{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3446", "width": "2242", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.\\nShelf- ..._\\nUNITE\u00c2\u00a9 STATES OF AMERICA.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "It may well be that the Essays of Elia will be found to have\\nkept their perfume, and the Letters of Charles Lamb to\\nretam their old sweet savor, when Sartor Resartus has about as\\nmany readers as Bulwer s Artificial Changeling, and nine tenths\\neven of Don Juan lie darkening under the same deep dust that\\ncovers the rarely troubled pages of the Secchia Rapita.\\nA. C. Swinburne.\\nNo assemblage of letters, parallel or kindred to that in the hands\\nof the reader, if we consider its width of range, the fruitful period\\nover which it stretches, and its typical character, has ever been\\nproduced.\\nW, C. Hazlitt on Lamb s Letters.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "THE BEST LETTERS\\nOF\\nCHARLES LAMB\\nv\\\\\\nlEtiiteti luiti) an Kntrotiuctiott\\nBy EDWARD GILPIN JOHNSON\\nCHICAGO\\nA. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY\\n1892", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "Copyright,\\nBy a. C. McClurg and Co.\\nA. D. 1892.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS.\\nPAGE\\nINTRODUCTION 9\\nLETTER\\nI. To Samuel Taylor Coleridge 3^\\nII. To Coleridge 33\\nIII. To Coleridge 3^\\nIV. To Coleridge 5^\\nV. To Coleridge 55\\nVI. To Coleridge ^7\\nVII. To Coleridge 64\\nVIII. To Coleridge 66\\nIX. To Coleridge 69\\nX. To Coleridge 7\u00c2\u00b0\\nXI. To Coleridge 74\\nXII. To Coleridge 79\\nXIII. To Coleridge 85\\nXIV. To Coleridge 9^\\nXV. To Robert Southey 94\\nXVI. To Southey 9^\\nXVII. To Southey 99\\nXVIII. To Southey i\u00c2\u00b02\\nXIX. To Thomas Manning 106\\nXX. To Coleridge 108\\nXXI. To Manning io9\\nXXII. To Coleridge iio\\nXXIII. To Manning 2\\nXXIV. To Manning 1^5\\nXXV. To Coleridge", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "vi CONTENTS.\\nLETTER PAGE\\nXXVI. To Manning 120\\nXXVII. To Coleridge 122\\nXXVIII. To Coleridge 125\\nXXIX. To Manning 127\\nXXX. To Manning 130\\nXXXI. To Manning 132\\nXXXII. To Manning 134\\nXXXIII. To Coleridge 137\\nXXXIV. To Wordsworth 140\\nXXXV. To Wordsworth 143\\nXXXVI. To Manning 145\\nXXXVII. To Manning 147\\nXXXVIII. To Manning 150\\nXXXIX. To Coleridge 154\\nXL. To Manning 157\\nXLI. To Manning 159\\nXLII. To Manning i 6i\\nXLIII. To William Godwin 164\\nXLIV. To Manning 167\\nXLV. To Miss Wordsworth i;o\\nXLVI To Manning 172\\nXLVII. To Wordsworth 175\\nXLVIII. To Manning 179\\nXLIX. To Wordsworth 186\\nL. To Manning 187\\nLI. To Miss Wordsworth 191\\nLII. To Wordsworth 192\\nLIII. To Wordsworth 194\\nLIV. To Wordsworth 198\\nLV. To Wordsworth 203\\nLVI. To Southey 208\\nLVII. To Miss Hutchinson 212\\nLVIII. To Manning 213\\nLIX. To Manning 217\\nLX. To Wordsworth 219\\nLXI. To Wordsworth 221", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS. vii\\nLETTER PAGE\\nLXII. To H. Dodwell 225\\nLXIII. To Mrs. Wordsworth 226\\nLXIV. To Wordsworth 232\\nLXV. To Manning 236\\nLXVI. To Miss Wordsworth 238\\nLXVII. To Coleridge 241\\nLXVIII. To Wordsworth 244\\nLXIX. To John Clarke 247\\nLXX. To Mr. Barron Field 249\\nLXXI. To Walter Wilson 251\\nLXXII. To Bernard Barton 253\\nLXXIII. To Miss Wordsworth 255\\nLXX IV. To Mr. and Mrs. Bruton 257\\nLXXV. To Bernard Barton 259\\nLXXVr. To Miss Hutchinson 261\\nLXXVII. To Bernard Barton 264\\nLXXVIII. To Mrs. Hazlitt 266\\nLXXIX. To Bernard Barton 268\\nLXXX. To Bernard Barton 270\\nLXXXI. To Bernard Barton 273\\nLXXXII. To Bernard Barton 275\\nLXXXIII. To Bernard Barton 278\\nLXXXIV. To Bernard Barton 279\\nLXXXV. To Bernard Barton 281\\nLXXX VI. To Wordsworth 282\\nLXXXVII. To Bernard Barton 285\\nLXXXVIII. To Bernard Barton 2S6\\nLXXXIX. To Bernard Barton 287\\nXC. To Southey 289\\nXCI. To Bernard Barton 293\\nXCIT. ToJ. B. Dibdin 295\\nXCin. To Henry Crabb Robinson 297\\nXCIV. To Peter George Patmore 299\\nXCV. To Bernard Barton 302\\nXCVI. To Thomas Hood 304\\nXCVII. To P. G. Patmore 307", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "viii CONTENTS.\\nLETTER PAGE\\nXCVIII. To Bernard Barton 309\\nXCIX. To Procter 312\\nC. To Bernard Barton 314\\nCI. To Mr. Gilman 317\\nCII. To Wordsworth 319\\ncm. To Mrs. Hazlitt 325\\nCIV. To George Dyer 328\\nCV. To Dyer 330\\nCVI. To Mr. Moxon 334\\nCVII. To Mr. Moxon 335", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION.\\nNo writer, perhaps, since the days of Dr. Johnson\\nhas been oftener brought before us in biographies,\\nessays, letters, etc., than Charles Lamb. His stam-\\nmering speech, his gaiter-clad legs, almost imma-\\nterial legs, Hood called them, his frail wisp of a\\nbody, topped by a head worthy of Aristotle, his love\\nof punning, of the Indian weed, and, alas of the kindly\\nproduction of the juniper-berry (he was not, he owned,\\nconstellated under Aquarius his antiquarianism of\\ntaste, and relish of the crotchets and whimsies of author-\\nship, are as familiar to us almost as they were to the\\ngroup he gathered round him Wednesdays at No. 4,\\nInner Temple Lane, where a clear fire, a clean hearth,\\nand the rigor of the game awaited them. Talfourd\\nhas unctuously celebrated Lamb s Wednesday Nights.\\nHe has kindly left ajar a door through which poster-\\nity peeps in upon the company, Hazlitt, Leigh Hunt,\\nBarry Cornwall, Godwin, Martin Burney, Crabb\\nRobinson (a ubiquitous shade, dimly suggestive of that\\nfigment, Mrs. Harris Charles Kemble, Fanny Kelly\\nBarbara S. on red-letter occasions Coleridge and\\nWordsworth, and sees them discharging the severer\\noffices of the whist-table cards were cards then),\\nand, later, unbending their minds over poetry, criticism,\\nand metaphysics. Elia was no Barmecide host, and\\nthe Serjeant dwells not without regret upon the solider\\nbusiness of the evening, the cold roast lamb or boiled\\nbeef, the heaps of smoking roasted potatoes, and the", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "10 INTRODUCTION.\\nvast jug of porter, often replenished from the foaming\\npots which the best tap of Fleet Street supplied, hos-\\npitably presided over by the most quiet, sensible, and\\nkind of women, Mary Lamb.\\nThe literati of Talfourd s day were clearly hardier\\nof digestion than their descendants are. Roast lamb,\\nboiled beef, heaps of smoking roasted potatoes, pots\\nof porter, a noontide meal for a hodman, and the\\nhour midnight One is reminded, a propos of Miss\\nLamb s robust viands, that Eiia somewhere confesses\\nto an occasional nightmare but I do not, he\\nadds, keep a whole stud of them. To go deeper into\\nthis matter, to speculate upon the possible germs, the\\nfirst vague intimations to the mind of Coleridge of the\\nweird spectra of The Ancient Mariner, the phantas-\\nmagoria of Kubla Khan, would be, perhaps, over-\\nrefining. Barry Cornwall, too, Lamb tells us, had\\nhis tritons and his nereids gambolling before him in\\nnocturnal visions. No wonder!\\nIt is not intended here to re- thresh the straw left by\\nTalfourd, Fitzgerald, Canon Ainger, and others, in the\\nhope of discovering something new about Charles Lamb.\\nIn this quarter, at least, the wind shall be tempered to\\nthe reader, shorn as he is by these pages of a charm-\\ning letter or two. So far as fresh facts are concerned,\\nthe theme may fairly be considered exhausted. Num-\\nberless writers, too, have rung the changes upon poor\\nCharles Lamb, dear Charles Lamb, gentle Charles\\nLamb, and the rest, the final epithet, by the way,\\nbeing one that Elia, living, specially resented:\\nFor God s sake, he wrote to Coleridge, don t make me\\nridiculous any more by terming me gentle-hearted in print,\\nor do it in better verses. It did well enough five years ago,\\nwhen I came to see you, and was moral coxcomb enough at\\nthe time you wrote the lines to feed upon such epithets but\\nbesides that the meaning of gentle is equivocal at best, and\\nalmost always means poor-spirited, the very quality of gen-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "INTR OB UC TION. 1 1\\ntleness is abhorrent to such vile trumpethigs. My sentiment\\nis long since vanished. I hope my -virtues have done sucking.\\nI can scarce think but you meant it in joke. I hope you did,\\nfor I should be ashamed to believe that you could think to\\ngratify me by such praise, fit only to be a cordial to some\\ngreen-sick sonneteer.\\nThe indulgent pity conventionally bestowed upon\\nCharles Lamb one of the most manly, self-reliant of\\ncharacters, to say nothing of his genius is absurdly\\nmisplaced.\\nStill farther be it from us to blunt the edge of appe-\\ntite by sapiently essaying to analyze and account for\\nLamb s special zest and flavor, as though his writings,\\nor any others worth the reading, were put together upon\\nprinciples of clockwork. We are perhaps over-fond\\nof these arid pastimes nowadays. It is not the sweet\\nmusk-roses, the apricocks and dