shake his empty noddle
in clouds, the Vulcanian Epicure! Can we ring the bells backward? Can we
unlearn the arts that pretend to civilize, and then burn the world?
There is a march of Science; but who shall beat the drums for its
retreat? Who shall persuade the boor that phosphor will not ignite?
Seven goodly stacks of hay, with corn-barns proportionable, lie smoking
ashes and chaff, which man and beast would sputter out and reject like
those apples of Asphaltes and bitumen. The food for the inhabitants of
earth will quickly disappear. Hot rolls may say: "Fuimus panes, fuit
quartern-loaf, et ingens gloria Apple-pasty-orum." That the good old
munching system may last thy time and mine, good un-incendiary George,
is the devout prayer of thine,
To the last crust,
CH. LAMB.
[Incendiarism, the result of agricultural distress and in opposition to
the competition of the new machinery, was rife in the country at this
time.]
LETTER 528
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date. ? Christmas, 1830.]
Dear M. A thousand thanks for your punctualities. What a cheap Book is
the last Hogarth you sent me! I am pleased now that Hunt _diddled_ me
out of the old one. Speaking of this, only think of the new farmer with
his 30 acres. There is a portion of land in Lambeth parish called Knaves
Acre. I wonder he overlook'd it. Don't show this to the firm of Dilk &
C'o. I next want one copy of Leicester School, and wish you to pay
Leishman, Taylor, 2 Blandford Place, Pall Mall, opposite the British
Institution, £6. 10. for coat waistcoat &c. And I vehemently thirst for
the 4th No. of Nichols's Hogarth, to bind 'em up (the 2 books) as
"Hogarth, and Supplement." But as you know the price, don't stay for its
appearance; but come as soon as ever you can with your bill of all
demands in full, and, as I have none but £5 notes, bring with you
sufficient change. Weather is beautiful. I grieve sadly for Miss
Wordsworth. We are all well again. Emma is with us, and we all shall be
glad of a sight of you. COME ON Sunday, if you _can_; better, if you
come before. Perhaps Rogers would smile at this.--A pert half chemist
half apothecary, in our town, who smatters of literature and is
immeasurable unletterd, said to me "Pray, Sir, may not Hood (he of the
acres) be reckon'd the Prince of wits in the present day?" to which I
assenting, he adds "I had always thought that Rogers had been reckon'd
the Prince of Wits, but I suppose that now Mr. Hood has the better title
to that appellation." To which I replied that Mr. R. had wit with much
better qualities, but did not aspire to the principality. He had taken
all the puns manufactured in John Bull for our friend, in sad and stupid
earnest. One more Album verses, please.
Adieu.
C.L.
["Hunt." This would, I think, be not Leigh Hunt but his nephew, Hunt of
Hunt & Clarke. The diddling I cannot explain. Leishman was the husband
of Mrs. Leishman, the Lambs' old landlady at Enfield.
"Miss Wordsworth"--Dorothy Wordsworth, who was ill.
"Perhaps Rogers would smile at this." I take the following passage from
the _Maclise Portrait Gallery:_--
In the early days of the _John Bull_ it was the fashion to lay every
foundling witticism at the door of Sam Rogers; and thus the refined
poet and man of letters became known as a sorry jester.
_John Bull_ was Theodore Hook's paper. Maginn wrote in _Fraser's
Magazine:_--
Joe Miller vails his bonnet to Sam Rogers; in all the newspapers,
not only of the kingdom but its dependencies,--Hindostan, Canada,
the West Indies, the Cape, from the tropics,--nay, from the
Antipodes to the Orkneys, Sam is godfather-- general to all the bad
jokes in existence. The Yankees have caught the fancy, and from New
Orleans to New York it is the same,--Rogers is synonymous with a
pun. All British-born or descended people,--yea the very negro and
the Hindoo--father their calembourgs on Rogers. Quashee, or
Ramee-Samee, who knows nothing of Sir Isaac Newton, John Milton, or
_Fraser's Magazine_, grins from ear to ear at the name of the
illustrious banker, and with gratified voice exclaims, "Him dam
funny, dat Sam!"]
LETTER 529
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. February 3, 1831.]
Dear Moxon, The snows are ancle deep slush and mire, that 'tis hard to
get to the post office, and cruel to send the maid out. 'Tis a slough of
despair, or I should sooner have thankd you for your offer of the
_Life_, which we shall very much like to have, and will return duly. I
do not know when I shall be in town, but in a week or two at farthest,
when I will come as far as you if I can. We are moped to death with
confinement within doors. I send you a curiosity of G. Dyer's
tender-conscience. Between 30 and 40 years since, G. published the
Poet's Fate, in which were two very harmless lines about Mr. Rogers, but
Mr. R. not quite approving of them, they were left out in a subsequent
edition 1801. But G. has been worryting about them ever since; if I have
heard him once, I have heard him a hundred times express a remorse
proportiond to a consciousness of having been guilty of an atrocious
libel. As the devil would have it, a fool they call _Barker_, in his
Parriana has quoted the identical two lines as they stood in some
obscure edition anterior to 1801, and the withers of poor G. are again
wrung. His letter is a gem--with his poor blind eyes it has been
laboured out at six sittings. The history of the couplet is in page 3 of
this irregular production, in which every variety of shape and size that
Letters can be twisted into, is to be found. Do _shew_ his part of it to
Mr. R. some day. If he has bowels, they must melt at the contrition so
queerly character'd of a contrite sinner. G. was born I verily think
without original sin, but chuses to have a conscience, as every
Christian Gentleman should have. His dear old face is insusceptible of
the twist they call a sneer, yet he is apprehensive of being suspected
of that ugly appearance. When he makes a compliment, he thinks he has
given an affront. A name is personality. But shew (no hurry) this unique
recantation to Mr. R. 'Tis like a dirty pocket handkerchief muck'd with
tears of some indigent Magdalen. There is the impress of sincerity in
every pot-hook and hanger. And then the gilt frame to such a pauper
picture! It should go into the Museum. I am heartily sorry my Devil does
not answer. We must try it a little longer, and after all I think I must
insist on taking a portion of the loss upon myself. It is too much you
should lose by two adventures. You do not say how your general business
goes on, and I should very much like to talk over it with you here. Come
when the weather will possibly let you. I want to see the Wordsworths,
but I do not much like to be all night away. It is dull enough to be
here together, but it is duller to leave Mary; in short it is painful,
and in a flying visit I should hardly catch them. I have no beds for
them, if they came down, and but a sort of a house to receive them in,
yet I shall regret their departure unseen. I feel cramped and straiten'd
every way. Where are they?
We have heard from Emma but once, and that a month ago, and are very
anxious for another letter.
You say we have forgot your powers of being serviceable to us. _That_ we
never shall. I do not know what I should do without you when I want a
little commission. Now then. There are left at Miss Buffam's, the Tales
of the Castle, and certain vols. Retrospective Review. The first should
be conveyd to Novello's, and the Reviews should be taken to Talfourd's
office, ground floor, East side, Elm Court, Middle Temple, to whom I
should have written, but my spirits are wretched. It is quite an effort
to write this. So, with the _Life_, I have cut you out 3 Pieces of
service. What can I do for you here, but hope to see you very soon, and
think of you with most kindness. I fear tomorrow, between rains and
snows, it would be impossible to expect you, but do not let a
practicable Sunday pass. We are always at home!
Mary joins in remembrances to your sister, whom we hope to see in any
fine-ish weather, when she'll venture.
Remember us to Allsop, and all the dead people--to whom, and to London,
we seem dead.
["The _Life_." The Life which every one was then reading was Moore's
_Life of Byron_.
"George Dyer's." The explanation is that years before, in his _Poems_,
1801, Dyer had written in a piece called "The Poet's Fate"--
And Rogers, if he shares the town's regard,
Was first a banker ere he rose a bard.
In the second edition Dyer altered this to--
And Darwin, if he share the town's regard,
Was first a doctor ere he rose a bard.
Lamb notes the alteration in his copy of the second edition, now in the
British Museum. In 1828-1829 appeared _Parriana_, by Edmund Henry
Barker, which quoted the couplet in its original form, to Dyer's
distress.
_Tales of the Castle_. By the Countess de Genlis. Translated by Thomas
Holcroft]
LETTER 530
CHARLES LAMB TO GEORGE DYER
Feb. 22nd, 1831.
Dear Dyer,--Mr. Rogers, and Mr. Rogers's friends, are perfectly assured,
that you never intended any harm by an innocent couplet, and that in the
revivification of it by blundering Barker you had no hand whatever. To
imagine that, at this time of day, Rogers broods over a fantastic
expression of more than thirty years' standing, would be to suppose him
indulging his "Pleasures of Memory" with a vengeance. You never penned a
line which for its own sake you need (dying) wish to blot. You mistake
your heart if you think you _can_ write a lampoon. Your whips are rods
of roses. Your spleen has ever had for its objects vices, not the
vicious-abstract offences, not the concrete sinner. But you are
sensitive, and wince as much at the consciousness of having committed a
compliment, as another man would at the perpetration of an affront. But
do not lug me into the same soreness of conscience with yourself. I
maintain, and will to the last hour, that I never writ of you but _con
amore_. That if any allusion was made to your near-sightedness, it was
not for the purpose of mocking an infirmity, but of connecting it with
scholar-like habits: for is it not erudite and scholarly to be somewhat
near of sight, before age naturally brings on the malady? You could not
then plead the _obrepens senectus_. Did I not moreover make it an
apology for a certain _absence_, which some of your friends may have
experienced, when you have not on a sudden made recognition of them in a
casual street-meeting, and did I not strengthen your excuse for this
slowness of recognition, by further accounting morally for the present
engagement of your mind in worthy objects? Did I not, in your person,
make the handsomest apology for absent-of-mind people that was ever
made? If these things be not so, I never knew what I wrote or meant by
my writing, and have been penning libels all my life without being aware
of it. Does it follow that I should have exprest myself exactly in the
same way of those dear old eyes of yours _now_--now that Father Time has
conspired with a hard task-master to put a last extinguisher upon them?
I should as soon have insulted the Answerer of Salmasius, when he awoke
up from his ended task, and saw no more with mortal vision. But you are
many films removed yet from Milton's calamity. You write perfectly
intelligibly. Marry, the letters are not all of the same size or
tallness; but that only shows your proficiency in the _hands_--text,
german-hand, court-hand, sometimes law-hand, and affords variety. You
pen better than you did a twelvemonth ago; and if you continue to
improve, you bid fair to win the golden pen which is the prize at your
young gentlemen's academy. But you must beware of Valpy, and his
printing-house, that hazy cave of Trophonius, out of which it was a
mercy that you escaped with a glimmer. Beware of MSS. and Variae
Lectiones. Settle the text for once in your mind, and stick to it. You
have some years' good sight in you yet, if you do not tamper with it. It
is not for you (for _us_ I should say) to go poring into Greek
contractions, and star-gazing upon slim Hebrew points. We have yet the
sight
Of sun, and moon, and star, throughout the year,
And man and woman.
You have vision enough to discern Mrs. Dyer from the other comely
gentlewoman who lives up at staircase No. 5; or, if you should make a
blunder in the twilight, Mrs. Dyer has too much good sense to be jealous
for a mere effect of imperfect optics. But don't try to write the Lord's
Prayer, Creed, and Ten Commandments, in the compass of a halfpenny; nor
run after a midge or a mote to catch it; and leave off hunting for
needles in bushels of hay, for all these things strain the eyes. The
snow is six feet deep in some parts here. I must put on jack-boots to
get at the post-office with this. It is not good for weak eyes to pore
upon snow too much. It lies in drifts. I wonder what its drift is; only
that it makes good pancakes, remind Mrs. Dyer. It turns a pretty green
world into a white one. It glares too much for an innocent colour,
methinks. I wonder why you think I dislike gilt edges. They set off a
letter marvellously. Yours, for instance, looks for all the world like a
tablet of curious _hieroglyphics_ in a gold frame. But don't go and lay
this to your eyes. You always wrote hieroglyphically, yet not to come up
to the mystical notations and conjuring characters of Dr. Parr. You
never wrote what I call a schoolmaster's hand, like Clarke; nor a
woman's hand, like Southey; nor a missal hand, like Porson; nor an
all-of-the-wrong-side-sloping hand, like Miss Hayes; nor a dogmatic,
Mede-and-Persian, peremptory hand, like Rickman; but you ever wrote what
I call a Grecian's hand; what the Grecians write (or used) at Christ's
Hospital; such as Whalley would have admired, and Boyer have applauded,
but Smith or Atwood (writing-masters) would have horsed you for. Your
boy-of-genius hand and your mercantile hand are various. By your
flourishes, I should think you never learned to make eagles or
corkscrews, or flourish the governors' names in the writing-school; and
by the tenor and cut of your letters I suspect you were never in it at
all. By the length of this scrawl you will think I have a design upon
your optics; but I have writ as large as I could out of respect to
them--too large, indeed, for beauty. Mine is a sort of deputy Grecian's
hand; a little better, and more of a worldly hand, than a Grecian's, but
still remote from the mercantile. I don't know how it is, but I keep my
rank in fancy still since school-days. I can never forget I was a deputy
Grecian! And writing to you, or to Coleridge, besides affection, I feel
a reverential deference as to Grecians still. I keep my soaring way
above the Great Erasmians, yet far beneath the other. Alas! what am I
now? what is a Leadenhall clerk or India pensioner to a deputy Grecian?
How art thou fallen, O Lucifer! Just room for our loves to Mrs. D., &c.
C. LAMB.
["I never writ of you but _con amore_." Lamb refers particularly to the
_Elia_ essay "Oxford in the Vacation" in the _London Magazine_, where
G.D.'s absence of mind and simplicity of character were dwelt upon more
intimately than Dyer liked (see Vol. II.).
Dyer was gradually going blind.
"The Answerer of Salmasius"--Milton.
"Comely" Mrs. Dyer. But in the letter to Mrs. Shelley, Mrs. D. had been
"plain"!
Dyer had been a Grecian before Lamb was born. Clarke would be Charles
Cowden Clarke, with whose father Dyer had been an usher. Miss Hayes we
have met. The Rev. Peter Whalley was Upper Grammar Master in Dyer's day;
Boyer, Lamb and Coleridge's master, succeeded him in 1776. Smith was
Writing Master at the end of the seventeenth century.
Lamb had never become a Grecian, having an impediment in his speech
which made it impossible that he should take orders, the natural fate of
Grecians, with profit. Great Erasmus and Little Erasmus are still the
names of classes in the Blue-Coat School. Grecians were the Little
Erasmians.
Here should come a letter from Lamb to P.G. Patmore, dated April 10,
1831, in which Lamb says of the publisher of the _New Monthly Magazine_:
"Nature never wrote Knave upon a face more legible than upon that
fellow's--'Coal-burn him in Beelzebub's deepest pit.' I can promise
little help if you mean literary, when I reflect that for 5 years I have
been feeling the necessity of scribbling but have never found the
power.... _Moxon_ is my go between, call on _him_, 63 New Bond St., he
is a very good fellow and the bookseller is not yet burn'd into him."
Patmore was seeking a publisher for, I imagine, his _Chatsworth_.
Here should come a letter from Lamb, dated April 13, 1831, which Canon
Ainger considers was written to Gary and Mr. Hazlitt to Coleridge. It
states that Lamb is daily expecting Wordsworth.]
LETTER 531
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
April 30, 1831.
Vir Bone!--Recepi literas tuas amicissimas, et in mentem venit
responsuro mihi, vel raro, vel nunquam, inter nos intercedisse Latinam
linguam, organum rescribendi, loquendive. Epistolae tuae, Plinianis
elegantiis (supra quod TREMULO deceat) refertae, tam a verbis Plinianis
adeo abhorrent, ut ne vocem quamquam (Romanam scilicet) habere videaris,
quam "ad canem," ut aiunt, "rejectare possis." Forsan desuetudo
Latinissandi ad vernaculam linguam usitandam, plusquam opus sit, coegit.
Per adagia quaedam nota, et in ore omnium pervulgata, ad Latinitatis
perditae recuperationem revocare te institui.
Felis in abaco est, et aegrè videt. Omne quod splendet nequaquam aurum
putes. Imponas equo mendicum, equitabit idem ad diabolum. Fur commodè a
fure prenditur. O MARIA, MARIA, valdè CONTRARIA, quomodo crescit
hortulus tuus? Nunc majora canamus. Thomas, Thomas, de Islington, uxorem
duxit die nupera Dominicâ. Reduxit domum posterâ. Succedenti baculum
emit. Postridiè ferit illam. Aegrescit ilia subsequenti. Proximâ (nempe
Veneris) est Mortua. Plurimum gestiit Thomas, quòd appropinquanti
Sabbato efferenda sit.
Horner quidam Johannulus in angulo sedebat, artocreas quasdam
deglutiens. Inseruit pollices, pruna nana evellens, et magnâ voce
exclamavit "Dii boni, quàm bonus puer fio!"
Diddle-diddle-dumkins! meus unicus filius Johannes cubitum ivit,
integris braccis, caligâ unâ tantum, indutus. Diddle-diddle, etc. DA
CAPO.
Hie adsum saltans Joannula. Cum nemo adsit mihi, semper resto sola.
Aenigma mihi hoc solvas, et Oedipus fies.
Quâ ratione assimulandus sit equus TREMULO?
Quippe cui tota communicatio sit per HAY et NEIGH, juxta consilium illud
Dominicum, "Fiat omnis communicatio vestra YEA et NAY."
In his nugis caram diem consume, dum invigilo valetudini carioris
nostras Emmae, quae apud nos jamdudum aegrotat. Salvere vos jubet mecum
Maria mea, ipsa integrâ valetudine.
ELIA.
Ab agro Enfeldiense datum, Aprilis nescio quibus Calendis-- Davus sum,
non Calendarius.
P.S.--Perdita in toto est Billa Reformatura.
[Mr. Stephen Gwynn gives me the following translation:--
Good Sir, I have received your most kind letter, and it has entered
my mind as I began to reply, that the Latin tongue has seldom or
never been used between us as the instrument of converse or
correspondence. Your letters, filled with Plinian elegancies (more
than becomes a Quaker), are so alien to Pliny's language, that you
seem not to have a word (that is, a Roman word) to throw, as the
saying is, at a dog. Perchance the disuse of Latinising had
constrained you more than is right to the use of the vernacular. I
have determined to recall you to the recovery of your lost Latinity
by certain well-known adages common in all mouths.
The cat's in the cupboard and she can't see.
All that glitters is not gold.
Set a beggar on horseback and he'll ride to the Devil.
Set a thief to catch a thief.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?
Now let us sing of weightier matters.
Tom, Tom, of Islington, wed a wife on Sunday. He brought her home on
Monday. Bought a stick on Tuesday. Beat her well on Wednesday. She
was sick on Thursday. Dead on Friday. Tom was glad on Saturday night
to bury his wife on Sunday.
Little Jack Homer sat in a corner, eating his Christmas pie. He put
in his thumb and drew out a plum, and cried "Good Heavens, what a
good boy am I!"
Diddle, diddle, dumkins! my son John Went to bed with his breeches
on; One shoe off and the other shoe on, Diddle, diddle, etc. (Da
Capo.)
Here am I, jumping Joan. When no one's by, I'm all alone.
Solve me this enigma, you shall be an Oedipus.
Why is a horse like a Quaker?
Because all his communication is by Hay and Neigh, after the Lord's
counsel, "Let all your communication be Yea and Nay."
In these trifles I waste the precious day, while watching over the
health of our more precious Emma, who has been sick in our house
this long time. My Mary sends you greeting with me, she herself in
sound health.
Given from the Enfield country seat, on I know not what Calends of
April--I am Davus not an Almanac.[l]
P.S.--The Reform Bill is lost altogether.
The Reform Bill was introduced on March 1, 1831, by Lord John Russell;
the second reading was carried on March 22 by a majority of 1. On its
commitment on April 19 there was a majority of 8 against the Government.
Four days later the Government was again defeated by 22 and Parliament
was dissolved. But later, of course, the Reform Bill was passed.]
[Footnote 1: Allusion to the phrase of Davus the servant in
Plautus--"Davus sum non Oedipus."]
LETTER 532
CHARLES LAMB TO H.F. CARY
[Dated at end:] Datum ab agro Enfeldiensi, Maii die sextâ, 1831.
Assidens est mihi bona soror, Euripiden evolvens, donum vestrum,
carissime Cary, pro quo gratias agimus, lecturi atque iterum lecturi
idem. Pergratus est liber ambobus, nempe "Sacerdotis Commiserationis,"
sacrum opus a te ipso Humanissimae Religionis Sacerdote dono datum.
Lachrymantes gavisuri sumus; est ubi dolor fiat voluptas; nee semper
dulce mihi est ridere; aliquando commutandum est he! he! he! cum heu!
heu! heu!
A Musis Tragicis me non penitus abhorruisse lestis sit Carmen
Calamitosum, nescio quo autore linguâ prius vernaculi scriptum, et
nuperrimè a me ipso Latine versum, scilicet, "Tom Tom of Islington."
Tenuistine?
"Thomas Thomas de Islington,
Uxorem duxit Die quâdam Solis,
Abduxit domum sequenti die,
Emit baculum subsequenti,
Vapulat ilia posterâ,
Aegrotat succedenti, Mortua fit crastina."
Et miro gaudio afficitur Thomas luce posterâ quod subsequenti (nempe,
Dominicâ) uxor sit efferenda.
"En Iliades Domesticas!
En circulum calamitatum!
Planè hebdomadalem tragoediam."
I nunc et confer Euripiden vestrum his luctibus, hâc morte uxoriâ;
confer Alcesten! Hecuben! quasnon antiquas Heroinas Dolorosas.
Suffundor genas lachrymis, tantas strages revolvens. Quid restat nisi
quod Tecum Tuam Caram salutamus ambosque valere jubeamus, nosmet ipsi
bene valentes. ELIA.
[Mr. Stephen Gwynn gives me the following translation:--
Sitting by me is my good sister, turning over Euripides, your gift,
dear Cary [a pun here, "carissime care"], for which we thank you,
and will read and re-read it. Most acceptable to both of us is this
book of "Pity's Priest," a sacred work of your bestowing, yourself a
priest of the most humane Religion. We shall take our pleasure
weeping; there are times when pain turns pleasure, and I would not
always be laughing: sometimes there should be a change--_heu heu!_
for _he! he!_
That I have not shrunk from the Tragic Muses, witness this
Lamentable Ballad, first written in the vernacular by I know not
what author and lately by myself put into Latin T. T. of Islington.
Have you heard it? (_See translation of preceding letter_.)
And Thomas is possessed with a wondrous joy on the following
morning, because on the next day, that is, Sunday, his wife must be
buried.
Lo, your domestic Iliads!
Lo, the wheel of Calamities
The true tragedy of a week.
Go to now, compare your Euripides with these sorrows, this death of
a wife! Compare Alcestis! Hecuba! or what not other sorrowing
Heroines of antiquity.
My cheeks are tear-bedewed as I revolve such slaughter. What more to
say, but to salute you Cary and your Cara, and wish you health,
ourselves enjoying it.
In _Mary and Charles Lamb_, 1874, by W.C. Hazlitt, in the Catalogue of
Charles Lamb's Library, for sale by Bartlett and Welford, New York, is
this item:--"_Euripidis Tragediae, interp. Lat_. 8vo. Oxonii, 1821". "C.
and M. Lamb, from H.F. Cary," on flyleaf. This must be the book
referred to. Euripides has been called the priest of pity.]
LETTER 533
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. July 14, 1831.]
Collier's Book would be right acceptable. And also a sixth vol. just
publish'd of Nichols's Illustrations of the Literary History of 18th
Century. I agree with you, and do yet _not disagree_ with W.W., as to
H. It rejoyced my heart to read his friendly spirited mention of your
publications. It might be a drawback to my pleasure, that he has tried
to decry my "Nicky," but on deliberate re- and reperusal of his censure
I cannot in the remotest degree understand what he means to say. He and
I used to dispute about Hell Eternities, I taking the affirmative. I
love to puzzle atheists, and--parsons. I fancy it runs in his head,
that I meant to rivet the idea of a personal devil. Then about the
glorious three days! there was never a year or day in my past life,
since I was pen-worthy, that I should not have written precisely as I
have. Logic and modesty are not among H.'s virtues. Talfourd flatters me
upon a poem which "nobody but I could have written," but which I have
neither seen nor heard of--"The Banquet," or "Banqueting Something,"
that has appeared in The Tatler. Know you of it? How capitally the
Frenchman has analysed Satan! I was hinder'd, or I was about doing the
same thing in English, for him to put into French, as I prosified Hood's
midsummer fairies. The garden of _cabbage_ escap'd him, he turns it into
a garden of pot herbs. So local allusions perish in translation. About 8
days before you told me of R.'s interview with the Premier, I, at the
desire of Badams, wrote a letter to him (Badams) in the most moving
terms setting forth the age, infirmities &c. of Coleridge. This letter
was convey'd to [by] B. to his friend Mr. Ellice of the Treasury,
Brother in Law to Lord Grey, who immediately pass'd it on [to] Lord
Grey, who assured him of immediate relief by a grant on the King's
Bounty, which news E. communicated to B. with a desire to confer with me
on the subject, on which I went up to THE Treasury (yesterday fortnight)
and was received by the Great Man with the utmost cordiality, (shook
hands with me coming and going) a fine hearty Gentleman, and, as seeming
willing to relieve any anxiety from me, promised me an answer thro'
Badams in 2 or 3 days at furthest. Meantime Gilman's extraordinary
insolent letter comes out in the Times! As to _my_ acquiescing in this
strange step, I told Mr. Ellice (who expressly said that the thing was
renewable three-yearly) that I consider'd such a grant as almost
equivalent to the lost pension, as from C.'s appearance and the
representations of the Gilmans, I scarce could think C.'s life worth 2
years' purchase. I did not know that the Chancellor had been previously
applied to. Well, after seeing Ellice I wrote in the most urgent manner
to the Gilmans, insisting on an immediate letter of acknowledgment from
Coleridge, or them _in his name_ to Badams, who not knowing C. had come
forward so disinterestedly amidst his complicated illnesses and
embarrassments, to _use up_ an interest, which he may so well need, in
favor of a stranger; and from that day not a letter has B. or even
myself, received from Highgate, unless _that publish'd one in the Times
is meant as a general answer to all the friends who have stirr'd to do
C. service_! Poor C. is not to blame, for he is in leading strings.--I
particularly wish you would read this part of my note to Mr. Rogers. Now
for home matters--Our next 2 Sundays will be choked up with all the
Sugdens. The third will be free, when we hope you will show your sister
the way to Enfield and leave her with us for a few days. In the mean
while, could you not run down some week day (afternoon, say) and sleep
at the Horse Shoe? I want to have my 2d vol. Elias bound Specimen
fashion, and to consult you about 'em. Kenney has just assured me, that
he has just touch'd £100 from the theatre; you are a damn'd fool if you
don't exact your Tythe of him, and with that assurance I rest
Your Brother fool C.L.
[Collier's book would be his _History of English Dramatic Poetry_, 1831.
Nichols's _Illustrations_ had been begun by John Nichols, and six
volumes were published between 1817 and 1831. It was completed in two
more volumes by his son, John Bowyer Nichols, in 1848 and 1858.
"H."--Leigh Hunt. We do not know what W.W., presumably Wordsworth, had
to say of him; but this is how Hunt had referred to Moxon's publications
and Lamb's _Satan in Search of a Wife_ in _The Tatler_ for June 4, 1831,
the occasion being a review of "Selections from Wordsworth" for
schools:--
Mr. Moxon has begun his career as a bookseller in singularly high
taste. He has no connection but with the select of the earth. The
least thing he does, is to give us a dandy poem, suitable to Bond
street, and not without wit. We allude to the Byronian brochure,
entitled "_Mischief_." But this is a mere condescension to the
elegance of the street he lives in. Mr. Moxon commenced with some of
the primaeval delicacies of _Charles Lamb_. He then astonished us
with Mr. Rogers' poems on _Italy_.... Of some of these publications
we have already spoken,--Mr. Lamb's _Album Verses_ among them. And
why (the reader may ask) not have noticed his _Satan in Search of a
Wife_? Because, to say the truth, we did not think it worthy of him.
We rejoice in Mr. Lamb's accession to the good cause advocated by
Sterne and Burns, refreshed by the wholesome mirth of Mr. Moncrieff,
and finally carried (like a number of other astonished humanities,
who little thought of the matter, and are not all sensible of it
now) on the triumphant shoulders of the Glorious Three Days. But Mr.
Lamb, in the extreme sympathy of his delight, has taken for granted,
that everything that can be uttered on the subject will be held to
be worth uttering, purely for its own sake, and because it could not
well have been said twelve months ago. He merges himself, out of the
pure transport of his good will, into the joyous common-places of
others; just as if he had joined a great set of children in tossing
over some mighty bowl of snap-dragon, too scalding to bear; and
thought that nothing could be so good as to echo their "hurras!"
Furthermore, we fear that some of his old friends, on the wrong side
of the _House_, would think a little of his merriment profane:
though for our parts, if we are certain of anything in this world,
it is that nothing can be more Christian.
"The Banquet." I cannot find this poem. It is, I think, not in _The
Tatler_.
"How capitally the Frenchman ..." I cannot find any French paraphrase of
_Satan in Search of a Wife_, nor has a search at the Bibliotheque
Nationale in Paris revealed one.
"R.'s interview with the Premier." R. would be Rogers. Perhaps the best
explanation of this portion of Lamb's letter is the following passage
from Mr. Dykes Campbell's memoir of Coleridge:--
On June 26, 1830, died George IV., and with him died the pensions of the
Royal Associates. Apparently they did not find this out until the
following year. In the _Englishman's Magazine_ for June, 1831, attention
was directed to the fact that "intimation had been given to Mr.
Coleridge and his brother Associates that they must expect their
allowances 'very shortly' to cease"--the allowances having been a
personal bounty of the late King. On June 3, 1831, Gillman wrote a
letter to the _Times_, "in consequence of a paragraph which appeared in
the _Times_ of this day." He states that on the sudden suppression of
the honorarium, representations on Coleridge's behalf were made to Lord
Brougham, with the result that the Treasury (Lord Grey) offered a
private grant of £200, which Coleridge "had felt it his duty most
respectfully to decline." Stuart, however, wrote to King William's son,
the Earl of Munster, pointing out the hardship entailed on Coleridge,
"who is old and infirm, and without other means of subsistence." He begs
the Earl to lay the matter before his royal father. To this a reply
came, excusing the King on account of his "very reduced income," but
promising that the matter shall be laid before His Majesty. To these
letters, which are printed in _Letters from the Lake Poets_ (pages
319-322), the following note is appended: "The annuity ... was not
renewed, but a sum of £300 was ultimately handed over to Coleridge by
the Treasury." Even apart from this bounty, Coleridge was not a sufferer
by the withdrawal of the King's pension, for Frere made it up to him
annually.
It is interesting to know that Lamb played so useful and characteristic
a part in this matter.
"The Sugdens." I do not identify these friends.
"2d vol. Elias." This would refer, I think, to the American volume,
published without authority, in 1828, under the title _Elia; or, Second
Series_, which Lamb told N.P. Willis he liked. It contained three pieces
not by Lamb; the rest made up from the _Works_ and the _London
Magazine_ (see Vol. II., notes).]
LETTER 534
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
Pray forward the enclosed, or put it in the post.
[No date. Early August, 1831.]
Dear M.--The _R.A_. here memorised was George Dawe, whom I knew well and
heard many anecdotes of, from DANIELS and WESTALL, at H. Rogers's--_to
each of them_ it will be well to send a Mag. in my name. It will fly
like wild fire among the R. Academicians and artists. Could you get hold
of Proctor--his chambers are in Lincoln's Inn at Montagu's--or of Janus
Weathercock?--both of their _prose_ is capital. Don't encourage poetry.
The Peter's Net does not intend funny things only. All is fish. And
leave out the sickening Elia at the end. Then it may comprise letters
and characters addrest to Peter--but a signature forces it to be all
characteristic of the one man Elia, or the one man Peter, which cramped
me formerly. I have agreed _not_ for my sister to know the subjects I
chuse till the Mag. comes out; so beware of speaking of 'em, or writing
about 'em, save generally. Be particular about this warning. Can't you
drop in some afternoon, and take a bed?
The _Athenaeum_ has been hoaxed with some exquisite poetry that was 2 or
3 months ago in Hone's Book. I like your 1st No. capitally. But is it
not small? Come and see us, week day if possible. C.L.
[Moxon had just acquired _The Englishman's Magazine_ and Lamb
contributed to the September number his "Recollections of a Late Royal
Academician," George Dawe (see Vol. I. of this edition), under the
general title "Peter's Net." Daniels may have been Thomas or William
Daniell, both landscape painters. Westall may have been Richard Westall,
the historical painter, or William Westall, the topographical painter.
H. Rogers was Henry Rogers, brother of the poet.
"The _Athenaeum_ has been hoaxed." The exquisite poetry was FitzGerald's
"Meadows in Spring" (see next letter).]
LETTER 535
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. Aug. 5, 1831.]
Send, or bring me, Hone's No. for August.
Hunt is a fool, and his critics----The anecdotes of E. and of G.D. are
substantially true. What does Elia (or Peter) care for dates?
That _is_ the poem I mean. I do not know who wrote it, but is in Hone's
book as far back as April.
Tis a poem I envy--_that_ & Montgomery's Last Man (nothing else of his).
I envy the writers, because I feel I could have done something like it.
S---- is a coxcomb. W---- is a ---- & a great Poet. L.
[Hone was now editing his _Year Book_. Under the date April 30 had
appeared Edward FitzGerald's poem, "The Meadows in Spring," with the
following introduction:--
These verses are in the old style; rather homely in expression; but I
honestly profess to stick more to the simplicity of the old poets than
the moderns, and to love the philosophical good humor of our old writers
more than the sickly melancholy of the Byronian wits. If my verses be
not good, they are good humored, and that is something.
The editor of _The Athenaeum_, in reprinting the poem, suggested
delicately that it was by Lamb. There is no such poem by James
Montgomery as "The Last Man." Campbell wrote a "Last Man," and so did
Hood, but I agree with Canon Ainger that what Lamb meant was
Montgomery's "Common Lot." I give the two poems in the Appendix as
illustrations of what Lamb envied.
"Hunt is a fool." In _The Tatler_ for August 1 Leigh Hunt had quoted
much of Lamb's essay on Elliston. I do not, however, find any adverse
criticism.
"E. and G.D." Lamb had written in the August number of _The Englishman's
Magazine_ his "Reminiscences of Elliston." Lamb's article on George Dawe
did not appear till the September number, but perhaps Moxon already had
the copy.]
LETTER 536
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. Sept. 5, 1831.]
Dear M., Your Letter's contents pleased me. I am only afraid of taxing
you, yet I want a stimulus, or I think I should drag sadly. I shall keep
the monies in trust till I see you fairly over the next 1 January. Then
I shall look upon 'em as earned. Colburn shall be written to. No part of
yours gave me more pleasure (no, not the £,10, tho' you may grin) than
that you will revisit old Enfield, which I hope will be always a
pleasant idea to you.
Yours very faithfully
C.L.
[The letter's contents was presumably payment for Lamb's contribution to
_The Englishman's Magazine_.]
LETTER 537
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HAZLITT, JR.
[P.M. Sept. 13, 1831.]
Dear Wm--We have a sick house, Mrs. Westw'ds daughter in a fever, &
Grandaughter in the meazles, & it is better to see no company just now,
but in a week or two we shall be very glad to see you; come at a hazard
then, on a week day if you can, because Sundays are stuffd up with
friends on both parts of this great ill-mix'd family. Your second
letter, dated 3d Sept'r, came not till Sund'y & we staid at home in
even'g in expectation of seeing you. I have turned & twisted what you
ask'd me to do in my head, & am obliged to say I can not undertake
it--but as a composition for declining it, will you accept some verses
which I meditate to be addrest to you on your father, & prefixable to
your Life? Write me word that I may have 'em ready against I see you
some 10 days hence, when I calculate the House will be uninfected. Send
your mother's address.
If you are likely to be again at Cheshunt before that time, on second
thoughts, drop in here, & consult--
Yours,
C.L.
Not a line is yet written--so say, if I shall do 'em.
[This is the only letter extant to the younger Hazlitt, who was then
nearly twenty. William Hazlitt, the essayist, had died September 18,
1830. Lamb was at his bedside. The memoir of him, by his son, was
prefixed to the _Literary Remains_ in 1836, but no verses by Lamb
accompanied it. When this letter was last sold at Sotheby's in June,
1902, a copy of verses was attached beginning--
There lives at Winterslow a man of such
Rare talents and deep learning ...
in the handwriting of William Hazlitt. They bear more traces of being
Mary Lamb's work than her brother's.]
LETTER 538
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. October 24, 1831.]
To address an abdicated monarch is a nice point of breeding. To give him
his lost titles is to mock him; to withhold 'em is to wound him. But his
Minister who falls with him may be gracefully sympathetic. I do honestly
feel for your diminution of honors, and regret even the pleasing cares
which are part and parcel of greatness. Your magnanimous submission, and
the cheerful tone of your renunciation, in a Letter which, without
flattery, would have made an "ARTICLE," and which, rarely as I keep
letters, shall be preserved, comfort me a little. Will it please, or
plague you, to say that when your Parcel came I damned it, for my pen
was warming in my hand at a ludicrous description of a Landscape of an
R.A., which I calculated upon sending you to morrow, the last day you
gave me. Now any one calling in, or a letter coming, puts an end to my
writing for the day. Little did I think that the mandate had gone out,
so destructive to my occupation, so relieving to the apprehensions of
the whole body of R.A.'s. So you see I had not quitted the ship while a
plank was remaining.
To drop metaphors, I am sure you have done wisely. The
very spirit of your epistle speaks that you have a weight off
your mind. I have one on mine. The cash in hand, which,
as * * * * * * less truly says, burns in my pocket. I feel queer
at returning it (who does not?). You feel awkward at re-taking
it (who ought not?) Is there no middle way of adjusting this
fine embarrassment? I think I have hit upon a medium to
skin the sore place over, if not quite to heal it. You hinted
that there might be something under £10 by and by accruing
to me _Devil's Money_. You are sanguine--say £7: 10s.--that
I entirely renounce and abjure all future interest in, I insist
upon it, and "by Him I will not name" I won't touch a penny
of it. That will split your Loss one half--and leave me conscientious
possessor of what I hold. Less than your assent to this, no proposal
will I accept of.
The Rev. Mr.------, whose name you have left illegible (is it
_Sea-gull_?) never sent me any book on Christ's Hospit. by which I could
dream that I was indebted to him for a dedication. Did G.D. send his
penny tract to me to convert me to Unitarianism? Dear blundering soul!
why I am as old a one-Goddite as himself. Or did he think his cheap
publication would bring over the Methodists over the way here? However
I'll give it to the pew-opener (in whom I have a little interest,) to
hand over to the Clerk, whose wife she sometimes drinks tea with, for
him to lay before the Deacon, who exchanges the civility of the hat with
him, for him to transmit to the Minister, who shakes hand with him out
of Chapel, and he, in all odds, will ---- with it.
I wish very much to see you. I leave it to you to come how you will. We
shall be very glad (we need not repeat) to see your sister, or sisters,
with you--but for you individually I will just hint that a dropping in
to Tea unlook'd for about 5, stopping bread-n-cheese and gin-and-water,
is worth a thousand Sundays. I am naturally miserable on a Sunday, but a
week day evening and Supper is like old times. Set out _now_, and give
no time to deliberation--
_P.S_.--The 2d vol. of Elia is delightful(-ly bound, I mean) and quite
cheap. Why, man, 'tis a Unique--
If I write much more I shall expand into an article, which I cannot
afford to let you have so cheap.
By the by, to shew the perverseness of human will--while I thought I
_must_ furnish one of those accursed things monthly, it seemed a Labour
above Hercules's "Twelve" in a year, which were evidently Monthly
Contributions. Now I am emancipated, I feel as if I had a thousand
Essays swelling within me. False feelings both.
I have lost Mr. Aitken's Town address--do you know it? Is he there?
Your ex-Lampoonist, or Lamb-punnist--from Enfield, Oct. 24, or "last day
but one for receiving articles that can be inserted."
[Moxon, finding _The Englishman's Magazine_ unsuccessful, gave it up
suddenly after the October number, the third under his direction. His
letter to Lamb on the subject is not now forthcoming. The ludicrous
description of a landscape by an R.A. is, I imagine, that of the garden
of the Hesperides in the _Elia_ essay on the "Barrenness of the
Imaginative Faculty in the Production of Modern Art" (see Vol. II.).
Probably Turner's "Garden of the Hesperides" in the National Gallery.
By "Devil's Money" Lamb means money due for _Satan in
Search of a Wife_. I do not identify * * * * * *.
"The Rev. Mr. ----." I have not identified this gentleman.
"G.D.... penny tract." I have not found Dyer's tract.
"Mr. Aitken." John Aitken, editor of _Constable's Miscellany_, whom
Moxon would have known at Hurst & Co.'s.]
LETTER 539
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. Dec. 15, 1831.]
Dear M. +S. I know, has an aversion, amounting almost to horror, of H.
He _would not_ lend his name. The other I might wring a guinea from, but
he is _very properly_ shy of his guineas. It would be improper in me to
apply to him, and impertinent to the other. I hope this will satisfy
you, but don't give my reason to H.'s friend, simply, say I decline it.
I am very much obliged to you for thinking of Gary. Put me down seven
shillings (wasn't it?) in your books, and I set you down for more in my
good ones. One Copy will go down to immortality _now_, the more lasting
as the less its leaves are disturbed. This Letter will cost you 3d.--but
I did not like to be silent on the above +.
Nothing with my name will sell, a blast is upon it. Do not think of such
a thing, unless ever you become rich enough to speculate.
Being praised, and being bought, are different things to a Book. Fancy
books sell from fashion, not from the number of their real likers. Do
not come at so long intervals. Here we are sure to be.
[S. and H. I do not identify--perhaps Southey and Hunt. Hunt's need of
guineas was chronic. The reference to Gary is not very clear. Lamb seems
to suggest that he is giving Gary a copy of a book that Gary will not
read, but will preserve.
"Nothing with my name." Moxon may perhaps have just suggested publishing
a second series of _Elia_.]
LETTER 540
CHARLES LAMB TO JOSEPH HUME'S DAUGHTERS
[No date. 1832.]
Many thanks for the wrap-rascal, but how delicate the insinuating in,
into the pocket, of that 3-1/2d., in paper too! Who was it? Amelia,
Caroline, Julia, Augusta, or "Scots who have"?
As a set-off to the very handsome present, which I shall lay out in a
pot of ale certainly to _her_ health, I have paid sixpence for the mend
of two button-holes of the coat now return'd. She shall not have to say,
"I don't care a button for her."
Adieu, très aimables!
Buttons 6d.
Gift 3-1/2
Due from ---- 2-1/2
which pray accept ... from your foolish coatforgetting
C.L.
[Joseph Hume we have met. Mr. Hazlitt writes: "Amelia Hume became Mrs.
Bennett, Julia Mrs. Todhunter. The latter personally informed me in 1888
that her Aunt Augusta perfectly recollected all the circumstances [of
the present note]. The incident seems to have taken place at the
residence of Mr. Hume, in Percy Street, Bloomsbury, and it was Amelia
who found the three-pence-halfpenny in the coat which Lamb left behind
him, and who repaired the button-holes. The sister who is described as
'Scots wha ha'e' was Louisa Hume; it was a favourite song with her."
Mrs. Todhunter supplied the date, 1832.]
LETTER 541
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE
[P.M. March 5, 1832.]
D'r Sir, My friend Aders, a German merchant, German born, has opend to
the public at the Suffolk St. Gallery his glorious Collection of old
Dutch and German Pictures. Pray see them. You have only to name my name,
and have a ticket--if you have not received one already. You will
possibly notice 'em, and might lug in the inclosed, which I wrote for
Hone's Year Book, and has appear'd only there, when the Pictures were at
home in Euston Sq. The fault of this matchless set of pictures is, _the
admitting a few Italian pictures with 'em_, which I would turn out to
make the Collection unique and pure. Those old Albert Durers have not
had their fame. I have tried to illustrate 'em. If you print my verses,
a Copy, please, for me.
[The first letter to Charles Wentworth Dilke (1789-1864), a friend of
Keats, Hunt and Hood, editor of Dodsley and at this time editor of _The
Athenaeum_. Lamb's verses ran thus:--
TO C. ADERS, ESQ.
_On his Collection of Paintings by the old German Masters_
Friendliest of men, Aders, I never come
Within the precincts of this sacred Room,
But I am struck with a religious fear,
Which says "Let no profane eye enter here."
With imagery from Heav'n the walls are clothed,
Making the things of Time seem vile and loathed.
Spare Saints, whose bodies seem sustain'd by Love
With Martyrs old in meek procession move.
Here kneels a weeping Magdalen, less bright
To human sense for her blurr'd cheeks; in sight
Of eyes, new-touch'd by Heaven, more winning fair
Than when her beauty was her only care.
A Hermit here strange mysteries doth unlock
In desart sole, his knees worn by the rock.
There Angel harps are sounding, while below
Palm-bearing Virgins in white order go.
Madonnas, varied with so chaste design.
While all are different, each seems genuine,
And hers the only Jesus: hard outline,
And rigid form, by Dürer's hand subdued
To matchless grace, and sacro-sanctitude;
Dürer, who makes thy slighted Germany
Vie with the praise of paint-proud Italy.
Whoever enter'st here, no more presume
To name a Parlour, or a Drawing Room;
But, bending lowly to each, holy Story,
Make this thy Chapel, and thine Oratory.]
LETTER 542
CHARLES LAMB TO S.T. COLERIDGE
April 14th, 1832.
My dear Coleridge,--Not an unkind thought has passed in my brain about
you. But I have been wofully neglectful of you, so that I do not deserve
to announce to you, that if I do not hear from you before then, I will
set out on Wednesday morning to take you by the hand. I would do it this
moment, but an unexpected visit might flurry you. I shall take silence
for acquiescence, and come. I am glad you could write so long a letter.
Old loves to, and hope of kind looks from, the Gilmans, when I come.
Yours _semper idem_ C.L.
If you ever thought an offence, much more wrote it, against me, it must
have been in the times of Noah; and the great waters swept it away.
Mary's most kind love, and maybe a wrong prophet of your bodings!--here
she is crying for mere love over your letter. I wring out less, but not
sincerer, showers.
My direction is simply, Enfield.
[Mr. Dykes Campbell's comment upon this note is that it was written to
remove some mistaken sick-man's fancy.]
LETTER 543
CHARLES LAMB TO JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES
[No date. ? April, 1832.]
Dear Kn.--I will not see London again without seeing your pleasant Play.
In meanwhile, pray, send three or four orders to a Lady who can't afford
to pay: Miss James, No. 1 Grove Road, Lisson Grove, Paddington, a day or
two before--and come and see us some _Evening_ with my hitherto
uncorrupted and honest bookseller
Moxon. C. LAMB.
[I have dated this April, 1832, because it may refer to Knowles' play
"The Hunchback," produced April 5, 1832. It might also possibly refer to
"The Wife" of a year later, but I think not.]
LETTER 544
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN FORSTER
[? Late April, 1832.]
One day in my life
Do come. C.L.
I have placed poor Mary at Edmonton--
I shall be very glad to see the Hunch Back and Straitback the 1st Even'g
they can come. I am very poorly indeed. I have been cruelly thrown out.
Come and don't let me drink too much. I drank more yesterday than I ever
did any one day in my life.
C.L.
Do come.
Cannot your Sister come and take a half bed--or a whole one? Which,
alas, we have to spare.
[Mary Lamb would have been taken to Walden House, Edmonton, where mental
patients were received. A year later the Lambs moved there altogether.
The Hunchback would be Knowles; the Straitback I do not recognise.
John Forster (1812-1876), whom we now meet for the first time, one of
Lamb's last new friends, was the author, later, of _Lives of the
Statesmen of the Commonwealth_ and the Lives also of Goldsmith and of
Landor and Dickens, whose close friend he was. His _Life of Pym_, which
was in Vol. II. of the _Statesman_, did not appear until 1837, but I
assume that he had ridden the hobby for some years.]
LETTER 545
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON (?)
[P.M. June 1, 1832.]
I am a little more than half alive--
I was more than half dead--
the Ladies are very agreeable--
I flatter myself I am less than disagreeable--
Convey this to Mr. Forster--
Whom, with you, I shall just be able to see some 10 days
hence and believe me ever yours C.L.
I take Forster's name to be John,
But you know whom I mean,
the Pym-praiser
not pimp-raiser.
[This letter possibly is not to Moxon at all, as the wrapper (on which
is the postmark) may belong to another letter.]
LETTER 546
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP
July 2, 1832.
AT midsummer or soon after (I will let you know the previous day), I
will take a day with you in the purlieus of my old haunts. No offence
has been taken, any more than meant. My house is full at present, but
empty of its chief pride. She is dead to me for many months. But when I
see you, then I will say, Come and see me. With undiminished friendship
to you both,
Your faithful but queer C.L.
How you frighted me! Never write again, "Coleridge is dead," at the end
of a line, and tamely come in with "to his friends" at the beginning of
another. Love is quicker, and fear from love, than the transition ocular
from Line to Line.
LETTER 547
CHARLES LAMB TO WALTER WILSON
[Dated at end: Aug., 1832.]
My dear Wilson, I cannot let my old friend Mrs. Hazlitt (Sister in Law
to poor Wm. Hazlitt) leave Enfield, without endeavouring to introduce
her to you, and to Mrs. Wilson. Her daughter has a School in your
neighbourhood, and for her talents and by [for] her merits I can
_answer_. If it lies in your power to be useful to them in any way, the
obligation to your old office-fellow will be great. I have not forgotten
Mrs. Wilson's Album, and if you, or she, will be the means of procuring
but one pupil for Miss Hazlitt, I will rub up my poor poetic faculty to
the best. But you and she will one day, I hope, bring the Album with you
to Enfield-- Poor Mary is ill, or would send her love--
Yours very Truly
C. LAMB.
News.--Collet is dead, Du Puy is dead. I am _not_.--Hone! is turned
Believer in Irving and his unknown Tongues.
In the name of dear Defoe which alone might be a Bond of Union between
us, Adieu!
[Mrs. Hazlitt was the wife of John Hazlitt, the miniature painter, who
died in 1837. I have been unable to trace her daughter's history.
Collet I do not recognise. Probably an old fellow-clerk at the India
House, as was Du Puy. It is true that Hone was converted by Irving, and
became himself a preacher.]
LETTER 548
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON
[No date. ? Early October, 1832.]
For Lander's kindness I have just esteem. I shall tip him a Letter, when
you tell me how to address him.
Give Emma's kindest regrets that I could not entice her good friend,
your Nephew, here.
Her warmest love to the Bury Robinsons--our all three to
H. Crab. C.L.
[Mr. Macdonald's transcript adds: "Accompanying copy of Lander's verses
to Emma Isola, and others, contributed to Miss Wordsworth's Album, and
poem written at Wast-water. C.L."
The Bury Robinsons were Crabb Robinson's brother and other relatives,
whom Miss Isola had met when at Fornham.]
LETTER 549
CHARLES LAMB TO WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR
[No date. October, 1832.]
Dear Sir, pray accept a little volume. 'Tis a legacy from Elia, you'll
see. Silver and Gold had he none, but such as he had, left he you. I do
not know how to thank you for attending to my request about the Album. I
thought you would never remember it. Are not you proud and thankful,
Emma?
Yes, _very, both_-- EMMA ISOLA.
Many things I had to say to you, which there was not time for. _One_ why
should I forget? 'tis for Rose Aylmer, which has a charm I cannot
explain. I lived upon it for weeks.--
Next I forgot to tell you I knew all your Welch annoyancers, the
measureless Beethams. I knew a quarter of a mile of them. 17 brothers
and 16 sisters, as they appear to me in memory. There was one of them
that used to fix his long legs on my fender, and tell a story of a
shark, every night, endless, immortal. How have I grudged the salt sea
ravener not having had his gorge of him!
The shortest of the daughters measured 5 foot eleven without her shoes.
Well, some day we may confer about them. But they were tall. Surely I
have discover'd the longitude--
Sir, If you can spare a moment, I should be happy to hear from you--that
rogue Robinson detained your verses, till I call'd for them. Don't
entrust a bit of prose to the rogue, but believe me
Your obliged C.L.
My Sister sends her kind regards.
[Crabb Robinson took Landor to see Lamb on September 28, 1832. The
following passage in Forster's _Life of Landor_ describes the visit and
explains this letter:--
The hour he passed with Lamb was one of unalloyed enjoyment. A letter
from Crabb Robinson before he came over had filled him with affection
for that most lovable of men, who had not an infirmity to which his
sweetness of nature did not give something of kinship to a virtue. "I
have just seen Charles and Mary Lamb," Crabb Robinson had written (20th
October, 1831), "living in absolute solitude at Enfield. I find your
poems lying open before Lamb. Both tipsy and sober he is ever muttering
_Rose Aylmer_. But it is not those lines only that have a curious
fascination for him. He is always turning to _Gebir_ for things that
haunt him in the same way." Their first and last hour was now passed
together, and before they parted they were old friends. I visited Lamb
myself (with Barry Cornwall) the following month, and remember the
boyish delight with which he read to us the verses which Landor has
written in the album of Emma Isola. He had just received them through
Robinson, and had lost little time in making rich return by sending
Landor his Last Essays of Elia.
These were Landor's verses:--
TO EMMA ISOLA
Etrurian domes, Pelasgian walls,
Live fountains, with their nymphs around
Terraced and citron-scented halls,
Skies smiling upon sacred ground--
The giant Alps, averse to France,
Point with impatient pride to those,
Calling the Briton to advance,
Amid eternal rocks and snows--
I dare not bid him stay behind,
I dare not tell him where to see
The fairest form, the purest mind,
Ausonia! that e'er sprang from thee,
and this is "Rose Aylmer";--
Ah what avails the sceptred race!
Ah what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and of sighs
I consecrate to thee.
Of the measureless Bethams Lamb wrote in similar terms, but more fully,
in an article in the _New Times_ in 1825, entitled "Many Friends" (see
Vol. I.).
On April 9, 1834, Landor wrote to Lady Blessington:--
I do not think that you ever knew Charles Lamb, who is lately dead.
Robinson took me to see him.
"Once, and once only, have I seen thy face,
Elia! once only has thy tripping tongue
Run o'er my heart, yet never has been left
Impression on it stronger or more sweet.
Cordial old man! what youth was in thy years,
What wisdom in thy levity, what soul
In every utterance of thy purest breast!
Of all that ever wore man's form,'tis thee
I first would spring to at the gate of Heaven."
I say _tripping_ tongue, for Charles Lamb stammered and spoke hurriedly.
He did not think it worth while to put on a fine new coat to come down
and see me in, as poor Coleridge did, but met me as if I had been a
friend of twenty years' standing; indeed, he told me I had been so, and
shewed me some things I had written much longer ago, and had utterly
forgotten. The world will never see again two such delightful volumes as
"The Essays of Elia;" no man living is capable of writing the worst
twenty pages of them. The Continent has Zadig and Gil Bias, we have Elia
and Sir Roger de Coverly.
Mrs. Fields, writing in the _Atlantic Monthly_ for April, 1866, on
Landor, says that Landor told her of his visit to Lamb and said that
Lamb read to him some poetry and asked his opinion of it. Landor said it
was very good, whereupon Lamb laughed and called Landor the vainest of
men, for it was his own.
In a letter to Southey the lines differed, ending thus:
Few are the spirits of the glorified
I'd spring to earlier at the gate of Heaven.]
LETTER 550
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[Late 1832.]
A poor mad usher (and schoolfellow of mine) has been pestering me
_through you_ with poetry and petitions. I have desired him to call upon
you for a half sovereign, which place to my account.
I have buried Mrs. Reynolds at last, who has _virtually at least_
bequeath'd me a legacy of £32 per Ann., to which add that my other
pensioner is safe housed in the workhouse, which gets me £10.
Richer by both legacies £42 per Ann.
For a loss of a loss is as good as a gain of a gain.
But let this be _between ourselves_, specially keep it from A----- or I
shall speedily have candidates for the Pensions.
Mary is laid up with a cold.
Will you convey the inclosed by hand?
When you come, if you ever do, bring me one _Devil's Visit_, I mean
_Southey's_; also the Hogarth which is complete, Noble's I think. Six
more letters to do. Bring my bill also. C.L.
[I do not identify the usher. Mrs. Reynolds, Lamb's first
schoolmistress, we have met. The other pensioner I do not positively
identify; presumably it was Morgan, Coleridge's old friend, to whom Lamb
and Southey had each given ten pounds annually from 1819.
A----- I cannot positively identify. Perhaps the philanthropic Allsop.
Southey's "Devil's Visit" was a new edition of _The Devil's Walk_
illustrated by Thomas Landseer.
Noble's "Hogarth." Noble was the engraver.]
LETTER 551
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date. Winter, 1832.]
Thank you for the books. I am ashamed to take tythe thus of your press.
I am worse to a publisher than the two Universities and the Brit. Mus.
A[llan] C[unningham] I will forthwith read. B[arry] C[ornwall] (I can't
get out of the A, B, C) I have more than read. Taken altogether, 'tis
too Lovey; but what delicacies! I like most "King Death;" glorious 'bove
all, "The Lady with the Hundred Rings;" "The Owl;" "Epistle to What's
his Name" (here may be I'm partial); "Sit down, Sad Soul;" "The Pauper's
Jubilee" (but that's old, and yet 'tis never old); "The Falcon;"
"Felon's Wife;" damn "Madame Pasty" (but that is borrowed);
Apple-pie is very good,
And so is apple-pasty;
But--
O Lard! 'tis very nasty:
but chiefly the dramatic fragments,--scarce three of which should have
escaped my Specimens, had an antique name been prefixed. They exceed his
first. So much for the nonsense of poetry; now to the serious business
of life. Up a court (Blandford Court) in Pall Mall (exactly at the back
of Marlbro' House), with iron gate in front, and containing two houses,
at No. 2 did lately live Leishman my taylor. He is moved somewhere in
the neighbourhood, devil knows where. Pray find him out, and give him
the opposite. I am so much better, tho' my hand shakes in writing it,
that, after next Sunday, I can well see F[orster] and you. Can you throw
B.C. in? Why tarry the wheels of my Hogarth?
CHARLES LAMB.
["I am worse to a publisher." There is a rule by which a publisher must
present copies of every book to the Stationers' Hall, to be distributed
to the British Museum, the Bodleian, and Cambridge University Library.
"A.C.... B.C." Allan Cunningham's _Maid of Elvar_ and Barry Cornwall's
_English Songs_, both published by Moxon. This is Barry Cornwall's "King
Death":--
KING DEATH
King Death was a rare old fellow!
He sate where no sun could shine;
And he lifted his hand so yellow,
And poured out his coal-black wine.
_Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!_
There came to him many a Maiden,
Whose eyes had forgot to shine;
And Widows, with grief o'erladen,
For a draught of his sleepy wine.
_Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!_
The Scholar left all his learning;
The Poet his fancied woes;
And the Beauty her bloom returning,
Like life to the fading rose.
_Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!_
All came to the royal old fellow,
Who laugh'd till his eyes dropped brine,
As he gave them his hand so yellow,
And pledged them in Death's black wine.
_Hurrah!--Hurrah!_
_Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!_
By the "Epistle to What's his Name" Lamb refers to some lines to himself
which had been printed first in the _London Magazine_ in 1825, entitled
"The Epistle to Charles Lamb." See in the Appendix.
"Madame Pasty." Procter had some lines on Madame Pasta.
"My Specimens." Lamb's _Dramatic Specimens_, which very likely suggested
to Procter the idea of "Dramatic Fragments."
Under the date November 30, 1832, an unsigned letter endorsed "From
Charles Lamb to Professor Wilson" is printed in Mrs. Gordon's
_"Christopher North:" A Memoir of John Wilson_. Although in its first
paragraph it might be Lamb's, there is evidence to the contrary in the
remainder, and I have no doubt that the endorsement was a mistake. It is
therefore not printed here.]
LETTER 552
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[Dated by Forster at end: Dec., 1832.]
This is my notion. Wait till you are able to throw away a round sum (say
£1500) upon a speculation, and then --don't do it. For all your loving
encouragem'ts--till this final damp came in the shape of your letter,
thanks--for Books also--greet the Fosters and Proctors--and come singly
or conjunctively as soon as you can. Johnson and Fare's sheets have been
wash'd--unless you prefer Danby's _last_ bed--at the Horseshoe.
[I assume Lamb's advice to refer to Moxon's intention of founding a
paper called _The Reflector_, which Forster was to edit. All trace of
this periodical has vanished, but it existed in December, 1832, for
three numbers, and was then withdrawn. Lamb contributed to it.
Johnson and Fare had just murdered--on December l9--a Mr. Danby, at
Enfield. They had met him in the Crown and Horseshoes (see note to next
Letter).
Mr. W.C. Hazlitt prints a note to Moxon in his Bohn edition in which
Lamb advises the withdrawal of _The Reflector_ at once. This would be
December, 1832.]
LETTER 553
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN FORSTER
To Messrs. Bradbury & Evans, 14 Bouverie Street, Fleet Street. For the
Editor of the Reflector from C. Lamb.
[P.M. Dec. 23, 1832.]
I am very sorry the poor Reflector is abortive. Twas a child of good
promise for its _weeks_. But if the chances are so much against it,
withdraw immediately. It is idle up hill waste of money to spend another
stamp on it.
[Around the seal of this note are the words in Lamb's hand: "Obiit
Edwardus Reflector Armiger, 31 Dec., 1832. Natus tres hebdomidas. Pax
animae ejus."
The newspaper stamp at that time was fourpence (less 25 per cent.).
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Louisa Badams (_née_ Holcroft),
dated December 31, 1832, not available for this edition, in which, after
some plain speaking about the Westwoods, Lamb refers to the murder of
Mr. Danby at Enfield by Fare and two other men on the night of December
19, and says that he had been in their company at the inn a little
before, and the next morning was asked to give his evidence. Canon
Ainger says that Lamb's story is a hoax, but it reads reasonably enough
and might as easily have happened as not.]
LETTER 554
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date. Jan., 1833.]
I have a proof from Dilke. _That_ serves for next Saturday. What Forster
had, will serve a second. I sent you a _third_ concluding article for
_him_ and _us_ (a capital hit, I think, about Cervantes) of which I
leave you to judge whether we shall not want it to print _before_ a
third or even second week. In that case beg D. to clap them in all at
once; and keep the Atheneums to print from. What I send is the
concluding Article of the painters.
Soften down the Title in the Book to
"Defect of the Imaginative Faculty in Artists."
Consult Dilke.
[Lamb's _Elia_ essay "Barrenness of the Imaginative Faculty in the
Production of Modern Art," intended originally for _The Englishman's
Magazine_, was partly printed by Forster in _The Reflector_ and finally
printed in full in _The Athenaeum_ in January and February, 1833. The
reference to Don Quixote is at the end. Moxon was already printing the
_Last Essays of Elia_.
"Consult Dilke" was a favourite phrase with Lamb and Hood and, long
before, with Keats.]
LETTER 555
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. Jan. 3(1833).]
Be sure and let me have the Atheneum--or, if they don't appear, the Copy
back again. I have no other.
I am glad you are introduced to Rickman, _cultivate the introduction_. I
will not forget to write to him.
I want to see Blackwood, but _not without you_.
We are yet Emma-less.
And so that is all I can remember.
This is a corkscrew.
[_Here is a florid corkscrew._]
C. Lamb, born 1775
flourished about
the year 1832.
C.L. Fecit.--
[Lamb refers still to the "Barrenness of Imagination" series.
There are several scraps addressed by Lamb to Forster in the South
Kensington Museum; but they are undated and of little importance. I
append one or two here:--]
LETTER 556
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN FORSTER
[No date.]
Orders.
Go to Dilke's, or Let Mockson, and ax him to add this to what I sent him
a few days since, or to continue it the week after. The Plantas &c. are
capital.
Requests.
Come down with M. and _Dante_ and L.E.L. on Sunday.
ELIA.
I don't mean at his House, but the Atheneum office. Send it there. Hand
shakes.
[The Plantas would probably be a reference to the family of Joseph
Plantas of the British Museum. M. and Dante and L.E.L. would be Moxon,
Cary and Letitia Landon, the poetess, to whom Forster was for a while
engaged.
This letter, up to a certain point, was repeated as follows. It also is
at South Kensington:--]
LETTER 557
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN FORSTER
[No date.]
I wish youd go to Dilke's, or let Mockson, and ax him to add this to
what I sent him a few days since, or to continue it the week after. The
Plantas &c. are capital. Come down with Procter and Dante on Sunday. I
send you the last proof--not of my friendship. I knew you would like the
title. I do thoroughly. The Last Essays of Elia keeps out any notion of
its being a second volume.
LETTER 558
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN FORSTER
[No date.]
There was a talk of Richmond on Sunday but we were hampered with an
unavoidable engagement that day, besides that I wish to show it you when
the woods are in full leaf. Can you have a quiet evening here to night
or tomorrow night? We are certainly at home.
Yours C. LAMB.
Friday.
LETTER 559
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. Jan. 24, 1833.]
Dear Murray! _Moxon_ I mean.--I am not to be making you pay postage
every day, but cannot let pass the congratulations of sister, brother,
and "Silk Cloak," _all most cordial_ on your change of place. Rogers
approving, who can demur? Tell me when you get into Dover St. and what
the _No_. is--that I may change foolscap for gilt, and plain Mr. for
Esqr. I shall _Mister_ you while you stay--
If you are not too great to attend to it, I wish us to do without the
Sonnets of Sydney: 12 will take up as many pages, and be too palpable a
fill up. Perhaps we may leave them out, retaining the article, but that
is not worth saving. I hope you liked my Cervantes Article which I sent
you yesterday.
Not an inapt quotation, for your fallen predecessor in Albemarle Street,
to whom you must give the _coup du main_--
Murray, long enough his country's pride.
_Pope._
[_Then, written at the bottom of the page_] there's [_and written on the
next page_] there's nothing over here.
[Moxon was moving from 64 New Bond Street to 33 Dover Street.
"Silk Cloak" would, I imagine, probably be a name for Emma Isola.
"The Sonnets of Sydney"--Lamb's _Elia_ essay on this subject. It was not
omitted from the _Last Essay_, which Moxon was to publish, and eleven
sonnets were quoted.
"Your fallen predecessor." It is hardly needful to say that Moxon made
very little difference to Murray's business. The line is from Pope's
Sixth Epistle of the First Book of Horace. To Mr. Murray, who afterwards
was Earl of Mansfield.]
LETTER 560
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[Feb. 10. P.M. Feby. 11, 1833.]
I wish you would omit "by the author of Elia," _now_, in advertising
that damn'd "Devil's Wedding."
I had sneaking hopes you would have dropt in today--tis my poor
birthday. Don't stay away so. Give Forster a hint--you are to bring your
brother some day--_sisters_ in better weather.
Pray give me one line to say if you receiv'd and forwarded Emma's
pacquet to Miss Adams,
and how Dover St. looks.
Adieu.
Is there no Blackwood this month?
[_Added on cover_:--]
What separation will there be between the friend's preface, and THE
ESSAYS? Should not "Last Essays &c." head them? If 'tis too late, don't
mind. I don't care a farthing about it.
["What separation"--the _Last Essays of Elia_ were preceded by "A
Character of the Late Elia."
Here should come a letter from Lamb to Louisa Badams, dated February 15,
1833. Lamb begins with a further reference to the Enfield murder. He
says that his sister and himself have got through the _Inferno_ with the
help of Cary, and Mary is beginning Tasso.]
LETTER 561
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date. Feb., 1833.]
My dear M.--I send you the last proof--not of my friendship-- pray see
to the finish.
I think you will see the necessity of adding those words after
"Preface"--and "Preface" should be in the "contents-table"--
I take for granted you approve the title. I do thoroughly-- Perhaps if
you advertise it in full, as it now stands, the title page might have
simply the Last Essays of Elia, to keep out any notion of its being a
second vol.--
Well, I wish us luck heartily for your sake who have smarted by me.--
LETTER 562
CHARLES LAMB TO T.N. TALFOURD
February, 1833.
My dear T.,--Now cannot I call him _Serjeant_; what is there in a coif?
Those canvas-sleeves protective from ink, when he was a law-chit--a
_Chitty_ling, (let the leathern apron be apocryphal) do more 'specially
plead to the Jury Court of old memory. The costume (will he agnize it?)
was as of a desk-fellow or Socius Plutei. Methought I spied a brother!
That familiarity is extinct for ever. Curse me if I can call him Mr.
Serjeant--except, mark me, in _company_. Honour where honour is due; but
should he ever visit us, (do you think he ever will, Mary?) what a
distinction should I keep up between him and our less fortunate friend,
H.C.R.! Decent respect shall always be the Crabb's--but, somehow, short
of reverence.
Well, of my old friends, I have lived to see two knighted: one made a
judge, another in a fair way to it. Why am I restive? why stands my sun
upon Gibeah?
Variously, my dear Mrs. Talfourd, (I can be more familiar with her!)
_Mrs. Serjeant Talfourd_,--my sister prompts me--(these ladies stand
upon ceremonies)--has the congratulable news affected the members of our
small community. Mary comprehended it at once, and entered into it
heartily. Mrs. W---- was, as usual, perverse--wouldn't, or couldn't,
understand it. A Serjeant? She thought Mr. T. was in the law. Didn't
know that he ever 'listed.
Emma alone truly sympathised. _She_ had a silk gown come home that very
day, and has precedence before her learned sisters accordingly.
We are going to drink the health of Mr. and Mrs. Serjeant, with all the
young serjeantry--and that is all that I can see that I shall get by the
promotion.
Valete, et mementote amici quondam vestri humillimi.
C.L.
[Talfourd, who had been pupil of Joseph Chitty, had just become a
serjeant.
"H.C.R."--Crabb Robinson.
"My old friends." Stoddart and Tuthill were knighted; Barron Field was a
judge; Talfourd was to become both a knight and a judge.
"Mrs. W----." Mrs. Westwood, I suppose.]
LETTER 563
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date. 1833.]
D'r M. let us see you & your Brother on Sunday--The Elias are
beautifully got up. Be cautious how you name the _probability_ of
bringing 'em ever out complete--till these are gone off. Everybody'd say
"O I'll wait then."
An't we to have a copy of the Sonnets--
Mind, I shall _insist_ upon having no more copies: only I shall take 3
or 4 more of you at trade price. I am resolute about this. Yours ever--
LETTER 564
CHARLES LAMB TO C.W. DILKE
[P.M. Feb., 1833.]
CHRISTIAN NAMES OF WOMEN
(TO EDITH S-----)
In Christian world MARY the garland wears!
REBECCA sweetens on a Hebrew's ear;
Quakers for pure PRISCILLA are more clear;
And the light Gaul by amorous NINON swears.
Among the lesser lights how LUCY shines!
What air of fragrance ROSAMUND throws round!
How like a hymn doth sweet CECILIA sound!
Of MARTHAS, and of ABIGAILS, few lines
Have bragg'd in verse. Of coarsest household stuff
Should homely JOAN be fashioned. But can
You BARBARA resist, or MARIAN?
And is not CLARE for love excuse enough?
Yet, by my faith in numbers, I profess,
These all, than Saxon EDITH, please me less.
Many thanks for the life you have given us--I am perfectly satisfied.
But if you advert to it again, I give you a delicate hint. Barbara S----
shadows under that name Miss Kelly's early life, and I had the Anecdote
beautifully from her.
[The sonnet, addressed to Edith Southey, was printed in _The Athenaeum_
for March 9, 1833.
For "Barbara S----" see Vol. II. of the present edition.]
LETTER 565
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date. Early 1833.]
No _writing_, and no _word_, ever passed between Taylor, or Hessey, and
me, respecting copy right. This I can swear. They made a volume at their
own will, and volunteerd me a third of profits, which came to £30, which
came to _Bilk_, and never came back to me. Proctor has acted a friendly
part--when did he otherwise? I am very sorry to hear Mrs. P---- _as I
suppose_ is not so well. I meditated a rallying epistle to him on his
Gemini--his two Sosias, accusing him of having acted a notable piece of
duplicity. But if his partner in the double dealing suffers--it would be
unseasonable. You cannot rememb'r me to him too kindly. Your chearful
letter has relieved us from the dumps; all may be well. I rejoice at
your letting your house so magnificently. Talfourd's letter may be
directed to him "On the Western Circuit."* That is the way, send it.
With Blackwood pray send Piozziana and a Literary Gazette if you have
one. The Piozzi and that shall be immed'tly return'd, and I keep Mad.
Darblay for you eventually, a longwinded reader at present having use of
it.
The weather is so queer that I will not say I _expect_ you &c.--but am
prepared for the pleasure of seeing you when you can come.
We had given you up (the post man being late) and Emma and I have 20
times this morning been to the door in the rain to spy for him coming.
Well, I know it is not all settled, but your letter is chearful and
cheer-making.
We join in triple love to you.
ELIA & Co.
I am settled _in any case_ to take at Bookseller's price any copies I
have more. Therefore oblige me by sending a copy of Elia to Coleridge
and B. Barton, and enquire (at your leisure of course) how I can send
one, with a letter, to Walter Savage Landor. These 3 put in your next
bill on me. I am peremptory that it shall be so. These are all I can
want.
*Is it the Western? he goes to Reading &c.
[John Taylor, representing the firm of Taylor & Hessey, seems to have
set up a claim of copyright in those essays in the _Last Essays of Elia_
that were printed in the _London Magazine_. For Procter's part, see next
letter.
_Piozziana; or, Recollections of the late Mrs. Piozzi_ (Johnson's Mrs.
Thrale), was published in 1833. It was by the Rev. E. Mangin.
Mad. Darblay would be _The Memoirs of Dr. Burney_, 1832, by his daughter
Madame d'Arblay (Admiral Burney's niece). The book was severely handled
in the _Quarterly_ for April, 1833.
The following letter, which is undated, seems to refer to the difficulty
mentioned above:--]
LETTER 566
CHARLES LAMB TO B.W. PROCTER
Enfield, Monday.
Dear P----, I have more than £30 in my house, and am independent of
quarter-day, not having received my pension.
Pray settle, I beg of you, the matter with Mr. Taylor. I know nothing of
bills, but most gladly will I forward to you that sum for him, for Mary
is very anxious that M[oxon] may not get into any litigation. The money
is literally rotting in my desk for want of use. I should not interfere
with M----, tell M---- when you see him, but Mary is really uneasy; so
lay it to that account, not mine.
Yours ever and two evers,
C.L.
Do it smack at once, and I will explain to M---- why I did it. It is
simply done to ease her mind. When you have settled, write, and I'll
send the bank notes to you twice, in halves.
Deduct from it your share in broken bottles, which, you being capital in
your lists, I take to be two shillings. Do it as you love Mary and me.
Then Elia's himself again.
LETTER 567
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HONE
[March 6, 1833.]
Dear Friend--Thee hast sent a Christian epistle to me, and I should not
feel clear if I neglected to reply to it, which would have been sooner
if that vain young man, to whom thou didst intrust it, had not kept it
back. We should rejoice to see thy outward man here, especially on a day
which should not be a first day, being liable to worldly callers in on
that day. Our little book is delayed by a heathenish injunction,
threatened by the man Taylor. Canst thou copy and send, or bring with
thee, a vanity in verse which in my younger days I wrote on friend
Aders' pictures? Thou wilt find it in the book called the Table Book.
Tryphena and Tryphosa, whom the world calleth Mary and Emma, greet you
with me.
CH. LAMB.
6th of 3d month 4th day.
[On this letter is written by Hone in pencil: "This acknowledges a note
from me to C.L. written in January preceding and sent by young Will
Hazlitt. Received in my paralysis. March, 1833."
On this day Lamb gave Hone two books with the same inscription in
each--very tipsily written.]
LETTER 568
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. March 19, 1833.]
I shall _expect_ Forster and two Moxons on Sunday, and _hope_ for
Procter.
I am obliged to be in town next Monday. Could we contrive to make a
party (paying or not is immaterial) for Miss Kelly's that night, and can
you shelter us after the play, I mean Emma and me? I fear, I cannot
persuade Mary to join us.
N.B. _I can sleep at a public house._
Send an Elia (mind, I _insist_ on buying it) to T. Manning Esq. at Sir
G. Tuthill's Cavendish Square.
DO WRITE.
[Miss Kelly was then giving an entertainment called "Dramatic
Recollections" at the Strand Theatre.]
LETTER 569
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date. ? Spring, 1833.]
One o Clock.
This instant receiv'd, this instant I answer your's--Dr. Cresswell has
one copy, which I cannot just now re-demand, because at his desire I
have sent a "Satan" to him, which when he ask'd for, I frankly told him,
was imputed a lampoon on HIM!!! I have sent it him, and cannot, till we
come to explanation, go to him or send--
But on the faith of a Gentleman, you shall have it back some day _for
another_. The 3 I send. I think 2 of the blunders perfectly immaterial.
But your feelings, and I fear _pocket_, is every thing. I have just time
to pack this off by the 2 o Clock stage. Yours till me meet
At all events I behave more gentlemanlike than Emma did, in returning
the copies.
Yours till we meet--DO COME.
Bring the Sonnets--
Why not publish 'em?--or let another Bookseller?
[Dr. Cresswell was vicar of Edmonton. Having married the daughter of a
tailor--or so Mr. Fuller Russell states in his account of a conversation
with Lamb in _Notes and Queries_--he was in danger of being ribaldly
associated with Satan's matrimonial adventures in Lamb's ballad. I
cannot explain to what book Lamb refers: possibly to the _Last Essays of
Elia_, which Moxon, having found errors in, wished to withdraw,
substituting another. The point probably cannot be cleared up. The
sonnets would be Moxon's own, which he had printed privately (see a
later letter).]
LETTER 570
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. March 30, 1833.]
D'r M. Emma and we are _delighted_ with the Sonnets, and she with her
nice Walton. Mary is deep in the novel. Come as early as you can. I
stupidly overlookd your proposal to meet you in Green Lanes, for in some
strange way I _burnt my leg_, shin-quarter, at Forster's;* it is laid up
on a stool, and Asbury attends. You'll see us all as usual, about
Taylor, when you come.
Yours ever
C.L.
*Or the night I came home, for I felt it not bad till yesterday. But I
scarce can hobble across the room.
I have secured 4 places for night: in haste.
Mary and E. do not dream of any thing we have discussed.
[I fancy that the last sentence refers to an offer for Miss Isola's hand
which Moxon had just made to Lamb.]
LETTER 571
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date. Spring, 1833.]
Dear M. many thanks for the Books; the _Faust_ I will acknowledge to the
Author. But most thanks for one immortal sentence, "If I do not _cheat_
him, never _trust_ me again." I do not know whether to admire most, the
wit or justness of the sentiment. It has my cordial approbation. My
sense of meum and tuum applauds it. I maintain it, the eighth
commandment hath a secret special reservation, by which the reptile is
exempt from any protection from it; as a dog, or a nigger, he is not a
holder of property. Not a ninth of what he detains from the world is his
own. Keep your hands from picking and stealing is no ways referable to
his acquists. I doubt whether bearing false witness against thy neighbor
at all contemplated this possible scrub. Could Moses have seen the speck
in vision? An ex post facto law alone could relieve him, and we are
taught to expect no eleventh commandment. The out-law to the Mosaic
dispensation!--unworthy to have seen Moses' behind--to lay his
desecrating hands upon Elia! Has the irriverent ark-toucher been struck
blind I wonder--? The more I think of him, the less I think of him. His
meanness is invisible with aid of solar microscope, my moral eye smarts
at him. The less flea that bites little fleas! The great Beast! the
beggarly nit!
More when we meet.
Mind, you'll come, two of you--and couldn't you go off in the morning,
that we may have a daylong curse at him, if curses are not dis-hallowed
by descending so low? Amen.
Maledicatur in extremis.
[Abraham Hayward's translation of Faust was published by Moxon in
February, 1833. Lamb's letter of thanks was said by the late Edmund
Yates to be a very odd one. I have not seen it.
We may perhaps assume that Moxon's reply to Lamb's letter stating that
Taylor's claim had been paid contained the "immortal sentence."
"Not a ninth." A tailor (Taylor) is only a ninth of a man.
"The less flea." Remembering Swift's lines in "On Poetry, a Rhapsody":--
So, naturalists observe, a flea
Has smaller fleas that on him prey;
And these have smaller still to bite 'em,
And so proceed _ad infinitum_.]
LETTER 572
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN FORSTER
[No date. ? March, 1833.]
Swallow your damn'd dinner and your brandy and water fast--
& come immediately
I want to take Knowles in to Emma's only female friend for 5 minutes
only, and we are free for the even'g.
I'll do a Prologue.
[The prologue was for Sheridan Knowles' play "The Wife." Lamb wrote both
prologue and epilogue (see Vol. IV.).]
LETTER 573
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[No date. ? April 10, 1833.]
Dear M. The first Oak sonnet, and the Nightingale, may show their faces
in any Annual unblushing. Some of the others are very good.
The Sabbath too much what you have written before.
You are destined to shine in Sonnets, I tell you.
Shall we look for you Sunday, we did in vain Good Friday [April 5].
[_A signature was added by Mrs. Moxon for Mr. Frederick Locker-Lampson,
evidently from another letter_:--]
Your truest friend
C. LAMB.
LETTER 574
CHARLES LAMB TO C.W. DILKE
[No date. April, 1833.]
D'r Sir, I read your note in a moment of great perturbation with my
Landlady and chuck'd it in the fire, as I should have done an epistle of
Paul, but as far as my Sister recalls the import of it, I reply. The
Sonnets (36 of them) have never been printed, much less published, till
the other day,* save that a few of 'em have come out in Annuals. Two
vols., of poetry of M.'s, have been publish'd, but they were not these.
The "Nightingale" has been in one of the those gewgaws, the Annuals;
whether the other I sent you has, or not, penitus ignoro. But for
heaven's sake do with 'em what you like.
Yours
C.L.
*The proof sheets only were in my hand about a fortnight ago.
[Moxon's sonnets were reviewed, probably by Lamb, in _The Athenaeum_ for
April 13, 1833. The sonnet to the nightingale (see above) was quoted.
This review will be found in Vol. I. of the present edition.]
LETTER 575
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. WILLIAM AYRTON
[P.M. April (16), 1833.]
Dear Mrs. Ayrton, I do not know which to admire most, your kindness, or
your patience, in copying out that intolerable rabble of panegryc from
over the Atlantic. By the way, now your hand is in, I wish you would
copy out for me the l3th l7th and 24th of Barrow's sermons in folio, and
all of Tillotson's (folio also) except the first, which I have in
Manuscript, and which, you know, is Ayrton's favorite. Then--but I won't
trouble you any farther just now. Why does not A come and see me? Can't
he and Henry Crabbe concert it? 'Tis as easy as lying is to me. Mary's
kindest love to you both.
ELIA.
[The letter is accompanied by a note in the writing of William Scrope
Ayrton, the son of William Ayrton, copied from Mrs. Ayrton's Diary:--
"March 17, 1833.--Copied a critique upon Elia's works from the Mirror of
America a sort of news paper."]
LETTER 576
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. April 25, 1833.]
My dear Moxon, We perfectly agree in your arrangement. _It has quite set
my sister's mind at rest._ She will come with you on Sunday, and return
at eve, and I will make comfortable arrangem'ts with the Buffams. We
desire to have you here dining unWestwooded, and I will try and get you
a bottle of choice port. I have transferr'd the stock I told you to
Emma. The plan of the Buffams steers admirably between two niceties.
Tell Emma we thoroughly approve it. As our damnd Times is a day after
the fair, I am setting off to Enfield Highway to see in a morning paper
(alas! the Publican's) how the play ran. Pray, bring 4 orders for Mr.
Asbury--undated.
In haste (not for neglect)
Yours ever
C. LAMB.
Thursday.
[Lamb evidently refers to Moxon's engagement to Miss Isola being now
settled.
The play was Sheridan Knowles' "The Wife," produced on April 24.
The Buffams were the landladies of the house in Southampton Buildings,
where Lamb lodged in town.]
LETTER 577
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. April 27, 1833.]
Dear M. Mary and I are very poorly. Asbury says tis nothing but
influenza. Mr. W. appears all but dying, he is delirious. Mrs. W. was
taken so last night, that Mary was obliged at midnight to knock up Mrs.
Waller to come and sit up with her. We have had a sick child, who
sleeping, or not sleeping, next me with a pasteboard partition between,
killed my sleep. The little bastard is gone. My bedfellows are Cough and
cramp, we sleep 3 in a bed. Domestic arrangem'ts (Blue Butcher and all)
devolve on Mary. Don't come yet to this house of pest and age. We
propose when E. and you agree on the time, to come up and meet her at
the Buffams', say a week hence, but do you make the appointm't. The
Lachlans send her their love.
I do sadly want those 2 last Hogarths--and an't I to have the Play?
Mind our spirits are good and we are happy in your happiness_es_.
C.L.
Our old and ever loves to dear Em.
["Mr. W." was Mr. Westwood.--I know nothing of the Lachlans.--The Play
would be "The Wife" probably.--Miss Isola was, I imagine, staying with
the Moxons.]
LETTER 578
CHARLES LAMB TO THE REV. JAMES GILLMAN
May 7, 1833.
By a strange occurrence we have quitted Enfield for ever. Oh! the happy
eternity! Who is Vicar or Lecturer for that detestable place concerns us
not. But Asbury, surgeon and a good fellow, has offered to get you a
Mover and Seconder, and you may use my name freely to him. Except him
and Dr. Creswell, I have no respectable acquaintance in the dreary
village. At least my friends are all in the _public_ line, and it might
not suit to have it moved at a special vestry by John Gage at the Crown
and Horseshoe, licensed victualler, and seconded by Joseph Horner of the
Green Dragon, ditto, that the Rev. J.G. is a fit person to be Lecturer,
&c.
My dear James, I wish you all success, but am too full of my own
emancipation almost to congratulate anyone else. With both our loves to
your father and mother and glorious S.T.C.
Yours,
C. LAMB.
[The Rev. James Gillman was the eldest son of Coleridge's physician and
friend. He was born in 1808 and ordained in 1831. He thought in 1833 of
standing as candidate for the vicarship of Enfield, but did not obtain
it. After acting as Under Master of Highgate Grammar School he became in
1836 Rector of Barfreystone, in Kent. In 1847 he became Vicar of Holy
Trinity, Lambeth. He died in 1877.
Mary Lamb having become ill again had been moved to Edmonton, to a
private home for mental patients. Lamb followed her soon after, and
settled in the same house. It still stands (1912) almost exactly as in
the Lambs' day.]
LETTER 579
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN FORSTER
[No date. May, 1833.]
D'r F. Can you oblige me by sending 4 Box orders undated for the Olympic
Theatre? I suppose Knowles can get 'em. It is for the Waldens, with whom
I live. The sooner, the better, that they may not miss the "Wife"--I
meet you at the Talfourds' Saturday week, and if they can't, perhaps you
can, give me a bed.
Yours ratherish unwell
C. LAMB.
Mr. Walden's, Church Street, Edmonton.
Or write immediately to say if you can't get em.
[Knowles' play "The Wife," produced at Covent Garden, was moved to the
Olympic on May 9.]
LETTER 580
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN FORSTER
[P.M. May 12, 1833.]
Dear Boy, I send you the original Elias, complete. When I am a little
composed, I shall hope to see you and Proctor here; may be, may see you
first in London.
C.L.
[In the Dyce and Forster collection, at South Kensington, are preserved
some of these MSS.
Here should come a letter to Miss Rickman, dated May 23, 1833. "Perhaps,
as Miss Kelly is just now in notoriety, it may amuse you to know that
'Barbara S.' is _all_ of it true of _her_, being all communicated to
me
from her own mouth. The 'wedding' you of course found out to be Sally
Burney's."]
LETTER 581
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
End of May nearly, [1833].
Dear Wordsworth, Your letter, save in what respects your dear Sister's
health, chear'd me in my new solitude. Mary is ill again. Her illnesses
encroach yearly. The last was three months, followed by two of
depression most dreadful. I look back upon her earlier attacks with
longing. Nice little durations of six weeks or so, followed by complete
restoration--shocking as they were to me then. In short, half her life
she is dead to me, and the other half is made anxious with fears and
lookings forward to the next shock. With such prospects, it seem'd to me
necessary that she should no longer live with me, and be fluttered with
continual removals, so I am come to live with her, at a Mr. Walden's and
his wife, who take in patients, and have arranged to lodge and board us
only. They have had the care of her before. I see little of her; alas! I
too often hear her. Sunt lachrymae rerum--and you and I must bear it--
To lay a little more load on it, a circumstance has happen'd, _cujus
pars magna fui_, and which at another crisis I should have more rejoiced
in. I am about to lose my old and only walk-companion, whose mirthful
spirits were the "youth of our house," Emma Isola. I have her here now
for a little while, but she is too nervous properly to be under such a
roof, so she will make short visits, be no more an inmate. With my
perfect approval, and more than concurrence, she is to be wedded to
Moxon at the end of Aug'st. So "perish the roses and the flowers"--how
is it?
Now to the brighter side, I am emancipated from most _hated_ and
_detestable_ people, the Westwoods. I am with attentive people, and
younger--I am 3 or 4 miles nearer the Great City, Coaches half-price
less, and going always, of which I will avail myself. I have few friends
left there, one or two tho' most beloved. But London Streets and faces
cheer me inexpressibly, tho' of the latter not one known one were
remaining.
Thank you for your cordial reception of Elia. Inter nos the Ariadne is
not a darling with me, several incongruous things are in it, but in the
composition it served me as illustrative
I want you in the popular fallacies to like the "Home that is no home"
and "rising with the lark."
I am feeble, but chearful in this my genial hot weather,--walk'd 16
miles yesterd'y. I can't read much in Summer time. With very kindest
love to all and prayers for dear Dorothy,
I remain
most attachedly yours
C. LAMB.
at mr. walden's, church street, _edmonton_, middlesex.
Moxon has introduced Emma to Rogers, and he smiles upon the project. I
have given E. my MILTON--will you pardon me?--in part of a _portion_. It
hangs famously in his Murray-like shop.
[_On the wrapper is written_:--]
D'r M[oxon], inclose this in a better-looking paper, and get it frank'd,
and good by'e till Sund'y. Come early--
C.L.
["The Ariadne." See the essay on "Barrenness of the Imaginative
Faculty," where Titian's "Bacchus and Ariadne" in the National Gallery
is highly praised (see Vol. II.). Wordsworth's favourite essays in this
volume were "The Wedding" and "Old China."
"My Milton." Against the reference to the portrait of Milton, in the
postscript, some one, possibly Wordsworth, has pencilled a note, now
only partially legible. It runs thus: "It had been proposed by L. that
W.W. should be the Possessor of [? this picture] his friend and that
afterwards it was to be bequeathed to Christ's Coll. Cambridge."
Lamb had given Wordsworth in 1820 a copy of _Paradise Regained_, 1671,
with this inscription: "C. Lamb to the best Knower of Milton, and
therefore the worthiest occupant of this pleasant Edition. June 2'd
1820."]
LETTER 582
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HAZLITT
[Dated at end:] Mr. Walden's, Church Street, Edmonton, May 31, 1833.
Dear Mrs. Hazlitt,--I will assuredly come, and find you out, when I am
better. I am driven from house and home by Mary's illness. I took a
sudden resolution to take my sister to Edmonton, where she was under
medical treatment last time, and have arranged to board and lodge with
the people. Thank God, I have repudiated Enfield. I have got out of
hell, despair of heaven, and must sit down contented in a half-way
purgatory. Thus ends this strange eventful history--
But I am nearer town, and will get up to you somehow before long--
I repent not of my resolution.
'Tis late, and my hand unsteady, so good b'ye till we meet.
Your old
C.L.
LETTER 583
CHARLES LAMB TO MARY BETHAM
June 5, 1833.
Dear Mary Betham,--I remember You all, and tears come out when I think
on the years that have separated us. That dear Anne should so long have
remembered us affects me. My dear Mary, my poor sister is not, nor will
be for two months perhaps capable of appreciating the _kind old long
memory_ of dear Anne.
But not a penny will I take, and I can answer for my Mary when she
recovers, if the sum left can contribute in any way to the comfort of
Matilda.
We will halve it, or we will take a bit of it, as a token, rather than
wrong her. So pray consider it as an amicable arrangement. I write in
great haste, or you won't get it before you go.
_We do not want the money_; but if dear Matilda does not much want it,
why, we will take our thirds. God bless you.
C. LAMB.
[Miss Betham's sister, Anne, who had just died, had left thirty pounds
to Mary Lamb. Mr. Ernest Betham allows me to take this note from _A
House of Letters_.]
LETTER 584
CHARLES LAMB TO MATILDA BETHAM
[June 5, 1833.]
Dear Miss Betham,--I sit down, very poorly, to write to you, being come
to _Mr. Walden's, Church Street, Edmonton_, to be altogether with poor
Mary, who is very ill, as usual, only that her illnesses are now as many
months as they used to be weeks in duration--the reason your letter only
just found me. I am saddened with the havoc death has made in your
family. I do not know how to appreciate the kind regard of dear Anne;
Mary will understand it two months hence, I hope; but neither she nor I
would rob you, if the legacy will be of use to, or comfort to you. My
hand shakes so I can hardly write. On Saturday week I must come to town,
and will call on you in the morning before one o'clock. Till when I take
kindest leave.
Your old Friend,
C. LAMB.
[Here should come a note from Lamb to Mrs. Randal Norris, postmarked
July 10, 1833, which encloses a note from Joseph Jekyll, the Old
Bencher, thanking Lamb for a presentation copy of the _Last Essays of
Elia_ ("I hope not the last Essays of Elia") and asking him to accompany
Mrs. Norris and her daughters on a visit to him. Jekyll adds that "poor
George Dyer, blind, but as usual chearful and content, often gives ...
good accounts of you."
Here should come notes to Allsop, declining an invitation to Highgate,
and to a Mr. Tuff, warning him to be quick to use some theatre tickets
which Lamb had sent him.]
LETTER 585
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. July 14, 1833.]
Dear M. the Hogarths are _delicate_. Perhaps it will amuse Emma to tell
her, that, a day or two since, Miss Norris (Betsy) call'd to me on the
road from London from a gig conveying her to Widford, and engaged me to
come down this afternoon. I think I shall stay only one night; she would
have been glad of E's accompaniment, but I would not disturb her, and
Mrs. N. is coming to town on Monday, so it would not have suited. Also,
C.V. Le Grice gave me a dinner at Johnny Gilpin's yesterday, where we
talk'd of what old friends were taken or left in the 30 years since we
had met.
I shall hope to see her on Tuesd'y.
To Bless you both
C.L.
Friday.
[Le Grice we have met. "Johnny Gilpin's" was The Bell at Edmonton.
Here should come another note from Lamb to Mrs. Randal Norris, in which
Lamb says that he reached home safely and thanks her for three agreeable
days. Also he sends some little books, which were, I take it, copies of
Moxon's private reissue of _Poetry for Children_.
Mr. W.C. Hazlitt records that a letter from Lamb to Miss Norris was in
existence in which the writer gave "minute and humorous instructions for
his own funeral, even specifying the number of nails which he desired to
be inserted in his coffin."]
LETTER 586
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. July 24, 1833.]
For god's sake, give Emma no more watches. _One_ has turn'd her head.
She is arrogant, and insulting. She said something very unpleasant to
our old Clock in the passage, as if he did not keep time, and yet he had
made her no appointment. She takes it out every instant to look at the
moment-hand. She lugs us out into the fields, because there the
bird-boys ask you "Pray, Sir, can you tell us what's a Clock," and she
answers them punctually. She loses all her time looking "what the time
is." I overheard her whispering, "Just so many hours, minutes &c. to
Tuesday--I think St. George's goes too slow"--This little present of
Time, why, 'tis Eternity to her--
What can make her so fond of a gingerbread watch?
She has spoil'd some of the movements. Between ourselves, she has kissed
away "half past 12," which I suppose to be the canonical hour in Hanover
Sq.
Well, if "love me, love my watch," answers, she will keep time to you--
It goes right by the Horse Guards--
[_On the next page_:--]
Emma hast kist this yellow wafer--a hint.
DEAREST M.
Never mind opposite nonsense. She does not love you for the watch, but
the watch for you.
I will be at the wedding, and keep the 30 July as long as my poor months
last me, as a festival gloriously.
Your _ever
ELIA._
We have not heard from Cambridge. I will write the moment we do.
Edmonton, 24th July, 3.20 post mer. minutes 4 instants by Emma's watch.
[There used to be preserved at Rowfant (it is now in America) a letter
from Lamb to Moxon, postmarked July 28, 1833, mentioning Lamb's anxiety
about Martin Burney. It is unnecessary to print this.]
LETTER 587
CHARLES AND MARY LAMB TO EDWARD AND EMMA MOXON
[No date. ? July 31, 1833.]
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Moxon--
Time very short. I wrote to Miss Fryer, and had the sweetest letter
about you, Emma, that ever friendship dictated. "I am full of good
wishes, I am crying with good wishes," she says; but you shall see it.--
Dear Moxon, I take your writing most kindly and shall most kindly your
writing from Paris--
I want to crowd another letter to Miss Fry[er] into the little time
after dinner before Post time.
So with 20000 congratulations,
Yours,
C.L.
I am calm, sober, happy. Turn over for the reason.
I got home from Dover St., by Evens, _half as sober as a judge_. I am
turning over a new leaf, as I hope you will now.
[_On the next leaf Mary Lamb wrote_:--]
MY DEAR EMMA AND EDWARD MOXON,
Accept my sincere congratulations, and imagine more good wishes than my
weak nerves will let me put into good set words. The dreary blank of
_unanswered questions_ which I ventured to ask in vain was cleared up on
the wedding-day by Mrs. W. taking a glass of wine, and, with a total
change of countenance, begged leave to drink Mr. and Mrs. Moxon's
health. It restored me, from that moment: as if by an electrical stroke:
to the entire possession of my senses--I never felt so calm and quiet
after a similar illness as I do now. I feel as if all tears were wiped
from my eyes, and all care from my heart.
MARY LAMB.
[_At the foot of this letter Charles Lamb added_:--]
Wednesday.
DEARS AGAIN
Your letter interrupted a seventh game at Picquet which _we_ were
having, after walking to _Wright's_ and purchasing shoes. We pass our
time in cards, walks, and reading. We attack Tasso soon.
C.L.
Never was such a calm, or such a recovery. 'Tis her own words,
undictated.
[The marriage of Edward Moxon and Emma Isola was celebrated on July 30.
They afterwards went to Paris.
"Mrs. W."--Mrs. Walden, I imagine.
Here should come an amusing but brief account of the wedding sent by
Lamb to Louisa Badams on August 20 (printed by Canon Ainger). "I am not
fit for weddings or burials. Both incite a chuckle:" a sentiment which
Lamb more than once expresses.
Here should come a note thanking Matilda Betham for some bridal verses
written for the wedding of Edward Moxon and Emma Isola. "In haste and
headake."]
LETTER 588
CHARLES LAMB TO H.F. CARY
Sept. 9th, 1833.
Dear Sir,--Your packet I have only just received, owing, I suppose, to
the absence of Moxon, who is flaunting it about _à la Parisienne_ with
his new bride, our Emma, much to his satisfaction and not a little to
our dulness. We shall be quite well by the time you return from
Worcestershire and most most (observe the repetition) glad to see you
here or anywhere.
I will take my time with Darley's act. I wish poets would write a little
plainer; he begins some of his words with a letter which is unknown to
the English typography.
Yours, most truly,
C. LAMB.
P.S.--Pray let me know when you return. We are at Mr. Walden's,
Church-street, Edmonton; no longer at Enfield. You will be amused to
hear that my sister and I have, with the aid of Emma, scrambled through
the "Inferno" by the blessed furtherance of your polar-star translation.
I think we scarce left anything unmadeout. But our partner has left us,
and we have not yet resumed. Mary's chief pride in it was that she
should some day brag of it to you. Your Dante and Sandys' Ovid are the
only helpmates of translations. Neither of you shirk a word.
Fairfax's Tasso is no translation at all. It's better in some places;
but it merely observes the number of stanzas; as for images, similes,
&c., he finds 'em himself, and never "troubles Peter for the matter."
In haste, dear Gary, yours ever,
C. LAMB.
Has Moxon sent you "Elia," second volume? if not, he shall. Taylor and
we are at law about it.
["Darley's act." Not now identifiable, I think.
"Taylor and we." The case had apparently not been settled by Procter. I
have not found any report of a law-suit.]
LETTER 589
CHARLES AND MARY LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. Sept. 26, 1833.]
Thursday.
We shall be most happy to see Emma, dear to every body. Mary's spirits
are much better, and she longs to see again our twelve years' friend.
You shall afternoon sip with me a bottle of superexcellent Port, after
deducting a dinner-glass for them. We rejoyce to have E. come, the
_first Visit_, without Miss ----, who, I trust, will yet behave well;
but she might perplex Mary with questions. Pindar sadly wants Preface
and notes. Pray, E., get to Snow Hill before 12, for we dine before 2.
We will make it 2. By mistake I gave you Miss Betham's letter, with the
exquisite verses, which pray return to me, or if it be an improved copy,
give me the other, and Albumize mine, keeping the signature. It is too
pretty a family portrait, for you not to cherish.
Your loving friends
C. LAMB.
M. LAMB.
[Pindar was Cary's edition, which Moxon had just published. Miss
Betham's verses I am sorry not to be able to give; but the following
poem was addressed to Moxon by Lamb and printed in _The Athenaeum_ for
December 7, 1833:--
TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE
What makes a happy wedlock? What has fate
Not given to thee in thy well-chosen mate?
Good sense--good humour;--these are trivial things,
Dear M-----, that each trite encomiast sings.
But she hath these, and more. A mind exempt
From every low-bred passion, where contempt,
Nor envy, nor detraction, ever found
A harbour yet; an understanding sound;
Just views of right and wrong; perception full
Of the deformed, and of the beautiful,
In life and manners; wit above her sex,
Which, as a gem, her sprightly converse decks;
Exuberant fancies, prodigal of mirth,
To gladden woodland walk, or winter hearth;
A noble nature, conqueror in the strife
Of conflict with a hard discouraging life,
Strengthening the veins of virtue, past the power
Of those whose days have been one silken hour,
Spoil'd fortune's pamper'd offspring; a keen sense
Alike of benefit, and of offence,
With reconcilement quick, that instant springs
From the charged heart with nimble angel wings;
While grateful feelings, like a signet sign'd
By a strong hand, seem burnt into her mind.
If these, dear friend, a dowry can confer
Richer than land, thou hast them all in her;
And beauty, which some hold the chiefest boon,
Is in thy bargain for a make-weight thrown.]
LETTER 590
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. Oct. 17, 1833.]
Dear M.--Get me Shirley (there's a dear fellow) and send it soon. We
sadly want books, and this will be readable again and again, and pay
itself. Tell Emma I grieve for the poor self-punishing self-baffling
Lady; with all our hearts we grieve for the pain and vexation she has
encounterd; but we do not swerve a pin's-thought from the propriety of
your measures. God comfort her, and there's an end of a painful
necessity. But I am glad she goes to see her. Let her keep up all the
kindness she can between them. In a week or two I hope Mary will be
stout enough to come among ye, but she is not now, and I have scruples
of coming alone, as she has no pleasant friend to sit with her in my
absence. We are lonely. I fear the visits must be mostly from you. By
the way omnibuses are 1's/3'd and coach _insides_ sunk to l/6--a hint.
Without disturbance to yourselves, or upsetting the economy of the dear
new mistress of a family, come and see us as often as ever you can. We
are so out of the world, that a letter from either of you now and then,
detailing any thing, Book or Town news, is as good as a newspaper. I
have desperate colds, cramps, megrims &c., but do not despond. My
fingers are numb'd, as you see by my writing. Tell E. I am _very good_
also. But we are poor devils, that's the truth of it. I won't apply to
Dilke-- just now at least--I sincerely hope the pastoral air of Dover
St. will recruit poor Harriet. With best loves to all.
Yours ever
C.L.
Ryle and Lowe dined here on Sunday; the manners of the latter, so
gentlemanly! have attracted the special admiration of our Landlady. She
guest R. to be nearly of my age. He always had an old head on young
shoulders. I fear I shall always have the opposite. Tell me any thing of
Foster [Forster] or any body. Write any thing you think will amuse me. I
do dearly hope in a week or two to surprise you with our appearance in
Dover St....
[Shirley would be Dyce's edition of James Shirley, the dramatist, in six
volumes, 1833.
Harriet was Harriet Isola.
"Ryle and Lowe." Ryle we have met, but I do not identify Lowe.
I have omitted some lines about family matters at the end of the
letter.]
LETTER 591
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD AND EMMA MOXON
Nov. 29th, 1833.
Mary is of opinion with me, that two of these Sonnets are of a higher
grade than any poetry you have done yet. The one to Emma is so pretty! I
have only allowed myself to transpose a word in the third line. Sacred
shall it be for any intermeddling of mine. But we jointly beg that you
will make four lines in the room of the four last. Read "Darby and
Joan," in Mrs. Moxon's first album. There you'll see how beautiful in
age the looking back to youthful years in an old couple is. But it is a
violence to the feelings to anticipate that time in youth. I hope you
and Emma will have many a quarrel and many a make-up (and she is
beautiful in reconciliation!) before the dark days shall come, in which
ye shall say "there is small comfort in them." You have begun a sort of
character of Emma in them very sweetly; carry it on, if you can, through
the last lines.
I love the sonnet to my heart, and you _shall_ finish it, and I'll be
damn'd if I furnish a line towards it. So much for that. The next best
is
TO THE OCEAN
"Ye gallant winds, if e'er your LUSTY CHEEKS
Blew longing lover to his mistress' side,
O, puff your loudest, spread the canvas wide,"
is spirited. The last line I altered, and have re-altered it as it
stood. It is closer. These two are your best. But take a good deal of
time in finishing the first. How proud should Emma be of her poets!
Perhaps "O Ocean" (though I like it) is too much of the open vowels,
which Pope objects to. "Great Ocean!" is obvious. "To save sad thoughts"
I think is better (though not good) than for the mind to save herself.
But 'tis a noble Sonnet. "St. Cloud" I have no fault to find with.
If I return the Sonnets, think it no disrespect; for I look for a
printed copy. You have done better than ever. And now for a reason I did
not notice 'em earlier. On Wednesday they came, and on Wednesday I was
a-gadding. Mary gave me a holiday, and I set off to Snow Hill. From Snow
Hill I deliberately was marching down, with noble Holborn before me,
framing in mental cogitation a map of the dear London in prospect,
thinking to traverse Wardour-street, &c., when diabolically I was
interrupted by
Heigh-ho!
Little Barrow!--
Emma knows him,--and prevailed on to spend the day at his sister's,
where was an album, and (O march of intellect!) plenty of literary
conversation, and more acquaintance with the state of modern poetry than
I could keep up with. I was positively distanced. Knowles' play, which,
epilogued by me, lay on the PIANO, alone made me hold up my head. When I
came home I read your letter, and glimpsed at your beautiful sonnet,
"Fair art them as the morning, my young bride,"
and dwelt upon it in a confused brain, but determined not to open them
till next day, being in a state not to be told of at Chatteris. Tell it
not in Gath, Emma, lest the daughters triumph! I am at the end of my
tether. I wish you could come on Tuesday with your fair bride. Why can't
you! Do. We are thankful to your sister for being of the party. Come,
and _bring_ a sonnet on Mary's birthday. Love to the whole Moxonry, and
tell E. I every day love her more, and miss her less. Tell her so from
her loving uncle, as she has let me call myself. I bought a fine
embossed card yesterday, and wrote for the Pawnbrokeress's album. She is
a Miss Brown, engaged to a Mr. White. One of the lines was (I forget the
rest--but she had them at twenty-four hours' notice; she is going out to
India with her husband):--
"May your fame
And fortune, Frances, WHITEN with your name!"
Not bad as a pun. I _wil_ expect you before two on Tuesday. I am well
and happy, tell E.
[Moxon subsequently published his _Sonnets_, in two parts, one of which
was dedicated to his brother and one to Wordsworth. There are several to
his wife, so that it is difficult to identify that in which the last
lines were to be altered. Mrs. Moxon's first album was an extract book
in which Lamb had copied a number of old ballads and other poems.
I quote one of Moxon's many sonnets to Emma Moxon:--
Fair art thou as the morning, my young Bride!
Her freshness is about thee; like a river
To the sea gliding with sweet murmur ever
Thou sportest; and, wherever thou dost glide,
Humanity a livelier aspect wears.
Fair art thou as the morning of that land
Where Tuscan breezes in his youth have fanned
Thy grandsire oft. Thou hast not many tears,
Save such as pity from the heart will wring,
And then there is a smile in thy distress!
Meeker thou art than lily of the spring,
Yet is thy nature full of nobleness!
And gentle ways, that soothe and raise me so,
That henceforth I no worldly sorrow know!
"Heigh-ho! Little Barrow!" I cannot identify this acquaintance.
"Knowles's play"--"The Wife." Prologued by Lamb too.
"At Chatteris." I cannot say who were the teetotal, or abstinent,
Philistines.
"Mary's birthday." Mary Lamb would be sixty-nine on December 3, 1833.
Lamb's verses to Miss Brown seem to be no longer preserved. Mr. Hazlitt
prints a letter to a Miss Frances Brown, wherein Lamb offers the verses,
adding "I hope your sweetheart's name is WHITE. Else it would spoil all.
May be 'tis BLACK. Then we must alter it. And may your fortunes BLACKEN
with your name."]
LETTER 592
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE
[No date. Middle Dec., 1833.]
I hoped R. would like his Sonnet, but I fear'd S. that _fine old man_,
might not quite like the turn of it. This last was penn'd almost
literally extempore.
YOUR LAUREAT.
Is S.'s Christian name Thomas? if not, correct it.
["R."--Rogers; "S."--Stothard. See next letter.]
LETTER 593
CHARLES LAMB TO SAMUEL ROGERS
[No date. Probably Saturday, December 21, 1833.]
My dear Sir,--Your book, by the unremitting punctuality of your
publisher, has reached me thus early. I have not opened it, nor will
till to-morrow, when I promise myself a thorough reading of it. "The
Pleasures of Memory" was the first school present I made to Mrs. Moxon,
it had those nice wood-cuts; and I believe she keeps it still. Believe
me, that all the kindness you have shown to the husband of that
excellent person seems done unto myself. I have tried my hand at a
sonnet in "The Times." But the turn I gave it, though I hoped it would
not displease you, I thought might not be equally agreeable to your
artist. I met that dear old man at poor Henry's--with you--and again at
Cary's--and it was sublime to see him sit deaf and enjoy all that was
going on in mirth with the company. He reposed upon the many graceful,
many fantastic images he had created; with them he dined and took wine.
I have ventured at an antagonist copy of verses in "The Athenaeum" to
_him_, in which he is as everything and you as nothing. He is no lawyer
who cannot take two sides. But I am jealous of the combination of the
sister arts. Let them sparkle apart. What injury (short of the theatres)
did not Boydell's "Shakespeare Gallery" do me with Shakespeare?--to have
Opie's Shakespeare, Northcote's Shakespeare, light-headed Fuseli's
Shakespeare, heavy-headed Romney's Shakespeare, wooden-headed West's
Shakespeare (though he did the best in "Lear"), deaf-headed Reynolds's
Shakespeare, instead of my, and everybody's Shakespeare. To be tied down
to an authentic face of Juliet! To have Imogen's portrait! To confine
the illimitable! I like you and Stothard (you best), but "out upon this
half-faced fellowship." Sir, when I have read the book I may trouble
you, through Moxon, with some faint criticisms. It is not the
flatteringest compliment, in a letter to an author, to say you have not
read his book yet. But the devil of a reader he must be who prances
through it in five minutes, and no longer have I received the parcel. It
was a little tantalizing to me to receive a letter from Landor, _Gebir_
Landor, from Florence, to say he was just sitting down to read my
"Elia," just received, but the letter was to go out before the reading.
There are calamities in authorship which only authors know. I am going
to call on Moxon on Monday, if the throng of carriages in Dover Street
on the morn of publication do not barricade me out.
With many thanks, and most respectful remembrances to your sister,
Yours,
C. LAMB.
Have you seen Coleridge's happy exemplification in English of the
Ovidian elegiac metre?--
In the Hexameter rises the fountain's silvery current,
In the Pentameter aye falling in melody down.
My sister is papering up the book--careful soul!
[Moxon published a superb edition of Rogers' _Poems_ illustrated by
Turner and Stothard. Lamb had received an advance copy. The sonnet to
Rogers in _The Times_ was printed on December 13, 1833. It ran thus:--
TO SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ., ON THE NEW EDITION OF
HIS "PLEASURES OF MEMORY"
When thy gay book hath paid its proud devoirs,
Poetic friend, and fed with luxury
The eye of pampered aristocracy
In glittering drawing-rooms and gilt boudoirs,
O'erlaid with comments of pictorial art,
However rich and rare, yet nothing leaving
Of healthful action to the soul-conceiving
Of the true reader--yet a nobler part
Awaits thy work, already classic styled.
Cheap-clad, accessible, in homeliest show
The modest beauty through the land shall go
From year to year, and render life more mild;
Refinement to the poor man's hearth shall give,
And in the moral heart of England live.
C. LAMB.
Thomas Stothard, then in his seventy-ninth year, Lamb had met at Henry
Rogers', who had died at Christmas, 1832. The following was the copy of
verses printed in _The Athenaeum_, December 21, 1833 ("that most
romantic tale" was _Peter Wilkins_):--
TO T. STOTHARD, ESQ.
_On his Illustrations of the Poems of Mr. Rogers_
Consummate Artist, whose undying name
With classic Rogers shall go down to fame,
Be this thy crowning work! In my young days
How often have I with a child's fond gaze
Pored on the pictured wonders thou hadst done:
Clarissa mournful, and prim Grandison!
All Fielding's, Smollett's heroes, rose to view;
I saw, and I believed the phantoms true.
But, above all, that most romantic tale
Did o'er my raw credulity prevail,
Where Glums and Gawries wear mysterious things,
That serve at once for jackets and for wings.
Age, that enfeebles other men's designs,
But heightens thine, and thy free draught refines.
In several ways distinct you make us feel--
_Graceful_ as Raphael, as Watteau _genteel_.
Your lights and shades, as Titianesque, we praise;
And warmly wish you Titian's length of days.
"Short of the theatres." The injury done by the theatres is of course
the subject of Lamb's _Reflector_ essay on Shakespeare's Tragedies (see
Vol. I.).
"Boydell's 'Shakespeare Gallery'"--the series of 170 illustrations to
Shakespeare by leading artists of the day projected by Alderman Boydell
in 1786.
"Coleridge's... exemplification." Lamb quoted incorrectly. The lines had
just appeared in _Friendship's Offering_ for 1834:--
In the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column;
In the pentameter aye falling in melody back.
Coleridge took the lines from Schiller.
At Dr. Williams' Library is a note from Thos. Robinson to Crabb
Robinson, dated December 22, 1833, concerning Lamb's Christmas turkey,
which went first to Crabb Robinson at the Temple and was then sent on to
Lamb, presumably with the note in the hamper. Lamb adds at the foot of
the note:--
"The parcel coming thro' _you_, I open'd this note, but find no treason
in it.
With thanks
C. LAMB."
I give here three other notes to Dilke, belonging probably to the early
days of 1834. The first refers to the proof of one of Lamb's
contributions to The Athenaeum.]
LETTER 594
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE
[No date.]
May I now claim of you the benefit of the loan of some books. Do not
fear sending too many. But do not if it be irksome to yourself,--such as
shall make you say, 'damn it, here's Lamb's box come again.' Dog's
leaves ensured! Any light stuff: no natural, history or useful learning,
such as Pyramids, Catacombs, Giraffes, Adventures in Southern Africa,
&c. &c.
With our joint compliments, yours,
C. LAMB.
Church Street, Edmonton.
Novels for the last two years, or further back-nonsense of any period.
LETTER 595
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE
[No date. Spring, 1834.]
Dear Sir, I return 44 volumes by Tate. If they are not all your own, and
some of mine have slipt in, I do not think you will lose much. Shall I
go on with the Table talk? I will, if you like it, when the Culinary
article has appear'd.
_Robins_, the Carrier, from the _Swan_, Snow Hill, will bring any more
contributions, thankfully to be receiv'd--I pay backwards and forwards.
C. LAMB.
["Table Talk by the late Elia" appeared in _The Athenaeum_ on January 4,
May 31, June 7 and July 19, 1834. The Culinary article is the paragraph
that now closes the "Table Talk" (see Vol. I.).]
LETTER 596
CHARLES LAMB TO THE PRINTER OF THE _ATHENAEUM_
[No date.]
I have read the enclosed five and forty times over. I have submitted it
to my Edmonton friends; at last (O Argus' penetration), I have
discovered a dash that might be dispensed with. Pray don't trouble
yourself with such useless courtesies. I can well trust your editor,
when I don't use queer phrases which prove themselves wrong by creating
a distrust in the sober compositor.
LETTER 597
CHARLES LAMB TO MARY BETHAM
January 24, 1834,
Church Street, Edmonton.
Dear Mary Betham--I received the Bill, and when it is payable, some ten
or twelve days hence, will punctually do with the overplus as you
direct: I thought you would like to know it came to hand, so I have not
waited for the uncertainty of when your nephew sets out. I suppose my
receipt will serve, for poor Mary is not in a capacity to sign it. After
being well from the end of July to the end of December, she was taken
ill almost on the first day of the New Year, and is as bad as poor
creature can be. I expect her fever to last 14 or 15 weeks--if she gets
well at all, which every successive illness puts me in fear of. She has
less and less strength to throw it off, and they leave a dreadful
depression after them. She was quite comfortable a few weeks since, when
Matilda came down here to see us.
You shall excuse a short letter, for my hand is unsteady. Indeed, the
situation I am in with her shakes me sadly. She was quite able to
appreciate the kind legacy while she was well. Imagine her kindest love
to you, which is but buried awhile, and believe all the good wishes for
your restoration to health from
C. LAMB.
[This letter refers to the legacy mentioned above. It had now been
paid.]
LETTER 598
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
[P.M. Jan. 28, 1834.]
I met with a man at my half way house, who told me many anecdotes of
Kean's younger life. He knew him thoroughly. His name is Wyatt, living
near the Bell, Edmonton. Also he referred me to West, a publican,
opposite St. Georges Church, Southwark, who knew him _more_ intimately.
Is it worth Forster's while to enquire after them?
C.L.
[Edmund Kean had died in the previous May. Forster, who was at this time
theatrical critic of _The Examiner_, was probably at work upon a
biographical article.
Here should come a note from Lamb to Matilda Betham, dated January 29,
1834. "My poor Mary is terribly ill again."
Here also, dated February 7, should come a letter to William Hone, in
which Lamb, after mentioning his sister's illness, urges upon Hone the
advisability of applying to the Literary Fund for some relief, and
offers to support him in his appeal.]
LETTER 599
CHARLES LAMB TO Miss FRYER
Feb. 14, 1834.
Dear Miss Fryer,--Your letter found me just returned from keeping my
birthday (pretty innocent!) at Dover-street. I see them pretty often. I
have since had letters of business to write, or should have replied
earlier. In one word, be less uneasy about me; I bear my privations very
well; I am not in the depths of desolation, as heretofore. Your
admonitions are not lost upon me. Your kindness has sunk into my heart.
Have faith in me! It is no new thing for me to be left to my sister.
When she is not violent, her rambling chat is better to me than the
sense and sanity of this world. Her heart is obscured, not buried; it
breaks out occasionally; and one can discern a strong mind struggling
with the billows that have gone over it. I could be nowhere happier than
under the same roof with her. Her memory is unnaturally strong; and from
ages past, if we may so call the earliest records of our poor life, she
fetches thousands of names and things that never would have dawned upon
me again, and thousands from the ten years she lived before me. What
took place from early girlhood to her coming of age principally lives
again (every important thing and every trifle) in her brain with the
vividness of real presence. For twelve hours incessantly she will pour
out without intermission all her past life, forgetting nothing, pouring
out name after name to the Waldens as a dream; sense and nonsense;
truths and errors huddled together; a medley between inspiration and
possession. What things we are! I know you will bear with me, talking of
these things. It seems to ease me; for I have nobody to tell these
things to now. Emma, I see, has got a harp! and is learning to play. She
has framed her three Walton pictures, and pretty they look. That is a
book you should read; such sweet religion in it--next to Woolman's!
though the subject be baits and hooks, and worms, and fishes. She has my
copy at present to do two more from.
Very, very tired, I began this epistle, having been epistolising all the
morning, and very kindly would I end it, could I find adequate
expressions to your kindness. We did set our minds on seeing you in
spring. One of us will indubitably. But I am not skilled in almanac
learning, to know when spring precisely begins and ends. Pardon my
blots; I am glad you like your book. I wish it had been half as worthy
of your acceptance as "John Woolman." But 'tis a good-natured book.
[Miss Fryer was a school-fellow of Mrs. Moxon's.
I append another letter, undated, to the same lady. It belongs obviously
to an earlier period, but the exact position is unimportant:--]
LETTER 600
CHARLES LAMB TO Miss FRYER
[No date.]
My dear Miss Fryer, By desire of Emma I have attempted new words to the
old nonsense of Tartar Drum; but _with_ the nonsense the sound and
spirit of the tune are unaccountably gone, and _we_ have agreed to
discard the new version altogether. As _you_ may be more fastidious in
singing mere silliness, and a string of well-sounding images without
sense or coherence--Drums of Tartars, who use _none_, and Tulip trees
ten foot high, not to mention Spirits in Sunbeams &c,--than we are, so
you are at liberty to sacrifice an enspiriting movement to a little
sense, tho' I like LITTLE-SENSE less than his vagarying younger sister
NO-SENSE--so I send them----
The 4th line of 1st stanza is from an old Ballad.
Emma is looking weller and handsomer (as you say) than ever. Really, if
she goes on thus improving, by the time she is nine and thirty she will
be a tolerable comely person. But I may not live to see it.--I take
Beauty to be _catching_-- a Cholera sort of thing--Now, whether the
constant presence of a handsome object--for there's only two of us--may
not have the effect------but the subject is delicate, and as my old
great Ant* used to say--"Andsome is as andsome duzz"--that was my
great Ant's way of spelling----
Most and best kind things say to yourself and dear Mother for all your
kindnesses to our Em., tho' in truth I am a little tired with her
everlasting repetition of 'em. Yours very Truly,
CHS LAMB.
* Emma's way of spelling Miss _Umfris_, as I spell her
_Aunt_.
LOVE WILL COME
_Tune: "The Tartar Drum"_
I
Guard thy feelings, pretty Vestal,
From the smooth Intruder free;
Cage thine heart in bars of chrystal,
Lock it with a golden key;
Thro' the bars demurely stealing--
Noiseless footstep, accent dumb,
His approach to none revealing--
Watch, or watch not, LOVE WILL COME.
His approach to none revealing--
Watch, or watch not, Love will come--Love,
Watch, or watch not, Love will come.
II
Scornful Beauty may deny him--
He hath spells to charm disdain;
Homely Features may defy him--
Both at length must wear the chain.
Haughty Youth in Courts of Princes--
Hermit poor with age oercome--
His soft plea at last convinces;
Sooner, later, LOVE WILL COME--
His soft plea at length convinces;
Sooner, later, Love will come--Love,
Sooner, later, Love will come.
LETTER 601
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Church S't, Edmonton,
22 feb. [1834].
Dear Wordsworth, I write from a house of mourning. The oldest and best
friends I have left, are in trouble. A branch of them (and they of the
best stock of God's creatures, I believe) is establishing a school at
Carlisle. Her name is Louisa Martin, her address 75 Castle Street,
Carlisle; her qualities (and her motives for this exertion) are the most
amiable, most upright. For thirty years she has been tried by me, and on
her behaviour I would stake my soul. O if you can recommend her, how
would I love you--if I could love you better. Pray, pray, recommend her.
She is as good a human creature,--next to my Sister, perhaps the most
exemplary female I ever knew. Moxon tells me, you would like a Letter
from me. You shall have one. _This_ I cannot mingle up with any nonsense
which you usually tolerate from, C. LAMB. Need he add loves to Wife,
Sister, and all? Poor Mary is ill again, after a short lucid interval of
4 or 5 months. In short, I may call her half dead to me.
Good you are to me. Yours with fervor of friendship; for ever
turn over
If you want references, the Bishop of Carlisle may be one. Louisa's
Sister, (as good as she, she cannot be better tho' she tries,) educated
the daughters of the late Earl of Carnarvon, and he settled a handsome
Annuity on her for life. In short all the family are a sound rock. The
present Lord Carnarvon married Howard of Graystock's Sister.
[Wordsworth has written on the wrapper, "Lamb's last letter."
We met the Martins in the early correspondence. It was Louisa whom, many
years, before, Lamb used to call "Monkey."
Here should come Lamb's last letter to Thomas Manning, dated May 10,
1834. Mary has, he says, been ill for nigh twenty weeks; "she is, I
hope, recovering." "I struggle to town rarely, and then to see London,
with little other motive--for what is left there hardly? The streets and
shops entertaining ever, else I feel as in a desert, and get me home to
my cave." Once a month, he adds, he passes a day with Cary at the
Museum. When Mary was getting better in the previous year she would read
all the auctioneers' advertisements on the walk. "These are _my_
Play-bills," she said. "I walk 9 or 10 miles a day, always up the road,
dear Londonwards." Addressed to Manning at Puckeridge.
Manning lived on, an eccentric recluse, until 1840.
Here perhaps should come the following melancholy letter to Talfourd,
which Mr. Dobell permits me to print:--]
LETTER 602
CHARLES LAMB TO T.N. TALFOURD
[No date. Early 1834?]
D'r T.--[1]Moxon & Knowles are coming to Enfield on Sunday _afternoon_.
My poor shaken head cannot at present let me ask any dinner company; for
two drinkings in a day, which must ensue, would incapacity me. I am very
poorly. They can only get an Edmont'n stage, from which village 'tis but
a 2 miles walk, & I have only _inn beds_ to offer. _Pray_, join 'em if
you can. Our first morning stage to London is 1/2 past 8. If that won't
suit your avocations, arrange with Ryle (or without him)--but how can I
separate him morally?--logically and legally, poetically and critically
I can,--from you? No disparagement (for a better Christian exists
not)--well arrange _cum_ or _absque illo_--this is latin-- the first
Sunday you can, _morning_.
I am poorly, but I always am on these occasions, a week or two. Then I
get sober,--I mean less insober. Yours till death; you are mine _after_.
Don't mind a touch of pathos. Love to Mrs. Talfourd.
The Edmonton stages come almost every hour from Snow Hill.
[Footnote 1: Erratum, for M. & K. read K. & M. Booksellers _after_
Authors.]
[Ryle, as I have already said, was Lamb's executor, with Talfourd. Hence
the phrase to Talfourd, "you are mine after."]
LETTER 603
(_Fragment_)
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE
[No date. End of June, 1834.]
We heard the Music in the Abbey at Winchmore Hill! and the notes were
incomparably soften'd by the distance. Novello's chromatics were
distinctly audible. Clara was faulty in B flat. Otherwise she sang like
an angel. The trombone, and Beethoven's walzes, were the best. Who
played the oboe?
[The letter refers to the performance of Handel's "Creation" at the
Musical Festival in Westminster Abbey on June 24, 1834, when Novello and
Atwood were the organists, and Clara Novello one of the singers.]
LETTER 604
CHARLES LAMB TO JOHN FORSTER
[P.M. June 25, 1834.]
D'r F.--I simply sent for the Miltons because Alsop has some Books of
mine, and I thought they might travel with them. But keep 'em as much
longer as you like. I never trouble my head with other people's
quarrels, I do not always understand my own. I seldom see them in Dover
Street. I know as little as the Man in the Moon about your joint
transactions, and care as little. If you have lost a little portion of
my "good will," it is that you do not come and see me. Arrange with
Procter, when you have done with your moving accidents.
Yours, ambulaturus,
C.L.
LETTER 605
CHARLES LAMB TO J. FULLER RUSSELL
[Summer, 1834.]
M'r Lamb's compt's and shall be happy to look over the lines as soon as
ever Mr. Russell shall send them. He is at Mr. Walden's, Church, _not
Bury_--St, Edm'd.
_Line_ 10. "Ween," and "wist," and "wot," and "eke" are antiquated
frippery, and unmodernize a poem rather than give it an antique air, as
some strong old words may do. "I guess," "I know," "I knew," are quite
as significant.
31. Why "ee"--barbarous Scoticism!--when "eye" is much better and chimes
to "cavalry"? A sprinkling of dis-used words where all the style else is
after the approved recent fashion teases and puzzles.
37. [Anon the storm begins to slake, The sullen clouds to melt
away, The moon becalmed in a blue lake Looks down with melancholy ray.]
The moon becalmed in a blue lake would be more apt to _look up_. I see
my error--the sky is the lake--and beg you to laugh at it.
59. What is a maiden's "een," south of the Tweed? You may as well call
her prettily turned ears her "lugs."
"On the maiden's lugs they fall" (verse 79).
144. "A coy young Miss" will never do. For though you are presumed to be
a modern, writing only of days of old, yet you should not write a word
purely unintelligible to your heroine. Some understanding should be kept
up between you. "Miss" is a nickname not two centuries old; came in at
about the Restoration. The "King's Misses" is the oldest use of it I can
remember. It is Mistress Anne Page, not Miss Page. Modern names and
usages should be kept out of sight in an old subject. W. Scott was sadly
faulty in this respect.
208. [Tear of sympathy.] Pity's sacred dew. Sympathy is a young lady's
word, rife in modern novels, and is almost always wrongly applied. To
sympathize is to feel--_with_, not simply _for_ another. I write
verses and _sympathize_ with you. You have the tooth ache, I have not;
I feel for you, I cannot sympathize.
243. What is "sheen"? Has it more significance than "bright"? Richmond
in its old name was Shene. Would you call an omnibus to take you to
Shene? How the "all's right" man would stare!
363. [The violet nestled in the shade,
Which fills with perfume all the glade,
Yet bashful as a timid maid
Thinks to elude the searching eye
Of every stranger passing by,
Might well compare with Emily.]
A strangely involved simile. The maiden is likend [_sic_] to a _violet_
which has been just before likened to a _maid_. Yet it reads prettily,
and I would not have it alter'd.
420. "Een" come again? In line 407 you speak it out "eye," bravely like
an Englishman.
468. Sorceresses do not entice by wrinkles, but, being essentially aged,
appear in assumed beauty.
[This communication and that which follows (with trifling omissions)
were sent to _Notes and Queries_ by the late Mr. J. Fuller Russell,
F.S.A., with this explanation: "I was residing at Enfield in the
Cambridge Long Vacation, 1834, and--perhaps to the neglect of more
improving pursuits--composed a metrical novel, named 'Emily de Wilton,'
in three parts. When the first of them was completed, I ventured to
introduce myself to Charles Lamb (who was living at Edmonton at the
time), and telling him what I had done, and that I had 'scarcely heart
to proceed until I had obtained the opinion of a competent judge
respecting my verses,' I asked him to 'while away an idle hour in their
perusal,' adding, 'I fear you will think me very rude and very
intrusive, but I am one of the most nervous souls in Christendom.'
Moved, possibly, by this diffident (not to say unusual) confession, Elia
speedily gave his consent."
The poem was never printed. Lamb's pains in this matter serve to show
how kindly disposed he was in these later years to all young men; and
how exact a sense of words he had.
In the British Museum is preserved a sheet of similar comments made by
Lamb upon a manuscript of P.G. Patmore's, from which I have quoted a few
passages above. In _Charles Lamb and the Lloyds_ will also be found a
number of interesting criticisms on a translation of Homer.]
LETTER 606
CHARLES LAMB TO J. FULLER RUSSELL
[Summer, 1834.]
Sir,--I hope you will finish "Emily." The story I cannot at this stage
anticipate. Some looseness of diction I have taken liberty to advert to.
It wants a little more severity of style. There are too many
prettinesses, but parts of the Poem are better than pretty, and I thank
you for the perusal.
Your humble Servt.
C. LAMB.
Perhaps you will favour me with a call while you stay.
Line 42. "The old abbaye" (if abbey _was_ so spelt) I do not object to,
because it does not seem your own language, but humoursomely adapted to
the "how folks called it in those times."
82. "Flares"! Think of the vulgarism "flare up;" let it be "burns."
112. [In her pale countenance is blent
The majesty of high intent
With meekness by devotion lent,
And when she bends in prayer
Before the Virgin's awful shrine,--
The rapt enthusiast might deem
The seraph of his brightest dream,
Were meekly kneeling there.]
"Was" decidedly, not "were." The deeming or supposition, is of a
reality, not a contingency. The enthusiast does not deem that a thing
may be, but that it _is_.
118. [When first young Vernon's flight she knew,
The lady deemed the tale untrue.]
"Deemed"! This word is just repeated above; say "thought" or "held."
"Deem" is half-cousin to "ween" and "wot."
143. [By pure intent and soul sincere
Sustained and nerved, I will not fear
Reproach, shame, scorn, the taunting jeer,
And worse than all, a father's sneer.]
A father's "sneer"? Would a high-born man in those days _sneer_ at a
daughter's disgrace--would he _only_ sneer?
Reproach, and biting shame, and--worse
Than all--the estranged father's curse.
I only throw this hint out in a hurry.
177. "Stern and _sear_"? I see a meaning in it, but no word is good that
startles one at first, and then you have to make it out: "drear,"
perhaps. Then why "to minstrel's glance"? "To fancy's eye," you would
say, not "to fiddler's eye."
422. A knight thinks, he don't "trow."
424. "Mayhap" is vulgarish. Perchance.
464. "Sensation" is a philosophic prose word. Feeling.
27. [The hill, where ne'er rang woodman's stroke,
Was clothed with elm and spreading oak,
Through whose black boughs the moon's mild ray
As hardly strove to win a way,
As pity to a miser's heart.]
Natural illustrations come more naturally when by _them_ we expound
mental operations than when we deduce from natural objects similes of
the mind's workings. The miser's struggle thus compared is a beautiful
image. But the storm and clouds do not inversely so readily suggest the
miser.
160. [Havock and Wrath, his maniac bride,
Wheel o'er the conflict, &c.]
These personified gentry I think are not in taste. Besides, Fear has
been pallid any time these 2,000 years. It is mixing the style of
Aeschylus and the _Last Minstrel_.
175. Bracy is a good rough vocative. No better suggests itself, unless
Grim, Baron Grimm, or Grimoald, which is Saxon, or Grimbald! Tracy would
obviate your objection [that the name Bracy occurs in _Ivanhoe_] but
Bracy is stronger.
231. [The frown of night
Conceals him, and bewrays their sight.]
Betrays. The other has an _unlucky association_.
243. [The glinting moon's half-shrouded ray.]
Why "glinting," Scotch, when "glancing" is English?
421. [Then solemnly the monk did say,
(The Abbot of Saint Mary's gray,)
The leman of a wanton youth
Perhaps may gain her father's _ruth_,
But _never_ on his injured breast
May lie, caressing and caressed.
Bethink you of the vow you made
When your light daughter, all distraught,
From yonder slaughter-plain was brought,
That if in some secluded cell
She might till death securely dwell,
The house of God should share her wealth.]
Holy abbots surely never so undisguisedly blurted out their secular
aims.
I think there is so much of this kind of poetry, that it would not be
_very taking_, but it is well worthy of pleasing a private circle. One
blemish runs thro', the perpetual accompaniment of natural images.
Seasons of the year, times of day, phases of the moon, phenomena of
flowers, are quite as much your _dramatis personae_ as the warriors and
the ladies. This last part is as good as what precedes.
LETTER 607
CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE
[No date. End of July, 1834.]
Dear Sir, I am totally incapable of doing what you suggest at present,
and think it right to tell you so _without delay_. It would shock me,
who am shocked enough already, to sit down to _write_ about it. I have
no letters of poor C. By and bye what scraps I have shall be yours. Pray
excuse me. It is not for want of obliging you, I assure you. For your
Box we most cordially feel thankful. I shall be your debtor in my poor
way. I do assure you I am incapable.
Again, excuse me
Yours sincerely
C.L.
[Coleridge's death had occurred on July 25, in his sixty-second year;
and Dilke had written to Lamb asking for some words on that event, for
_The Athenaeum_. A little while later a request was made by John Forster
that Lamb would write something for the album of a Mr. Keymer. It was
then that Lamb wrote the few words that stand under the title "On the
Death of Coleridge" (see Vol. I.). Forster wrote thus of the effect of
Coleridge's death upon Lamb:--
He thought of little else (his sister was but another portion of
himself) until his own great spirit joined his friend. He had a
habit of venting his melancholy in a sort of mirth. He would, with
nothing graver than a pun, "cleanse his bosom of the perilous stuff
that weighed" upon it. In a jest, or a few light phrases, he would
lay open the last recesses of his heart. So in respect of the death
of Coleridge. Some old friends of his saw him two or three weeks
ago, and remarked the constant turning and reference of his mind. He
interrupted himself and them almost every instant with some play of
affected wonder, or astonishment, or humorous melancholy, on the
words, "_Coleridge is dead_." Nothing could divert him from that,
for the thought of it never left him.
Wordsworth said that Coleridge's death hastened Lamb's.]
LETTER 608
CHARLES LAMB TO REV. JAMES GILLMAN
Mr. Walden's, Church Street,
Edmonton, August 5, 1834.
My dear Sir,--The sad week being over, I must write to you to say, that
I was glad of being spared from attending; I have no words to express my
feeling with you all. I can only say that when you think a short visit
from me would be acceptable, when your father and mother shall be able
to see me _with comfort_, I will come to the bereaved house. Express to
them my tenderest regards and hopes that they will continue our friends
still. We both love and respect them as much as a human being can, and
finally thank them with our hearts for what they have been to the poor
departed.
God bless you all,
C. LAMB.
[Talfourd writes: "Shortly after, assured that his presence would be
welcome, Lamb went to Highgate. There he asked leave to see the nurse
who had attended upon Coleridge; and being struck and affected by the
feeling she manifested towards his friend, insisted on her receiving
five guineas from him."
Here should come a letter to J.H. Green dated August 26, 1834, thanking
him for a copy of Coleridge's will and offering to send all letters,
etc., and "fragments of handwriting from leaves of good old books."]
LETTER 609
CHARLES AND MARY LAMB TO H.F. CARY
Sept. 12, 1834.
"By Cot's plessing we will not be absence at the grace."
DEAR C.,--We long to see you, and hear account of your peregrinations,
of the Tun at Heidelburg, the Clock at Strasburg, the statue at
Rotterdam, the dainty Rhenish and poignant Moselle wines, Westphalian
hams, and Botargoes of Altona. But perhaps you have seen nor tasted any
of these things.
Yours, very glad to claim you back again to your proper centre, books
and Bibliothecae,
C. AND M. LAMB.
I have only got your note just now _per negligentiam per iniqui Moxoni_.
[Charles and Mary Lamb at this time were supposed to dine at Cary's on
the third Wednesday in every month. When the plan was suggested by Cary,
Lamb was for declining, but Mary Lamb said, "Ah, when we went to
Edmonton, I told Charles that something would turn up, and so it did,
you see."]
LETTER 610
CHARLES LAMB TO H.F. CARY
Oct., 1834.
I protest I know not in what words to invest my sense of the shameful
violation of hospitality, which I was guilty of on that fatal Wednesday.
Let it be blotted from the calendar. Had it been committed at a layman's
house, say a merchant's or manufacturer's, a cheesemonger's' or
greengrocer's, or, to go higher, a barrister's, a member of
Parliament's, a rich banker's, I should have felt alleviation, a drop of
self-pity. But to be seen deliberately to go out of the house of a
clergyman drunk! a clergyman of the Church of England too! not that
alone, but of an expounder of that dark Italian Hierophant, an
exposition little short of _his_ who dared unfold the Apocalypse: divine
riddles both and (without supernal grace vouchsafed) Arks not to be
fingered without present blasting to the touchers. And, then, from what
house! Not a common glebe or vicarage (which yet had been shameful), but
from a kingly repository of sciences, human and divine, with the primate
of England for its guardian, arrayed in public majesty, from which the
profane vulgar are bid fly. Could all those volumes have taught me
nothing better! With feverish eyes on the succeeding dawn I opened upon
the faint light, enough to distinguish, in a strange chamber not
immediately to be recognised, garters, hose, waistcoat, neckerchief,
arranged in dreadful order and proportion, which I knew was not mine
own. 'Tis the common symptom, on awaking, I judge my last night's
condition from. A tolerable scattering on the floor I hail as being too
probably my own, and if the candlestick be not removed, I assoil myself.
But this finical arrangement, this finding everything in the morning in
exact diametrical rectitude, torments me. By whom was I divested?
Burning blushes! not by the fair hands of nymphs, the Buffam Graces?
Remote whispers suggested that I _coached_ it home in triumph--far be
that from working pride in me, for I was unconscious of the locomotion;
that a young Mentor accompanied a reprobate old Telemachus; that, the
Trojan like, he bore his charge upon his shoulders, while the wretched
incubus, in glimmering sense, hiccuped drunken snatches of flying on the
bats' wings after sunset. An aged servitor was also hinted at, to make
disgrace more complete: one, to whom my ignominy may offer further
occasions of revolt (to which he was before too fondly inclining) from
the true faith; for, at a sight of my helplessness, what more was needed
to drive him to the advocacy of independency? Occasion led me through
Great Russell Street yesterday. I gazed at the great knocker. My feeble
hands in vain essayed to lift it. I dreaded that Argus Portitor, who
doubtless lanterned me out on that prodigious night. I called the
Elginian marbles. They were cold to my suit. I shall never again, I
said, on the wide gates unfolding, say without fear of thrusting back,
in a light but a peremptory air, "I am going to Mr. Cary's." I passed by
the walls of Balclutha. I had imaged to myself a zodiac of third
Wednesdays irradiating by glimpses the Edmonton dulness. I dreamed of
Highmore! I am de-vited to come on Wednesdays. Villanous old age that,
with second childhood, brings linked hand in hand her inseparable twin,
new inexperience, which knows not effects of liquor. Where I was to have
sate for a sober, middle-aged-and-a-half gentleman, literary too, the
neat-fingered artist can educe no notions but of a dissolute Silenus,
lecturing natural philosophy to a jeering Chromius or a Mnasilus. Pudet.
From the context gather the lost name of ----.
["The Buffam Graces." Lamb's landladies at Southampton Buildings.
"I passed by the walls of Balclutha." From Ossian. Lamb uses this
quotation in his _Elia_ essay on the South-Sea House.
"Highmore." I cannot explain this reference.
Not long before Mrs. Procter's death a letter from Charles Lamb to Mrs.
Basil Montagu was sold, in which Lamb apologised for having become
intoxicated while visiting her the night before. Some one mentioned the
letter in Mrs. Procter's presence. "Ah," she said, "but they haven't
seen the second letter, which I have upstairs, written next day, in
which he said that my mother might ask him again with safety as he never
got drunk twice in the same house." Unhappily, a large number of Lamb's
and other letters were burned by Mrs. Procter.]
LETTER 611
CHARLES LAMB TO H.F. CARY
[Oct. 18, 1834.]
Dear Sir,--The unbounded range of munificence presented to my choice
staggers me. What can twenty votes do for one hundred and two widows? I
cast my eyes hopeless among the viduage. N.B.--Southey might be ashamed
of himself to let his aged mother stand at the top of the list, with his
£100 a year and butt of sack. Sometimes I sigh over No. 12, Mrs.
Carve-ill, some poor relation of mine, no doubt. No. 15 has my wishes;
but then she is a Welsh one. I have Ruth upon No. 21. I'd tug hard for
No. 24. No. 25 is an anomaly: there can be no Mrs. Hogg. No. 34 ensnares
me. No. 73 should not have met so foolish a person. No. 92 may bob it as
she likes; but she catches no cherry of me. So I have even fixed at
hap-hazard, as you'll see.
Yours, every third Wednesday,
C.L.
[Talfourd states that the note is in answer to a letter enclosing a list
of candidates for a Widow's Fund Society, for which he was entitled to
vote. A Mrs. Southey headed the list.
Here, according to Mr. Hazlitt's dating, should come a note from Lamb to
Mrs. Randal Norris, belonging to November, in which Lamb says that he
found Mary on his return no worse and she is now no better. He sends all
his nonsense that he can scrape together and hopes the young ladies will
like "Amwell" (_Mrs. Leicester's School_).]
LETTER 612
CHARLES LAMB TO MR. CHILDS
Monday. Church Street, EDMONTON (not Enfield, as you erroneously direct
yours). [? Dec., 1834.]
Dear Sir,--The volume which you seem to want, is not to be had for love
or money. I with difficulty procured a copy for myself. Yours is gone to
enlighten the tawny Hindoos. What a supreme felicity to the author (only
he is no traveller) on the Ganges or Hydaspes (Indian streams) to meet a
smutty Gentoo ready to burst with laughing at the tale of Bo-Bo! for
doubtless it hath been translated into all the dialects of the East. I
grieve the less, that Europe should want it. I cannot gather from your
letter, whether you are aware that a second series of the Essays is
published by Moxon, in Dover-street, Piccadilly, called "The Last Essays
of Elia," and, I am told, is not inferior to the former. Shall I order a
copy for you, and will you accept it? Shall I _lend_ you, at the same
time, my sole copy of the former volume (Oh! return it) for a month or
two? In return, you shall favour me with the loan of one of those
Norfolk-bred grunters that you laud so highly; I promise not to keep it
above a day. What a funny name Bungay is! I never dreamt of a
correspondent thence. I used to think of it as some Utopian town or
borough in Gotham land. I now believe in its existence, as part of merry
England!
[_Some lines scratched out._]
The part I have scratched out is the best of the letter. Let me have
your commands.
CH. LAMB, _alias_ ELIA.
[Talfourd thus explains this letter: "In December, 1834, Mr. Lamb
received a letter from a gentleman, a stranger to him--Mr. Childs of
Bungay, whose copy of _Elia_ had been sent on an Oriental voyage, and
who, in order to replace it, applied to Mr. Lamb." Mr. Childs was a
printer. His business subsequently became that of Messrs. R.&R. Clark,
which still flourishes.
This letter practically disposes of the statement made by more than one
bibliographer that a second edition of Elia was published in 1833. The
tale of Bo-Bo is in the "Dissertation on Roast Pig."
Lamb sent Mr. Childs a copy of _John Woodvil_, in which he wrote:--]
LETTER 613
FROM THE AUTHOR
In great haste, the Pig was _faultless_,--we got decently merry after it
and chirpt and sang "Heigh! Bessy Bungay!" in honour of the Sender. Pray
let me have a line to say you got the Books; keep the _1st vol._--two or
three months, so long as it comes home at last.
LETTER 614
CHARLES LAMB TO MRS. GEORGE DYER
Dec. 22nd, 1834.
Dear Mrs. Dyer,--I am very uneasy about a _Book_ which I either have
lost or left at your house on Thursday. It was the book I went out to
fetch from Miss Buffam's, while the tripe was frying. It is called
Phillip's Theatrum Poetarum; but it is an English book. I think I left
it in the parlour. It is Mr. Cary's book, and I would not lose it for
the world. Pray, if you find it, book it at the Swan, Snow Hill, by an
Edmonton stage immediately, directed to Mr. Lamb, Church-street,
Edmonton, or write to say you cannot find it. I am quite anxious about
it. If it is lost, I shall never like tripe again.
With kindest love to Mr. Dyer and all,
Yours truly,
C. LAMB.
[In the life of H.F. Cary by his son we read: "He [Lamb] had borrowed of
my father Phillips's _Theatrum Poetarum Anglicanorum_, which was
returned by Lamb's friend, Mr. Moxon, with the leaf folded down at the
account of Sir Philip Sydney." Mr. Cary acknowledged the receipt of the
book by the following
LINES TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES LAMB
So should it be, my gentle friend;
Thy leaf last closed at Sydney's end.
Thou too, like Sydney, wouldst have given
The water, thirsting and near heaven;
Nay were it wine, fill'd to the brim,
Thou hadst look'd hard, but given, like him.
And art thou mingled then among
Those famous sons of ancient song?
And do they gather round, and praise
Thy relish Of their nobler lays?
Waxing in mirth to hear thee tell
With what strange mortals thou didst dwell!
At thy quaint sallies more delighted,
Than any's long among them lighted!
'Tis done: and thou hast join'd a crew,
To whom thy soul was justly due;
And yet I think, where'er thou be,
They'll scarcely love thee more than we.
This is the last letter of Charles Lamb, who tripped and fell in Church
Street, Edmonton, on December 22, and died of erysipelas on December 27.
At the time of his death Lamb was very nearly sixty. His birthday was
February 10.
Mary Lamb, with occasional lapses into sound health, survived him until
May 20, 1847. At first she continued to live at Edmonton, but a few
years later moved to the house of Mrs. Parsons, sister of her old nurse,
Miss James, in St. John's Wood. I append three letters, two written and
one inspired, by her, to Miss Jane Norris, one of the daughters of
Randal Norris. Of the friends mentioned therein I might add that Edward
Moxon lived until 1858; Mrs. Edward Moxon until 1891; James Kenney until
1849; Thomas Hood until 1845; and Barron Field until 1846.]
LETTER 615
MARY LAMB TO JANE NORRIS
[41 Alpha Road, Regent's Park]
Christmas Day [1841].
My dear Jane,--Many thanks for your kind presents--your Michalmas goose.
I thought Mr. Moxon had written to thank you--the turkeys and nice
apples came yesterday.
Give my love to your dear Mother. I was unhappy to find your note in the
basket, for I am always thinking of you all, and wondering when I shall
ever see any of you again. I long to shew you what a nice snug place I
have got into--in the midst of a pleasant little garden. I have a room
for myself and my old books on the ground floor, and a little bedroom up
two pairs of stairs. When you come to town, if you have not time to go
[to] the Moxons, an Omnibus from the Bell and Crown in Holborn would
[bring] you to our door in [a] quarter of an hour. If your dear Mother
does not venture so far, I will contrive to pop down to see [her]. Love
and all seasonable wishes to your sister and Mary, &c. I am in the midst
of many friends--Mr. & Mrs. Kenney, Mr. & Mrs. Hood, Bar[r]on Field &
his brother Frank, & their wives &c., all within a short walk.
If the lodger is gone, I shall have a bedroom will hold two! Heaven
bless & preserve you all in health and happiness many a long year.
Yours affectionately,
M.A. LAMB.
LETTER 616
MARY LAMB TO JANE NORRIS
Oct. 3, 1842.
My dear Jane Norris,--Thanks, many thanks, my dear friend, for your kind
remembrances. What a nice Goose! That, and all its accompaniments in the
basket, we all devoured; the two legs fell to my share!!!
Your chearful [letter,] my Jane, made me feel "almost as good as new."
Your Mother and I _must meet again_. Do not be surprized if I pop in
again for a half-hour's call some fine frosty morning.
Thank you, dear Jane, for the happy tidings that my _old_ friend Miss
Bangham is alive, an[d] that Mary is still with you, unmarried. Heaven
bless you all.
Love to Mother, _Betsey_, Mary, &c. How I do long to see you.
I am always your affecately grateful friend,
MARY ANN LAMB.
LAST LETTER
Miss JAMES TO JANE NORRIS
41 Alpha Road, Regent's Park,
London, July 25, 1843.
Madam,--Miss Lamb, having seen the Death of your dear Mother in the
Times News Paper, is most anxious to hear from or to see one of you, as
she wishes to know how you intend settling yourselves, and to have a
full account of your dear Mother's last illness. She was much shocked on
reading of her death, and appeared very vexed that she had not been to
see her, [and] wanted very much to come down and see you both; but we
were really afraid to let her take the journey. If either of you are
coming up to town, she would be glad if you would call upon her, but
should you not be likely to come soon, she would be very much pleased if
one of you would have the goodness to write a few lines to her, as she
is most anxious about you. She begs you to excuse her writing to you
herself, as she don't feel equal to it; she asked me yesterday to write
for her. I am happy to say she is at present pretty well, although your
dear Mother's death appears to dwell much upon her mind. She desires her
kindest love to you both, and hopes to hear from you very soon, if you
are equal to writing. I sincerely hope you will oblige her, and am,
Madam,
Your obedient, &c.,
SARAH JAMES.
Pray don't invite her to come down to see you.
APPENDIX
CONSISTING OF THE LONGER PASSAGES FROM BOOKS REFERRED TO BY LAMB IN HIS
LETTERS
BERNARD BARTON'S "THE SPIRITUAL LAW"
FROM DEVOTIONAL VERSES, 1826 (_See_ Letter 388, _page_ 746)
"But the word is very nigh unto thee, in thy mouth, and in thy heart,
that them mayest do it."--Deut. xxx. 14.
Say not The law divine
Is hidden from thee, or far remov'd:
That law within would shine,
If there its glorious light were sought and lov'd.
Soar not on high,
Nor ask who thence shall bring it down to earth;
That vaulted sky
Hath no such star, didst thou but know its worth.
Nor launch thy bark
In search thereof upon a shoreless sea,
Which has no ark,
No dove to bring this olive-branch to thee.
Then do not roam
In search of that which wandering cannot win;
At home! At home!
That word is plac'd, thy mouth, thy heart within.
Oh! seek it there,
Turn to its teachings with devoted will;
Watch unto prayer,
And in the power of faith this law fulfil.
BARTON'S "THE TRANSLATION OF ENOCH"
FROM _NEW YEAR'S EVE_, 1828
(_See Letter_ 467, _page_ 841)
"And Enoch walked with God: and he was not; for God took him."
Genesis.
Through proudly through the vaulted sky
Was borne Elisha's sire,
And dazzling unto mortal eye
His car and steeds of fire:
To me as glorious seems the change
Accorded to thy worth;
As instantaneous and as strange
Thy exit from this earth.
Something which wakes a deeper thrill,
These few brief words unfold,
Than all description's proudest skill
Could of that hour have told.
Fancy's keen eye may trace the course
Elijah held on high:
The car of flame, each fiery horse,
Her visions may supply;--
But THY transition mocks each dream
Framed by her wildest power,
Nor can her mastery supreme
_Conceive_ thy parting hour.
Were angels, with expanded wings,
As guides and guardians given?
Or did sweet sounds from seraphs' strings
Waft thee from earth to heaven?
'Twere vain to ask: we know but this--
Thy path from grief and time
Unto eternity and bliss,
Mysterious and sublime!
With God thou walkedst: and wast not!
And thought and fancy fail
Further than this to paint thy lot,
Or tell thy wondrous tale.
TALFOURD'S "VERSES IN MEMORY OF A CHILD NAMED AFTER CHARLES LAMB"
FROM THE FINAL MEMORIALS OF CHARLES LAMB
(_See_ Letter 469, _page_ 846)
Our gentle Charles has pass'd away
From Earth's short bondage free,
And left to us its leaden day
And mist-enshrouded sea.
Here, by the restless ocean's side,
Sweet hours of hope have flown,
When first the triumph of its tide
Seem'd omen of our own.
That eager joy the sea-breeze gave,
When first it raised his hair,
Sunk with each day's retiring wave,
Beyond the reach of prayer.
The sun-blink that through drizzling mist,
To flickering hope akin,
Lone waves with feeble fondness kiss'd,
No smile as faint can win;
Yet not in vain, with radiance weak,
The heavenly stranger gleams--
Not of the world it lights to speak,
But that from whence it streams.
That world our patient sufferer sought,
Serene with pitying eyes,
As if his mounting Spirit caught
The wisdom of the skies.
With boundless love it look'd abroad
For one bright moment given;
Shone with a loveliness that aw'd,
And quiver'd into Heaven.
A year made slow by care and toil
Has paced its weary round,
Since Death enrich'd with kindred spoil
The snow-clad, frost-ribb'd ground.
Then LAMB, with whose endearing name
Our boy we proudly graced,
Shrank from the warmth of sweeter fame
Than mightier Bards embraced.
Still 'twas a mournful joy to think
Our darling might supply
For years to us, a living link,
To name that cannot die.
And though such fancy gleam no more
On earthly sorrow's night,
Truth's nobler torch unveils the shore
Which lends to both its light.
The nurseling there that hand may take,
None ever grasp'd in vain,
And smiles of well-known sweetness wake,
Without their tinge of pain.
Though,'twixt the Child and child-like Bard,
Late seemed distinction wide.
They now may trace in Heaven's regard,
How near they were allied.
Within the infant's ample brow
Blythe fancies lay unfurl'd,
Which, all uncrush'd, may open now,
To charm a sinless world.
Though the soft spirit of those eyes
Might ne'er with LAMB'S compete--
Ne'er sparkle with a wit as wise,
Or melt in tears, as sweet;
That calm and unforgotten look
A kindred love reveals,
With his who never friend forsook,
Or hurt a thing that feels.
In thought profound, in wildest glee,
In sorrows dark and strange,
The soul of Lamb's bright infancy
Endured no spot or change.
From traits of each our love receives
For comfort, nobler scope;
While light, which child-like genius leaves.
Confirms the infant's hope;
And in that hope with sweetness fraught
Be aching hearts beguiled,
To blend in one delightful thought
The POET and the CHILD!
EDWARD FITZGERALD'S "THE MEADOWS IN SPRING"
FROM HONE'S _YEAR BOOK_
(_See Letter_ 535, _page_ 938)
'Tis a sad sight
To see the year dying;
When autumn's last wind
Sets the yellow wood sighing;
Sighing, oh sighing!
When such a time cometh,
I do retire
Into an old room,
Beside a bright fire;
Oh! pile a bright fire!
And there I sit
Reading old things
Of knights and ladies,
While the wind sings:
Oh! drearily sings!
I never look out,
Nor attend to the blast;
For, all to be seen,
Is the leaves falling fast:
Falling, falling!
But, close at the hearth,
Like a cricket, sit I;
Reading of summer
And chivalry:
Gallant chivalry!
Then, with an old friend,
I talk of our youth;
How 'twas gladsome, but often
Foolish, forsooth,
But gladsome, gladsome.
Or, to get merry,
We sing an old rhyme
That made the wood ring again
In summer time:
Sweet summer time!
Then take we to smoking,
Silent and snug:
Naught passes between us,
Save a brown jug;
Sometimes! sometimes!
And sometimes a tear
Will rise in each eye,
Seeing the two old friends,
So merrily;
So merrily!
And ere to bed
Go we, go we,
Down by the ashes
We kneel on the knee;
Praying, praying!
Thus then live I,
Till, breaking the gloom
Of winter, the bold sun
Is with me in the room!
Shining, shining!
Then the clouds part,
Swallows soaring between:
The spring is awake,
And the meadows are green,--
I jump up like mad;
Break the old pipe in twain;
And away to the meadows,
The meadows again!
EPSILON.
JAMES MONTGOMERY'S "THE COMMON LOT"
(_See Letter_ 535, _page_ 938)
A Birth-day Meditation, during a solitary winter walk of seven miles,
between a village in Derbyshire and Sheffield, when the ground was
covered with snow, the sky serene, and the morning air intensely pure.
Once in the flight of ages past,
There lived a man:--and WHO was HE?
--Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast,
That man resembled Thee.
Unknown the region of his birth,
The land in which he died unknown:
His name has perish'd from the earth;
This truth survives alone:--
That joy and grief, and hope and fear,
Alternate triumph'd in his breast;
His bliss and woe,--a smile, a tear!--
Oblivion hides the rest.
The bounding pulse, the languid limb,
The changing spirits' rise and fall;
We know that these were felt by him,
For these are felt by all.
He suffer'd,--but his pangs are o'er;
Enjoy'd,--but his delights are fled;
Had friends,--his friends are now no more;
And foes,--his foes are dead.
He loved,--but whom he loved, the grave
Hath lost in its unconscious womb:
O. she was fair!--but nought could save
Her beauty from the tomb.
He saw whatever thou hast seen;
Encounter'd all that troubles thee:
He was--whatever thou hast been;
He is--what thou shalt be.
The rolling seasons, day and night,
Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main,
Erewhile his portion, life and light,
To him exist in vain.
The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye
That once their shades and glory threw,
Have left in yonder silent sky
No vestige where they flew.
The annals of the human race,
Their ruins, since the world began,
Of HIM afford no other trace
Than this,--THERE LIVED A MAN!
November 4, 1805. BARRY CORNWALL'S "EPISTLE TO CHARLES LAMB;
ON HIS EMANCIPATION FROM CLERKSHIP"
(WRITTEN OVER A FLASK OF SHERRIS)
FROM _ENGLISH SONGS_
(_See Letter_ 551, _page_ 952)
Dear Lamb! I drink to thee,--to _thee_
Married to sweet Liberty!
What, old friend, and art thou freed
From the bondage of the pen?
Free from care and toil indeed?
Free to wander amongst men
When and howsoe'er thou wilt?
_All_ thy drops of labour spilt,
On those huge and figured pages,
Which will sleep unclasp'd for ages,
Little knowing who did wield
The quill that traversed their white field?
Come,--another mighty health!
Thou hast earn'd thy sum of wealth,--
Countless ease,--immortal leisure,--
Days and nights of boundless pleasure,
Checquer'd by no dreams of pain,
Such as hangs on clerk-like brain
Like a night-mare, and doth press
The happy soul from happiness.
Oh! happy thou,--whose all of time
(Day and eve, and morning prime)
Is fill'd with talk on pleasant themes,--
Or visions quaint, which come in dreams
Such as panther'd Bacchus rules,
When his rod is on "the schools,"
Mixing wisdom with their wine;--
Or, perhaps, thy wit so fine
Strayeth in some elder book,
Whereon our modern Solons look
With severe ungifted eyes,
Wondering what thou seest to prize.
Happy thou, whose skill can take
Pleasure at each turn, and slake
Thy thirst by every fountain's brink,
Where less wise men would pause to shrink:
Sometimes, 'mid stately avenues
With Cowley thou, or Marvel's muse,
Dost walk; or Gray, by Eton's towers;
Or Pope, in Hampton's chesnut bowers;
Or Walton, by his loved Lea stream:
Or dost thou with our Milton dream,
Of Eden and the Apocalypse,
And hear the words from his great lips?
Speak,--in what grove or hazel shade,
For "musing meditation made,"
Dost wander?--or on Penshurst Lawn,
Where Sidney's fame had time to dawn
And die, ere yet the hate of Men
Could envy at his perfect pen?
Or, dost thou, in some London street,
(With voices fill'd and thronging feet,)
Loiter, with mien 'twixt grave and gay?--
Or take along some pathway sweet,
Thy calm suburban way?
Happy beyond that man of Ross,
Whom mere content could ne'er engross,
Art thou,--with hope, health, "learned leisure;"
Friends, books, thy thoughts, an endless pleasure!
--Yet--yet,--(for when was pleasure made
Sunshine all without a shade?)
Thou, perhaps, as now thou rovest
Through the busy scenes thou lovest,
With an Idler's careless look,
Turning some moth-pierced book,
Feel'st a sharp and sudden woe
For visions vanished long ago!
And then thou think'st how time has fled
Over thy unsilvered head,
Snatching many a fellow mind
Away, and leaving--what?--behind!
Nought, alas! save joy and pain
Mingled ever, like a strain
Of music where the discords vie
With the truer harmony.
So, perhaps, with thee the vein
Is sullied ever,--so the chain
Of habits and affections old,
Like a weight of solid gold,
Presseth on thy gentle breast,
Till sorrow rob thee of thy rest.
Ay: so't must be!--Ev'n I, (whose lot
The fairy Love so long forgot,)
Seated beside this Sherris wine,
And near to books and shapes divine,
Which poets, and the painters past
Have wrought in lines that aye shall last,--
Ev'n I, with Shakspeare's self beside me,
And one whose tender talk can guide me
Through fears, and pains, and troublous themes,
Whose smile doth fall upon my dreams
Like sunshine on a stormy sea,--
Want _something_--when I think of thee!
LIST OF LETTERS
ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED
Aders, Charles, to Jan. 8, 1823
Ainsworth, W. Harrison, to May 7, 1822
Dec. 9, 1823
Dec. 29, --
Aitken, J., to July 5, 1825
Allsop, Thomas, to July 13, 1820
? 1821
? --
March 30, --
Oct. 21, --
July, 1823
Sept. 6, --
Sept. 9, --
Sept. 10, --
Sept. --
? Oct. --
Jan. 17, 1825
Sept. 9, --
Sept. 24, --
Dec. 5, --
? Middle
Dec., 1827
Dec. 20, --
Jan. 9, 1828
May 1, --
Jan. 28, 1829
Late July, --
July 2, 1832
Mrs. Thomas, to April 13, 1824
Arnold, S.J., to (from Charles and Mary Lamb) No date.
Asbury, Jacob Vale, to ? April, 1830
No date.
_Athenaeum_, printer of, to No date. 1834
Ayrton, William, to May 12, 1817
Oct. 27, 1821
March 14, 1830
Mrs. William, to Jan. 23, 1821
March 15, --
(from Mary Lamb) No date.
April 16, 1833
Barton, Bernard, to Sept. 11, 1822
Oct. 9, --
Dec. 23, --
Jan. 9, 1823
Feb. 17, --
March 11, --
April 5, --
May 3, --
July 10, --
Sept. 2, --
Sept. 17, --
Nov. 22, --
Jan. 9, 1824
Jan. 23, --
Feb. 25, --
March 24, --
Early
Spring, --
May 15, --
July 7, --
Aug. 17, --
Sept. 30, --
Dec. 1, --
Feb. 10, 1825
March 23, --
April 6, --
July 2, --
Aug. 10, --
Feb. 7, 1826
March 20, --
May 16, --
Sept. 26, --
No date. --
No date. 1827
June 11, --
Aug. 10, --
Aug. 28, --
Late --
Dec. 4, --
End of --
April 21, 1828
Oct. 11, --
Dec. 5, --
March 25, 1829
June 3, --
July 25, --
Dec. 8, --
Feb. 25, 1830
June 28, --
Aug. 30, --
April 30, 1831
Lucy, to (P.S. to letter to B.B.) Dec. 1, 1824
Betham, Barbara, to (from Mary Lamb) Nov. 2, 1814
Mary, to June 5, 1833
June 5, --
Jan. 24, 1834
Matilda, to No date. 1808
No date. --
(from Mary Lamb) ? 1811
? Late
Summer, 1815
No date. --
No date. --
June 1, 1816
June, 1833
Cary, Rev. H.F., to Oct. 14, 1823
April 3, 1826
May 6, 1831
Sept. 9, 1833
(from Charles and Mary Lamb) Sept. 12, 1834
Oct. --
Oct. 18, --
Chambers, Charles, to ? May, 1825
Childs, Mr., to ? Dec., 1834
No date. --
Clare, John, to Aug. 31, 1822
Clarke, Charles Cowden, to Summer, 1821
Feb. 25, 1828
Oct., --
Dec., --
Feb. 2, 1829
End of
June, 1834
Clarkson, Thomas and Catherine, to June, 1807
Clarkson, Mrs. Thomas, to (from Mary Lamb) Dec. 10, 1808
Dec. 10, --
Colburn (?), Henry, to June 14, (?1825)
Sept. 25, 1837
Coleridge, S.T., to May 27, 1796
End of May --
June 10, --
June 13, --
July 1, --
July 5, --
July 6, --
Sept. 27, --
Oct. 3, --
Oct. 17, --
Oct. 24, --
Oct. 28, --
Nov. 8, --
Nov. 14, --
Dec. 2, --
Dec. 5, --
Dec. 9, --
Dec. 10, --
Jan. 2, 1797
Jan. 10, --
Jan. 18, --
Feb. 5, --
Feb. 13, --
April 7, --
April 15, --
June 13, --
June 24, --
? June 29, --
Late July --
Aug. 24, --
About
Sept. 20, --
Jan. 28, 1798
Early
Summer, --
? Jan. 23, 1800
? April
16 or 17, --
? Spring, --
May 12, --
Coleridge, S.T., to ? Late
July, --
Aug. 6, --
Aug. 14, --
Aug. 26, --
Sept. 8, 1802
Oct. 9, --
Oct. 11, --
Oct. 23, --
Nov. 4, --
April 13, 1803
May 27, --
March 10, 1804
April 5, --
(from Mary Lamb) No date.
June 7, 1809
Oct. 30, --
Aug. 13, 1814
Aug. 26, --
Dec. 24, 1818
? Summer, 1819
Jan 10, 1820
? Autumn, --
May 1, 1821
March 9, 1822
? June, 1825
July 2, --
March 22, 1826
June 1, --
April 14, 1832
Mrs. S.T., to (from Mary Lamb) Oct. 13, 1804
Collier, John Dyer, to No date. 1812
Mr. and Mrs. J.D., to Jan. 6, 1823
Mrs. J.D., to (from Mary Lamb) No date.
Nov. 2, 1824
John Payne, to Dec 10, 1817
May 16, 1821
Cottle, Joseph, to Nov. 5, 1819
? Late --
? May 26, 1820
Dibdin, John Bates, to ? 1823
May 6, --
Oct 28, --
July 28, 1824
Jan. 11, 1825
June 30, 1826
July 14, --
Sept. 9, --
Sept. 5, 1827
Sept. 13, --
Sept. 18 --
Oct. 2, --
Dilke, Charles Wentworth, to March 5, 1832
Feb., 1833
April, --
Middle Dec --
No date. ? 1834
No date. --
End of July --
Dyer, George, to Dec. 5, 1808
? Jan., 1829
April 29, --
Dec. 20, 1830
Feb. 22, 1831
Mrs. George, to Dec. 22, 1834
Elton, C.A., to Aug. 17, 1821
Field, Barren, to Aug. 31, 1817
Aug. 16, 1820
Sept. 22, 1822
Oct. 4, 1827
Forster, John, to ? Late
April, 1832
Dec. 23, --
No date.
No date.
No date.
? March, 1833
May, --
May 12, --
June 25, 1834
Fryer, Miss, to Feb. 14, --
No date.
Gillman, James, to May 2, 1821
Oct. 26, 1829
? Nov. 29, --
Nov. 30 --
March 8, 1830
? Early
Spring, --
Gillman, Rev. James, to May 7, 1833
Aug. 5, 1834
Godwin, William, to Dec. 4, 1800
No date.
Autumn, --
Dec. 10, --
Dec. 14, --
June 29, 1801
Sept. 9, --
Sept. 17, --
Nov. 8, 1803
Nov. 10, --
? 1806
March 11, 1808
? 1810
May 16, 1822
Mrs., to No date.
Gutch, John Mathew, to No date. 1800
April 9, 1810
Haydon, Benjamin Robert, to Dec. 26, 1817
Oct. 9, 1822
Oct. 29, --
March, 1827
Aug., 1828
Hazlitt, William, to Nov. 10, 1805
Jan. 15, 1806
Feb. 19, --
March 15, --
Aug. 9, 1810
Nov. 28, --
Oct. 2, 1811
Mrs. W. _See_ Stoddart, Sarah
jr., William, to Sept. 13, 1831
Rev. W., to Feb. 18, 1808
Hill, Thomas, to No date.
Holcroft, jr., Thomas, to Autumn, 1819
Hone, William, to April, 1824
May 2, 1825
Oct. 24, --
April, 1827
End of May, --
June, --
Early July, --
Oct., --
Dec. 15, --
May 21, 1830
March 6, 1833
Hood, Thomas, to Aug. 10, 1824
May, 1827
Sept. 18, --
No date. ?--
Late
Autumn, 1828?
? May, 1829?
Hoods, the Thomas, to (from Mary Lamb) ? Summer, 1828
Hume, Joseph, to No date.
his daughters, to No date. 1832
Mrs., to No date.
Humphreys, Miss, to Jan. 27 1821
Hunt, Leigh, to April 18, --
? Nov., 1824
Dec., 1827
Hutchinson, Sarah, to (from Mary Lamb) Aug. 29 1815
Aug. 20, --
Oct. 19, --
(from Mary Lamb) Middle of
Nov., 1816
? Late --
April 25, 1823
(?) No date.
Nov. 25, 1824
Jan. 20, 1825
March 1, --
April 18, --
James, Miss Sarah, to ? April, 1829
Kelly, Fanny, to July 20, 1819
July 20, --
Kenny, James and Louisa, to Oct., 1817
Mrs. James, to (from Mary Lamb) ? Early
Dec., 1822
Knowles, James Sheridan, to ? April, 1832
Lamb, Mrs. John, to May 22, 1822
Mary, to August, --
Landor, Walter Savage, to Oct., 1832
Lloyd, Charles, to Autumn, 1823
Manning, Thomas, to Dec., 1799
Dec. 28, --
Feb. 13, 1800
March 1, --
March 17, --
April 5, --
May 20, --
? May 25, --
Aug. 9, --
Aug. 11, --
Aug. 24, --
Aug. 28, --
Sept. 22, --
Oct. 16, --
Nov. 3, --
Nov. 28, --
Dec. 13, --
Dec. 16, --
End of Dec.,--
Dec. 27, --
Feb. 15, 1801
Late Feb., --
April, --
? April, --
Aug., --
Aug. 31, --
? Feb. 15, 1802
? April, --
Sept. 24, --
Nov., --
Feb. 19, 1803
March, --
Feb. 23, 1805
July 27, --
Nov. 15, --
May 10, 1806
Dec. 5, --
Feb. 26, 1808
March 28, 1809
Jan. 2, 1810
Dec. 25, 1815
Dec. 26, --
May 28, 1819
? Feb 1825
Marter, W., to July 19, 1824
Montagu, Basil, to July 12, 1810
Mrs. Basil, to Summer, 1827
Morgan, John, to March 8, 1811
Mrs., to June 17, 1828
Moxon, Edward, to No date. 1826
? Sept., --
July 17, 1827
? Sept. 26, --
Dec. 22, --
? Jan., 1828
Feb. 18, --
March 19, --
May 3, --
Dec., --
No date. 1829
Sept. 22, --
May 12, 1830
Nov. 12, --
? Dec., --
? Dec. 25, --
Feb. 3, 1831
July 14, --
Early
August, --
Aug. 5, --
Sept. 5, --
Oct. 24, --
Dec. 15, --
June 1, 1832
Late --
Winter, --
Dec., --
Jan., 1833
Jan. 3, --
Jan. 24, --
Feb. 11, --
Feb., --
No date. --
Early --
March 19, --
? Spring, --
March 30, --
Spring, --
? April 10, --
April 25, --
April 27, --
July 14, --
July 24, --
and Emma (from Mary and Charles Lamb) ? July 31, --
(from Mary and Charles Lamb) Sept. 26, --
Oct. 17, --
Nov. 29, --
Jan. 28, 1834
Norris, Jane, to (from Mary Lamb) Dec. 25, 1841
Oct. 3, 1842
(from Miss James) July 25, 1843
Mrs. Randal, to (from Mary Lamb) June 18, 1823
Novello, Vincent, to Jan. 25, 1825
May 9, 1826
Nov. 6, 1828
? Nov. 10, 1829
May 14, 1830
Nov. 8, --
Mrs. Vincent, to (from Mary Lamb) Spring, 1820
Ollier, Charles, to ? Dec., 1825
Early 1826
March 16, --
Charles and James, to June 18, 1818
Patmore, P.G., to July 19, 1827
Sept., --
Payne, J.H., to Autumn, 1822
Oct. 22, --
Nov. 13, --
Jan., 1823
Jan. 23, --
Feb. [9], --
Poole, Thomas, to Feb. 14, 1804
May 4, --
May 5, --
Proctor, B.W., to ? Summer, 1821
April 13, 1823
Nov. 11, 1824
Jan. 19, 1829
Jan. 22, --
? Jan 29, --
No date. --
Feb. 2, --
No date. 1833
Rickman, John, to ? Nov., 1801
April 10, 1802
July 16, 1803
Jan. 25, 1806
March, --
Oct. 3, 1828
Robinson, H.C., to March 12, 1808
May, 1809
Feb. 7, 1810
Nov. 20, 1824
March 29, 1825
Jan. 20, 1827
Jan. 20, --
Jan. 29, --
Jan., --
June 26, --
Oct. 1, --
Feb. 26, 1828
Feb. 27, 1829
? April, --
April 17, --
? Early
Oct., 1832
Thomas, to Nov. 11, 1822
Rogers, Samuel, to March 22, 1829
Oct. 5, 1830
? Dec. 21, 1833
Russell, J. Fuller, to Summer, 1834
Sargus, Mr., to Feb. 23, 1815
Scott, John, to ? Feb., 1814
Dec. 12, --
Sir Walter, to Oct. 29, 1822
Shelley, Mrs. Percy Bysshe, to July 26, 1827
Southey, Robert, to July 28, 1798
Oct. 18, --
Oct. 29, --
Nov. 3, --
Nov. 8, --
? Nov., --
Nov. 28, --
Dec. 27, --
Jan. 21, 1799
Late Jan.
or early
Feb., --
March 15, --
March 20, --
Oct. 31, --
Nov. 7, 1804
May 6, 1815
Aug. 9, --
Oct. 26, 1818
Nov. 21, 1823
Aug. 10, 1825
May 10, 1830
Stoddart, Sir John, to Aug. 9, --
Lady, to (from Mary Lamb) Aug. 9, 1827
Sarah (later Mrs. Hazlitt), to
(from Mary Lamb) Sept. 21, 1803
(from Mary Lamb) ? March, 1804
Late July, --
Late July, --
(from Mary Lamb) ? Sept.18, 1805
Early Nov., --
Nov. 9
and 14, --
? Feb. 20, 21
and 22, 1806
March, --
June 2, --
? July 4, --
Oct 23, --
Dec. 11, --
(from Mary Lamb) Oct., 1807
Dec. 21, --
Feb. 12, 1808
March 16, --
Dec. 10, --
Dec. 10, --
(from Mary Lamb) June 2, 1809
Nov. 7, --
? End of 1810
Oct. 2, 1811
Early
Nov., 1823
March 4, 1830
May 24, --
June 3, --
May 31, 1833
Talfourd, T.N., to Aug., 1819
May 20, 1828
End of --
Feb., 1833
No date. 1834
Taylor, John, to June 8, 1821
July 21, --
Dec. 7, 1822
Williams, Mrs., to Feb. 26, 1830
March 1, --
March 5, --
March 22, --
April 2, --
April 9, --
April 21, --
Wilson, Walter, to Aug. 14, 1801
Dec. 16, 1822
Feb. 24, 1823
May 17, 1828
May 28, 1829
Nov. 15, --
Aug., 1832
Wordsworth, Dorothy, to (from Mary Lamb) July 9, 1803
June 2, 1804
(from Mary Lamb) Oct. 13, --
May 7, 1805
June 14, --
(from Mary Lamb) Aug. 29, 1806
Nov. 13, 1810
Nov. 13, --
(from Mary Lamb) Nov. 23, --
Nov. 23, --
(from Mary Lamb) Nov. 21, 1817
Nov. 21, --
Nov. 25, 1819
May 25, 1820
Jan. 8, 1821
(from Mary Lamb) Jan. 22, 1830
Mrs., to Feb. 18, 1818
William, to Jan. 30, 1801
March 5, 1803
Oct. 13, 1804
Feb. 18, 1805
Feb. 19, --
March 5, --
March 21, --
April 5, --
(and Dorothy) Sept. 28, --
Feb. 1, 1806
June 26, --
Dec. 11, --
Wordsworth, William, to Jan. 29, 1807
Oct. 19, 1810
Aug. 9, 1814
Sept. 19, --
Dec. 28, --
? Early
Jan., 1815
April 7, --
April 28, --
Aug. 9, --
April 9, 1816
April 26, --
Sept. 23, --
April 26, 1819
June 7, --
March 20, 1822
Jan., 1823
April 6, 1825
May, --
Sept. 6, 1826
May, 1828
Jan. 22, 1830
End of
May, 1833
Feb. 27, 1834
INDEX
A
Acrostics
Aders, Charles
his pictures,
Lamb's poem to
_Adventures of Ulysses_
"After Blenheim," by Southey
Agricultural Depression, Lamb on
Ainsworth, W.H. _See_ Letters.
his dedication to Lamb
his gift of _Syrinx_
and "Faust"
Aitken, John. _See_ Letters.
his _Cabinet_
_Albion_, Lamb and the
Albums, Lamb on
_Album Verses_
"Ali Pacha," by Howard Payne
Allen, Robert
Allsop, Thomas. _See_ Letters.
Alsager, T.M.
"Amicus Redivivus"
"Ancient Mariner, The"
Anderson, Dr.
"Angel Help"
Angerstein, John Julius
Angling, Lamb and
Animal poetry
"Anna." _See_ Simmons.
_Annual Anthology, The_
_Anti-Jacobin, The_
"Antonio," by Godwin
Appendix: Passages from Books referred to by Lamb
Aquinas, Thomas
"Ariadne," by Titian
Ariel, Lamb as
Arnold, Samuel James. _See_ Letters.
"Arthur's Bower"
Asbury, J.V. _See_ Letters.
and Emma Isola
and Lamb as Ariel
Asses, old poem on
_Astrea_
Australia, Lamb on
Authors and Publishers, Lamb on
Ayrton, William. _See_ Letters.
Mrs. _See_ Letters.
B
Badams, Carlyle's friend
Mrs., _née_ Louisa Holcroft. _See_ Letters.
Baldwin the publisher
Ball, Sir Alexander
"Ballad," by Lamb
Bankrupts, Lamb on
"Barbara S."
Barbauld, Mrs.
Barker, Lieut. John
Barnes, Thomas
Bartholomew Fair
Barton, Bernard. _See_ Letters.
first mention
his suggested retirement from the bank
his testimonial
Lamb on his poems
_Poetic Vigils_
"Sonnet to Elia"
_Poems_, 4th edition
his _Devotional Verses_
his _Widow's Tale_
extracts from his poems
Lamb sends him a picture
his step-grandfather
his _New Year's Eve_
sonnet to Lamb
his "Spiritual Law"
his "Translation of Enoch"
Lucy, verses to
note to
at Islington
Baskerville, John
Battle, Mrs.
Beaumont and Fletcher
Beaumont, Sir George
Bellows Shakespeare
"Belshazzar's Feast"
Benger, Miss
Berkleyans
Betham, Anne, her legacy
Barbara. _See_ Letters.
Mary Matilda. _See_ Letters.
Bethams, the, their tallness
Betty, Master
_Bijou, The_
Binding, the perfect
"Bites," Lamb's
Blake, William
Blakesware
Blanchard, Laman
Bland, Mrs.
_Blank Verse_, by Lamb and Lloyd
Blenheim, its pictures
Bloomfield, his _Farmer's Boy_
Bloxam, Samuel
Blue-stockings, Lamb among
Bodleian Library
Book-binder, Lamb's poor relation
Book-borrowing, Lamb on
"Borderers, The," by Wordsworth
Bourne, Vincent
Bowles, William Lisle
his allegory, "Hope"
his "Elegiac Stanzas"
Boyer, James
Braham, John
Brawn, Lamb on
Brighton, the Lambs at
British Museum, Lamb at
Brown, Miss, her album verses
Brutons, the Lambs' cousins
Buchan, the Earl of
_Buncle, John_
Bungay, Lamb on
Bunyan
Burke and Hare
Burke, Edmund
Burnet, Bishop, his _Own Times_
Burnett, George
and Dyer
Burney, Captain
Martin
Sarah
Burns, Robert
Burrell, Miss
Burton, Lamb's imitations of
Butterworth, Major
Button, Emma, Lamb's acrostic
Button Snap, Lamb's cottage
Bye, Thomas
Byron, Lord
C
_Cabinet, The_
Callers, Lamb on
Calne, the Lambs at
Cambridge, the Lambs' visit in
Lamb at
"Cambridge Brawn"
Campbell, J. Dykes
on Coleridge in 1806
on Coleridge's pension
Capital Punishment, Lamb on
Carlisle, Sir Antony
Caroline of Brunswick
Cary, H.F. _See_ Letters.
a model parson
his career
at the Museum
and Miss Isola's Latin
and Moxon
his _Euripides_
his translation of Dante
at the Museum
his verses on Lamb
Catalani and Coleridge
Cellini, his autobiography
Chambers, Charles. _See_ Letters.
and Lamb's praise of fish
his family
John. _See_ Letters.
_Champion, The_
"Chapel Bell, The," by Southey
Chapman's _Homer_
_Chatsworth_, by Patmore
Chaucer, Godwin's _Life_
Cheshire cats
_Chessiad, The_
Children's books, Lamb on
Childs, Mr. _See_ Letters.
Chimney-sweepers
China, Manning's intentions
Lamb on
_Christabel_
"Christian Names of Women"
Christ's Hospital
Christy, Dr.
Clare, John. _See_ Letters.
Clarke, Charles Cowden. _See_ Letters.
his career
and Novello
his marriage
his tuft
Mary Anne
Mary Victoria (_née_ Novello)
Clarkson, Thomas and Catherine. _See_ Letters.
Coe, Mrs. Elizabeth
_Caelebs in Search of a Wife_
Colburn, Henry. _See_ Letters.
Lamb on
Zerah
Cold in the head, Lamb on
Colebrooke Cottage
Coleridge, Derwent
Rev. Edward. _See_ Letters.
Hartley
Henry Nelson, his _Six Months in the West Indies_
Samuel Taylor. _See_ Letters.
and religion, I
in 1796
and Southey
his Poems
his share of _Joan of Arc_
alters Lamb's sonnets
his letter of consolation
and opium
and the 1797 volume
and John Lamb, jr.
his baby song
his Ode on the Departing Year
as a husbandman
his Joan of Arc verses
and Rogers
on Lamb
his refusal to write
his "Osorio"
and the Stowey visit
his "Lime-tree Bower"
and Lamb's greatcoat
and C. Lloyd
the Wedgwood annuity
and Lamb's "Theses Qusaedam Theologicae"
the quarrel with Lamb and Lloyd
his letter of remonstrance to Lamb
with Wordsworth in Germany
in Buckingham Street
his articles in the Morning Post
with Lamb in 1800
his translation of Schiller
his books
his affection for the Lambs
his Anthology poems
on Wordsworth
at Keswick
his Chamounix Hymn
suggests collaboration with Lamb
on Mary Lamb's illness
his Poems, 3rd edition
his Malta plans
at Malta,
and the Wordsworths
in Italy
returns home
and his wife,
The Friend
neglects the Lambs
his potations
his difference with Wordsworth
and Catalani
in 1814
his "Remorse"
and the translation of "Faust"
his Biographia Literaria
his Sibylline Leaves
a characteristic end
his "Zapolya"
at a chemist's
recites "Kubla Khan"
puts himself under Gillman
attacked by Hazlitt
at Highgate
his Statesman's Manual
his lectures
at Gillman's
on Peter Bell the Third
his "Fancy in Nubibus"
in Lloyd's poem
his book-borrowing
and Allsop
his dying message in 1807
at Monkhouse's dinner
and Mrs. Gillman
and Irving
and the Prize Essay
and Hood's _Odes_
his _Aids to Reflection_
on Lamb and Herbert
his joke on summer
and the Albums
for St. Luke's
on William IV.
and the pension
imagines an affront
his death
Sara
the younger
Collier, John Dyer. _See_ Letters.
Mrs. John Dyer. _See_ Letters.
John Payne. _See_ Letters.
_Colonel Jack_
"Common Lot, The," by Montgomery
_Companion, The_
_Conciones ad Populum_
"Confessions of a Drunkard"
Congreve and Voltaire
Cooke, G.F.
Cooper, Samuel
Cornwall, Barry. _See also_ B.W. Procter.
his _English Songs_
his "King Death,"
his "Epistle to Charles Lamb"
Cottle, Joseph. _See_ Letters.
his "Monody on Henderson,"
his epic
his brother's death
his _Malvern Hills_
his _Alfred_
his portrait
his _Messiah_
his _Fall of Cambria_
Cotton on "Winter"
on "Old Age"
Coulson, Walter
Country, Lamb on the
Coutts, Mrs.
Covent Garden, Lamb's love for
Cowes, the Lambs and Burneys there
Cowper, William
and Milton
_The Royal George_
Cresswell, Dr., vicar of Edmonton
Croly, Rev. George
Cromwell and Napoleon
Cromwell, Cooper's portrait of
Cruelty to animals, John Lamb's pamphlet
Cunningham, Allan
_Curse of Kehama_
Curtis, Alderman
D
Dalston, the Lambs at
Danby, the murder of
Daniel, George
Samuel
Darley, George
Dash, Lamb's dog
Dawe, George
"Deathbed, A"
"Decay of Imagination," Lamb's essay on
Dedications to Lamb
Defoe, Daniel
De Quincey, Thomas
Dermody, Thomas
Despard, Colonel
De Staël, Madame, on Germany
_Desultory Thoughts in London_
"Dialogue between a Mother and Child"
Dibdin, Charles
John Bates. _See_ Letters.
his meeting with Lamb
his death
"Dick Strype"
Dilke, Charles Wentworth. _See_ Letters
"Dissertation on Roast Pig"
Dobell, Mr. Bertram
Dodd, Dr.
Dodwell, H., Lamb's letters to
"Don Giovanni"
"Douglas," by Home
Dowden, Mrs. _See_ Mrs. John Lamb.
_Dramatic Specimens_
Drink, Lamb on
Druitt, Mary
Duddon Sonnets
Duncan, Miss
Dupuy, P.S., his translation
Dyer, George. _See_ Letters
and Horne Tooke
his poetry
his twin volumes
his many "veins"
his critical preface
and the epic
on Shakespeare
his phrenesis
his fallacy
his _Poems_
and Burnett
his hunger-madness
as the hero of a novel
and the Earl of Buchan
his autobiography
his annuity
his disappearance
and Earl Stanhope
and Lord Stanhope
on other people's poetry
his "Poetic Sympathies"
his immersion
his novel way with dead books
his marriage
and Novello
and Emma Isola's album
and Rogers
his Unitarian tract
his blindness
Mrs. George. _See_ Letters
"Dying Lover, The"
E
_Earl of Abergavenny_
East India House
_Edinburgh Review_ and Wordsworth
Edmonton, the Lambs' home there
_Edmund Oliver_
"Edward, Edward"
Elia, F. Augustus
death of the original
"Elia, Sonnet to"
_Elia_, dedication of
the American second series
_Last Essays of_
Elton, Sir C.A.
Enfield, Lamb at
Lamb settles there
Lamb's house there
and neighbourhood
_English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_
_English Songs_, by Procter
_Englishman's Magazine_
"Enviable," Lamb on
Epic poetry and George Dyer
"Epitaph on Ensign Peacock"
"--on Mary Druitt"
"--on the Rigg Children"
Epitaphs, Lamb on
Wordsworth on
Evans, William
Examiner, The, references to Miss Kelly
and Lamb's _Album Verses_
_Excursion_, the
Exeter Change
F
Fairfax's _Tasso_
_Falstaffs Letters_
"Fancy in Nubibus"
"Farewell to Tobacco"
Farmer, Priscilla, Lloyd's grandmother
"Faulkener," Godwin's play
Fauntleroy, the forger
"Faust," by Goethe
Fawcetts, the two
Fell, Lamb's friend
Fénélon
Fenwick, John
Field, Barron. _See_ Letters.
Mary, Lamb's grandmother
Fireworks, Lamb on
First-fruits of Australian Poetry
FitzGerald, Edward, his "Meadows in Spring"
his memoir of Barton
FitzGerald, Mrs., at Islington
Fleet Prison
Fletcher, John, Lamb on
Ford, John
Fornham
Forster, John. _See_ Letters.
Fox, George, his Journal
Franklin, Marmaduke
_Fraser's Magazine_
"Free Thoughts on Some Eminent Composers"
Frenchmen, Lamb on
Frend, William
_Friend, The_
Fryer, Miss. _See_ Letters.
Lamb's song for
Fuller, Thomas
G
Gardener, Lamb as a
_Garrick Extracts_
_Gebir_, by Landor
_Gem, The_
"Gentle Giantess, The"
"Gentle-hearted Charles"
George III.
Ghoul, the
Gilford, William
Gigliucci, Countess. _See_ Novello, Clara.
Gillman, James. _See_ Letters.
and Coleridge
Rev. James. _See_ Letters.
Gilray, his caricature of Coleridge and Co.
Goddard House School, Lamb at
Godiva, Lady, and John Martin
Godwin, William. _See_ Letters.
and Allen
first meeting
and Coleridge
in Ireland
and Mary Lamb's appetite
his "Antonio"
his pride
his Persian play
his courtship, Lamb on
his "Faulkener"
his dulness
his _Chaucer_
and Hazlitt
Lamb's apology to
and the _Tales from Shakespear_
his shop
and the Adventures of Ulysses
his letter of criticism to Lamb
on sepulchres
and Mrs. Godwin
his "tomb"
his disrespect
his difficulties
Mrs. _See_ Letters.
Goethe, Lamb on
Gould, Mrs. _See_ Miss Burrell.
"Grandame, The"
"Grandpapa," the, by J. Howard Payne
Great Russell Street, Lamb's home in
Grecians, Lamb on
Green, J.H.
Greg, Mr., Lamb's tenant
Gregory, Dr.
Grenville, Lord, and Coleridge
Gum-boil and Tooth-ache
Gutch, John Mathew
Gwynn, Mr. Stephen, his translations of Lamb's Latin letters
"Gypsy's Malison, The"
H
Hancock, his drawing of Lamb
Handwriting, Lamb on
Harley, J.P.
Harrow Church, Lamb in
Hastings, the Lambs at
Hood at,
Lamb on,
Dibdin at
Haydon, B.R. _See_ Letters.
his career
his party
and Godwin's difficulties
subjects for pictures
his "Chairing the Member"
Hayes, Mary, and Charles Lloyd
Hayward, A., his _Faust_
Hazlitt, John
Mrs. John
Mary
Sarah. _See_ Sarah Stoddart
Rev. W. _See_ Letters.
William. _See_ Letters.
on Lamb
his portrait of Lamb
his first meeting with Lamb
and Ned Search
the misogynist
and Lamb scolded
woos Sarah Stoddart
his love affair
the joke of his death
plans for his wedding
his wedding
missed in London
his _Grammar_
and the _Political Register_
his son born
his post on the _Chronicle_
misunderstanding with Lamb
his review of the _Excursion_
his Lake Country "scapes"
on Coleridge
his conversation
his borrowings from Lamb
knocked down by John Lamb
his lectures in 1818
his "Conversation of Authors"
on Lamb's Letter to Southey
on bodily pain
on Shelley
on Lamb
his _Spirit of the Age_
his second marriage
in Paris
his portrait of Lamb
on Defoe and Lamb
his losses
his death
jr. _See_ Letters.
"Helen Repentant too Late"
Hell-fire Dick
Hemans, Mrs.
Henderson, Cottle's Monody on
Henshaw, William, Lamb's godfather
Herbert, George, Lamb on
Hesiod, Lamb on
"Hester"
Hetty, the Lambs' servant
Hicks' Hall
Higginbottom Sonnet
Hill, Thomas. _See_ Letters.
Hissing, Lamb on
Holcroft, Fanny
Harwood
Louisa
Thomas
Mrs. Thomas. _See_ Mrs. Kenney.
Tom. _See_ Letter.
Hollingdon Rural Church
Hollingshead, Mr. John
Holmes, Edward
Homer, Lamb on
Hone, Alfred
Matilda
William. _See_ Letters.
first letter to
_Every-Day Book_
Lamb's lines to
and the Garrick plays
his _Table Book_ stops
and his difficulties
and the _Times_
Hood, Thomas. _See_ Letters.
his _Odes and Addresses_
Lamb on
his "Very Deaf Indeed"
his still-born child
frames picture with Lamb
his picture of Mary Lamb
and Dash
his _Plea of the Midsummer Fairies_
his genius
his parody of Lamb
Hoole, John
Hopkins, Dick, the swearing scullion
Howell, James, his _Familiar Letters_ quoted
Mrs.
_Hudibras_ quoted
Hudson, Mr.
Hugo, Victor, and Lamb
Hume, Joseph, M.P.
_See_ Letters.
Mrs.
the Misses
Humphreys, Miss. _See_ Letters.
Hunt, John
Hunt, Leigh. _See_ Letters.
on Lamb's books
and the Lambs
a lost letter to
his need of friends
in Italy
and freethinking
his handwriting
his _Lord Byron_
his _Companion_
and Lamb's _Album Verses_
and Lamb's _Satan_
Hunt, Thornton
Hurst and Robinson's failure
Hyde Park, the jubilation in 1814
I
Imagination, Lamb on
Imlay, Fanny
Incendiarism at Enfield
India, Lamb on
Inner Temple Lane
"Innocence," Lamb's sonnet
Irving, Edward, and Coleridge
his watch chain
with Coleridge at St. Luke's
his squint
Isle of Wight, the Lambs in
Isola, Emma
her Latin
to become a governess
her reading of Milton
her album
her engagement at Pornham
her illness
and her physic
and her watch
her marriage
a sonnet to
her appearance
Harriet
Italian, the Lambs read
J
James, Sarah, _See_ Letters.
Jameson, R.S., Hartley Coleridge's sonnets
Jameson, R.S., and Miss Isola
"Janus Weathercock," _See also_ Wainewright, T.G.
Jekyll, Joseph
Jerdan, William, and Lamb
_Joan of Arc_,
and Coleridge
_John Bull_ and Rogers
_John Buncle_
John-Dory, Lamb on
_John Woodvil_
Johnson, Dr.
Joshua, Martin's picture
K
"Kais," the opera
Keats, John, at Haydon's
Kelly, Fanny H.
Maria. _See_ Letters.
her divine plain face
Lamb's proposal to her
Lamb's sonnet to
her letter to Lamb
learns Latin from Mary Lamb
and "Barbara S."
at the Strand Theatre
Kenney family
Mrs. James. _See_ Letters.
Mrs. Louisa (afterwards Mrs. Badams). _See_ Letters.
Sophy, Lamb's wife
Keymer, Mr., his album
Kew Palace, the Lambs at
"King Death," by Barry Cornwall
_King and Queen of Hearts, The_
"Kirkstone Pass"
Kitchener, Doctor
Knight, Anne
Knowles, J.S.
Kosciusko, Thaddeus
"Kubla Khan"
L
"Lady Blanche," verses by Mary Lamb
Lakes, the Lambs among the
Lamb family in
Charles, his temporary madness
his love sonnets
on Priestley
and Coleridge in
on his sonnets
on old plays
on Hope and Fear
and the Bristol holiday
on the tragedy of Sept. 22
on his sister's virtues
his salary
on his love
his share of Coleridge's _Poems_, 1797
on simplicity
on Bowles
and his mother
on Coleridge's 2nd edition
his "Tomb of Douglas"
on Cowper and Milton
on Burns
his second sonnet to his sister
on his share of the 1797 _Poems_
he exhorts Coleridge to attempt an epic
on friendship
his first poem to Lloyd
on a subject for Coleridge
on Cowper
on Quakerism
his "Vision of Repentance"
on the 1797 _Poems_
at Stowey
leaves Little Queen Street
at Southey's
his lines on his mother's death
his second poem to C. Lloyd
and Lloyd and White
his sarcastic propositions for Coleridge
the quarrel with Coleridge
on Wither and Quarles
on _Rosamund Gray_
on Southey's "Eclogues"
on Marlowe
on the "Ancient Mariner"
and his tailor
his appeal for a poor friend
on his mind
on poems on dumb creatures
his epitaph on Ensign Peacock
on Blakesware
on alcoholic beverages
and mathematics
on Lloyd and Mary Hayes
on Bishop Burnet
on _Falstaff's Letters_
among the Blue-stockings
as a linguist
on Hetty's death
on Lake society
on narrow means
on Oxford
his joke against Gutch
on the "Gentle Charles"
the use of the final "e"
by punch-light
as a consoler
and the snakes
his praise of London
he takes in Manning
and Godwin's supper
his Epilogue for "Antonio"
on the failure of "Antonio"
on his Cambridge plans
on the _Lyrical Ballads_
his move to Mitre Court Buildings
his namesake
on his religious state in 1801
at Margate
on Godwin's courtship
his dramatic suggestions
on Napoleon
his spare figure
at the Lakes
his project for collaborating with Coleridge
on children's books
on Napoleon and Cromwell
on Chapman's _Homer_
on Milton's prose
on Cellini
on Independent Tartary
on Coleridge's _Poems_, 3rd edition
his 1803 holiday
his adventure at sea
his difficulties as a reviewer
ceases to be a journalist
his miserliness
on old books
his motto
his portrait by Hazlitt
on John Wordsworth's death
on brawn
on his sister
his portrait by Hancock
on pictures
on Nelson
in unsettled state
on Manning's departure for China
on "Mr. H."
and Hazlitt scolded
reconciled to Godwin
and Hazlitt's "death"
his difference with Godwin
at Hazlitt's wedding
on painter-authors
and the Sheridans
on moving
on critics
on the choice of a wife
criticises Mr. Lloyd's _Homer_
visits Hazlitt
his books
on titles of honour
a list of friends
on Wither
on epitaphs
his aquavorousness
a servant difficulty
and Hazlitt's _Chronicle_ appointment
on the _Excursion_
and _The Champion_
blown up by Hazlitt
his new book room
and Gifford
a landed proprietor
on Wordsworth's 1815 poems
on Vincent Bourne
his office work
on presents
on the India House shackles
his diffidence as a critic
on his sister's illnesses
he lies to Manning
on Coleridge and Wordsworth
on _Christabel_
his borrowed good things
on Australia
on distant correspondents
as matter-of-lie man
his Hogarths
on the plague of friends
his after-dinner speeches
on _Peter Bell_
on Mackery End
on _The Waggoner_
on two inks
his proposal to Miss Kelly
at Cambridge
on William Wordsworth
on other C L.'s
on Lord Byron
on book-borrowing
at Haydon's
and Leigh Hunt
and his aunt's cake
in praise of pig
on death
his efforts for Godwin
his directions for seeing Paris
and his child-wife
on India House
on Shelley
on Godwin's case
and Scott
on Moore
on Defoe
his epigram on Wadd
on George Fox
as _Elia_
on the advantages of routine
on publishers
his propensity to lie
on Fox
on Quakers
on India House
in Parnassus, 651
his after-dinner speeches
on Fox
on Colebrooke Cottage
makes his will
at the Mansion House
on Physiology
on Marlowe and Goethe
his cold
not a good man
on monetary gifts
and Thackeray
on booksellers breaking
Hazlitt on
resignation
his release
his pension
on fish
ill
on magazine payment
on puns
on Hood's _Odes_
on Signor Velluti
on the death of children
lines to Hone
his last _London_ article
on Hood
on Quarles and Herbert
on stationery
on Manning
on a cold
on Brook Pulham's etching
on Hastings
on Fletcher's play
on publishers
his autobiography
on Sunday
his savings
on Randal Norris
at Goddard House School
and Mrs. Norris's pension
his criticism of Patmores Chatsworth
his difficulties with the drama
on Cary
on memorials
on Albums
on mad dogs
his house at Enfield
and Mathew's picture
his epigram on the Edward crosses
portraits of him
on milestones
on the Pilgrim's Progress
his serenata for Cowden Clarke's marriage
his favourite walk
his namesake
will write for antiquity
his "Gypsy's Malison"
his sonnet on Daniel Rogers
on Thomas Aquinas
on the Laureates
his joke upon Robinson
in London in 1829
and Mary Lamb's absence
and the burden of leisure
moves to the Westwoods
on Defoe
on Thomas Westwood
on bankrupts
on town and country
asked to collect his _Specimens_
the journey from Fornham
his turnip joke
his skill at acrostics
on an escapade
and Merchant Taylors' boys
and the Hone subscription
on Music
on Martin Burney
visits London in 1830
on his critics
and his will
on incendiarism
on Dyer's blindness
on Christ's Hospital days
on Coleridge's pension
on Montgomery's "Common Lot"
and the _Englishman's Magazine_
on FitzGerald's "Meadows in Spring"
on Unitarians
on his unsaleability
on Coleridge's imagined affront
on "Rose Aylmer"
his pensioners
his advice on speculation
spurious letter of
mistaken for a murderer
his sonnet on women's names
and the _Elia_ lawsuit
injury to his leg
on John Taylor, 966.
leaves Enfield for Edmonton
on the _Last Essays of Elia_
his gift of Milton to Wordsworth
at Widford
his coffin nails
on Emma Isola's marriage
reads the _Inferno_
his London holiday
his request for books
on Mr. Fuller Russell's poetry
on Coleridge's death
on his excesses at Gary's
his jokes on widows
his name child
Procter's "Epistle" to
Elizabeth, her death
and her daughter
and John Lamb, jr.
and her sister-in-law
John, his querulousness
his death
the younger, his accident
and the tragedy
on Coleridge
his pamphlet
his portrait of Milton
knocks down Hazlitt
death of
Mrs. John. _See_ Letters.
Mary. _See_ Letters.
her frenzy
and her mother
her recovery
dedication to
Lamb's second sonnet to
removed from confinement,
her 1798 relapse
invited to Stowey
her first poem
her appetite
taken ill
on her brother
on secrecy
on her mother and her aunt
two poems
on John Wordsworth's death
two other poems by
her calligraphy
projecting literary work
on marriage
plans for new books
on Coleridge in 1806
her silk dress
on presents
on Coleridge
her water cure
on marriage
appeals for Miss Fricker
her letter to a child
discovers a room
her article on Needlework
her first joke
on the Cambridge excursion
on roadside churches
at the window
on the death of a child
teaches Miss Kelly Latin and learns French
ill in France
as a smuggler
her illness
drawn by Hood
her sonnet to Emma Isola
her 1827 illness
her 1829 illness
her verses on her brother
moved to Edmonton
and Emma Isola's marriage
Lamb's praise of
her death
on Mrs. Norris's death
Sarah (Aunt Hetty)
and the rich relative
her death
her funeral
and her sister-in-law
Landon, Letitia E.
Landor, Walter Savage. _See_ Letters.
his _Julian_
his _Imaginary Conversations_
and _Elia_
his visit to Lamb
his verses for Emma Isola
his "Rose Aylmer"
his verses on Lamb
_Last Essays of Elia_
Latin letters by Lamb
Laureates, Lamb on the
_Lay of Marie, The
Legal joke, a
Le Grice, C.V.
Samuel
Leishman, Mrs.
Leonardo da Vinci
"Leonora," by Bürger
Letters in verse
"Letter to an Old Gentleman"
"Lewti," by Coleridge
Lies
"Lime-tree Bower," Coleridge's poem
Lincolnshire and the Lambs
Liston, John
_Literary Gazette, The_
"Living without God in the World"
Livingston, Mr. Luther S.
Lloyd, Charles, the elder, described by Robert Lloyd
the elder, Lamb's letters to
the younger. _See_ Letters.
his career to 1796
his sonnets on "Priscilla Farmer"
Lamb's lines to
on Lamb
his illness
and Coleridge
at Southey's
and Sophia Pemberton
Lamb's lines on
a quarrel averted
the quarrel with Coleridge
letter to Cottle
and _The Anti-Jacobin_
and Mary Hayes
his first-born
an "American"
described by Robert Lloyd
a lost letter to
his illness in 1815
in London, in 1819
his _Desultory Thoughts in London_
his _Poems_, 1823
Olivia
Priscilla
Robert, Lamb's first letter to
with Lamb
advice from his sister
advice from Lamb
in London, 1800
Lamb's letters to
on his father
his marriage
in London
his death
Sophia
Lockhart, J.G.
Lofft, Capell
Logan quoted
London, Lamb's praise of
_London Magazine, The_
London Tavern dinner
"Londoner, The," by Lamb
Lord Chief Justice, Lamb on
Lord Mayor of London and Leviathan
Lottery puffs
tickets
"Love will Come," by Lamb
Love sonnets, Lamb's
Lovell, Robert
Luther in the Warteburg
lyrical Ballads
M
Mackery End, Lamb on
Mackintosh, Sir James, Lamb's epigram
Macready and Lamb
Magazines, Lamb on
Man, Henry, his epigram
"Man of Ross"
Manning, Thomas. _See_ Letters.
his career to 1799
his grimaces
his letters to Lamb
unpublished Setters from Lamb
first news of China
in Paris
and Napoleon
his Chinese project
he leaves for China
Thibet and China
his return to England
on Wordsworth
and Fanny Holcroft
at the Lambs
Lamb on
his last days
Mansion House, Lamb at
Marlowe, Christopher
Marriage, Lamb on
Mary Lamb on
Marshall, Godwin's friend
Marter, William. _See_ Letters.
Martin, John
Louisa, viii.
Marvell quoted
Mary of Buttermere
Maseres, Baron
Massinger, Philip
Mathematics and Lamb
Mathews, Charles, his picture
Mrs. Charles, and the Lambs
Mathias' _Pursuits of Literature_
"Matter-of-lie man," Lamb as
May, John
William, I.
"Meadows in Spring," by FitzGerald
Mellish, Mr.
Mellon, Harriet
Merchant Taylors' epigrams
Meyer, Henry, "The Young Catechist"
his portrait of Lamb
Milestones, Lamb on
Milton, John, and Cowper
Milton, John, his Defence
John Lamb's portrait
Lamb's gift to Wordsworth
Mitchell, Thomas
Mitford, Rev. John
Mary Russell
Monkhouse, Thomas
"Monody on Chatterton"
Montagu, Basil. _See_ Letters.
Mrs. Basil. _See_ Letters.
Montgomery, James, and chimney-sweepers
his "Common Lot"
Moore, Thomas, and Lamb
Morgan, John
Mrs. John
_Morning Chronicle_
_Morning Post_
Moving, Lamb on
Moxon, Edward. _See_ Letters.
first mention
his career to 1826
Lamb's first letter to
his early poems
his _Christmas_
his Nightingale sonnet
and Rogers
his _Reflector_
small commissions for Lamb
and Murray
his proposal to Miss Isola
his Oak sonnet
his marriage
his sonnets
"Mr. H."
_Mrs. Leicester's School_
_Mrs. Leslie and Her Grandchildren_
Murray, John
Music, Lamb on
N
Napoleon
and Manning
and Cromwell
his height
Nayler, James
Necessarianism
Nelson, his death
_New Monthly Magazine_
New River, Lamb on
"New Year's Eve"
_New Year's Eve, A_, by Barton
"Newspapers," Lamb's essay on
Norris, Miss Jane. _See_ Letters.
Randal
Mrs. Randal. _See_ Letters.
Richard
Nott, Dr. John
Novello, Clara (Countess Gigliucci)
Vincent. _See_ Letters.
Mrs. Vincent. _See_ Letters.
Novellos, the
O
_Ode on the Departing Year_
"Ode to the Treadmill"
_Odes and Addresses_, by Hood and Reynolds
Office work, Lamb on
"Old Actors, The"
"Old Familiar Faces, The"
Oilier, C. and J. _See_ Letters.
"On an Infant Dying as soon as Born"
"Osorio," Coleridge's drama
Oxford, Lamb at
P
Paice, Joseph
Palmerston, Lord
Pantisocracy, II.
Pardo, Father
Paris, Lamb on
Mrs.
Park, Judge
Parr, Dr., and Lamb
Parsons, Mrs.
Pasta, Madame
Patmore, Coventry
P.G. _See_ Letters.
John Scott's second
a nonsense letter to
his _Chatsworth_
his imitation of Lamb
seeking a publisher
Paul, C. Kegan, and the "Theses"
"Pawnbroker's Daughter, The"
Payne, John Howard. _See_ Letters.
Peacock, Ensign
Pemberton, Sophia
Penn, William, his _No Cross, No Crown_
Persian ambassador
_Peter Bell_, by Wordsworth
_Peter Bell the Third_
"Peter's Net"
_Philip Quarll_
Phillips, Colonel
Ned
Sir Richard
Phillips's _Theatrum Poetarum_
Physiology, Lamb on
Pictures, Lamb on
Pig, Lamb's praise of
_Pilgrims Progress_
Pindar, Peter
"Pipos." _See_ Derwent Coleridge
"Pizarro," Sheridan's play
Plantus, Joseph
_Plea of the Midsummer Fairies_
Plumer family
Plura, a mysterious woman
"Poetic Sympathies," by George Dyer
_Poetry for Children_
Poets' dinner party
"Poet's Epitaph," by Wordsworth
_Political Decameron, The_
Pompey, Lamb's dog
Poole, John
Thomas. _See_ Letters.
"Poor Susan, Reverie of"
Pope, Alexander
"Popular Fallacies"
Postage rates in 1797
Presentation copies, Lamb on
Presents, Lamb on
"Pride's Cure." _See John Woodvil._
Priestley, Joseph
Procter, B.W. _See_ Letters.
_See also_ Barry Cornwall.
in 1823
his marriage
and Lamb's will
and Pulham's etching
Mrs., and Lamb
_Prometheus Unbound_ story
Pry, Tom
Publishers, Lamb on
Pulham, Brook, his etching of Lamb
Pun at Salisbury
Puns, Lamb on
_Purchas, His Pilgrimage_
Pye, Henry James
Q
Quakers
Quarles, Lamb on
_Quarterly Review_, Lamb's review for
and Lamb
Quillinan, Edward
R
_Recreations in Agriculture_, etc.
_Reflector, The_, Moxon's paper
Reform Bill
_Rejected Addresses_
_Rejected Articles_
"Religion of Actors"
"Religious Musings"
Rembrandt
"Remorse," by Coleridge
Reynolds, John Hamilton
Miss
Mrs., Lamb's schoolmistress
Rheumatism, Lamb on
"Richard II.," Lamb's epilogue to
Richmond, the Lambs at
Rickman, John. _See_ Letters.
Miss
Mrs.
Rigg children, Lamb's verses on
_Rimini_, Leigh Hunt's poem
"Road to Ruin, The"
_Robinson Crusoe_
Robinson, Anthony
Mrs. Anthony
Henry Crabb. _See_ Letters.
he meets Lamb
Lamb on
and "Peter Bell,"
his admiration of Wordsworth
his presents to Lamb
at Monkhouse's dinner
his present to Mary Lamb
his rheumatism.
Thomas. _See_ Letters.
_Roderick_, by Southey
Rogers, Daniel, Lamb's sonnet on
Rogers, Samuel. _See_ Letters.
and Coleridge
and Wordsworth's "Force of Prayer"
at Monkhouse's dinner
his letter to Lamb
and Moxon
his _Italy_
and _John Bull_
and G. Dyer
Lamb's sonnet to
Romilly, Sir Samuel
_Rosamund Gray_
"Rose Aylmer," by Landor
_Roxana_
Russell, J. Fuller. _See_ Letters.
and _Satan in Search of a Wife_
his poem criticised
Ryle, Charles
S
Sadler's Wells
"Saint Charles"
"St. Crispin to Mr. Gifford"
St. Luke's Hospital
Salisbury, Lamb's pun at
Salt-water soap
Salutation and Cat
Sargus, Mr. _See_ Letters.
Lamb's tenant
_Satan in Search of a Wife_
Savage, Richard
Savory, Hester
Scott, John. _See_ Letters.
Sir Walter. _See_ Letters.
Sentiment, Lamb on
Settle, Elkanah
Shakespeare, George Dyer on
the Bellows portrait
and _Elia_
his illustrations
"She dwelt among the untrodden ways"
Sheep-stealing, Lamb on
Shelley, P.B.
death of
Lamb on
Hazlitt on,
"Lines to a Reviewer"
Mrs. P.B. _See_ Letters.
Sheridan and Lamb
Simmons, Ann
Simonds, the ghoul
_Six Months in the West Indies_
Skeffington, Sir Lumley
Skiddaw, Lamb on
Smith, Charlotte
Mrs.
Smoking, Lamb on
Snakes, Lamb visits
"Soldier's Daughter, The," by J. Howard Payne
Sonnet to Elia
on "Work"
"Sonnet to a Nameless Friend"
Southampton Buildings
Southey, Edith
sonnet to
Dr.
Robert, his _Joan of Arc_
1796
and Cowper
his daetyl
and Coleridge
his _Madoc_
entertains Lamb and Lloyd
and the "Sonnet to Simplicity"
his _Joan of Arc_
his "Eclogues"
on "The Ancient Mariner"
his _Poems_, 2nd edition
his description of Manning
in Dublin
on the perfect household
his _Curse of Kehama_
his _Roderick_
death of his son
the lapidary style
his fortune
his criticism of _Elia_
Lamb's Letter to
his reply to Lamb
his _Tale of Paraguay_
his _Book of the Church_
his "Vesper Bell"
his "Chapel Bell"
his _Life of Bunyan_
and Hone
his defence of Lamb
Spenser, Edmund, and Mr. Spencer
his sonnet to Harvey
_Spirit of the Age, The_
"Spiritual Law," by Barton
Stamps, Comptroller of
Stationery, Lamb on
Stoddart, John. _See_ Letters.
Lady. _See_ Letters.
Sarah (afterwards Sarah Hazlitt). _See_ Letters.
her love affairs
her mother's illness
plans for her wedding
her wedding
Stoke Newington, the Lambs at
Stothard, Thomas, Lamb's lines to
Stowey, Lamb at
Stuart, Daniel, on Lamb
Sunday, Lamb on
"Superannuated Man"
"Supersedeas," by Wither
"Suum Cuique," by Lamb
Swift, Dean
Swinburne, A.C., and Lamb, and
Hugo
on Lamb's dramatic suggestions
Sydney, Sir Philip, and Lamb
_Sylvia_, by George Darley
T
_Table Book_, Lamb's fable
Tailors, Lamb on
_Tales from Shakespear_
Talfourd, Thomas Noon. _See_ Letters.
made a serjeant
his "Verses in Memory of a Child"
Talma and Lamb
"Tartar Drum," Lamb's version
Tartary, Lamb on
_Tatler, The_, and Jerdan
Tayler, C.B.
Taylor, Jeremy
John. _See_ Letters.
editor of the _London Magazine_
and the _Elia_ lawsuit
Temple finally left
Thackeray and Lamb
_Thanksgiving Ode_, by Wordsworth
Thekla's song in "Wallenstein"
Thelwall, John
"Theses Quaedam Theologicae"
Thievery in Australia
Thurlow, Lord
Thurtell the murderer
Titian, Mary Lamb's verses
the Music Piece
Titles of honour, Lamb on
"To a Bird that Haunted the Waters of Lacken"
"To Emma Learning Latin and Desponding"
"To a Friend on his Marriage"
"To the Poet Cowper"
"To Sarah and her Samuel"
"To my Sister," sonnet
"To a Young Lady going out to India"
Tobin, James Webbe
John
"Tomb of Douglas, The"
"Tooth-ache and Gum-boil"
Towers, Mrs., Lamb's sonnet to
Town and country, Lamb on
Toynbee, Dr. Paget
"Translation of Enoch," by Barton
Travels, Lamb on
Trelawney, E.J.
Trimmer, Mrs.
Tunbridge Wells, the Lambs at
Turbot, Lamb on
Turnips and legs of mutton
Tuthill, Sir George
Twiss, Horace
U
Unitarianism
V
Velluti, Signer
"Vindictive Man, The"
Virgin and Child, Mary Lamb's verses
"Vision of Horns"
"Vision of Judgment," by Byron
"Vision of Repentance, A"
Voltaire and Congreve
Voltaire and Wordsworth
Lamb on
W
Wadd, Lamb's colleague
Waggoner, The
Wainewright, T.G., _See also_ "Janus Weathercock"
Walton, Isaak
Warner's _Syrinx_
Watch, Emma Isola's
_Watchman, The_
Webster, his "Vittoria Corombona"
Wednesdays, Lamb's evening
Wesley, Miss
Westwood, Thomas
Cottage
Wharry, Dr.
Whist
"White Devil, The"
_White Doe of Rylstone_
White, Edward
James
Widford
"Widow, The"
_Widow's Tale, The_, by Barton
Widows, a list of
"Wife, The," by Sheridan Knowles
"Wife's Trial, The," by Lamb
Wilde, Serjeant
William IV.
Williams, Mrs. _See_ Letters
and Emma Isola
and the acrostics
Wilson, John, his biography
Wilson, Walter. _See_ Letters.
and Lamb's apology
Lamb's fellow-clerk
visits Lamb
his _Life of Defoe_
Windham, William
Winterslow
the Lambs at
"Witch, The," by Lamb
Wither, George, and Quarles
Lamb on
his "Supersedeas"
Woolman, John
Wordsworth, Dorothy. _See_ Letters.
at Stowey
a letter from
her poems
Wordsworth, William, _See_ Letters.
at Stowey
and Coleridge in Germany
his economy
_Lyrical Ballads_, 2nd edition
at Bartholomew Fair
his marriage
his £8 worth of books
and Shakespeare
his difference with Coleridge
_The Excursion_
and Voltaire
his _Poems_, 1815 edition
his illegible hand
on Burns
and _Peter Bell the Third_
_The Waggoner_
his Duddon sonnets
at Haydon's
Wordsworth, William, at Monkhouse's dinner
in London
his Milton, a gift from Lamb
John, his death
William, jr.
"Work," Lamb's sonnet
_Works_, Lamb's
Worsley, Lady Frances
Wortley, Lady Mary
Wroughton, Richard, his letter about "Mr. H."
Y
"Yarrow Visited"
"Yew Trees," Wordsworth's poem
"Young Catechist, The"
Z
"Zapolya"
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb — Volume 6 - Letters 1821-1842" ***
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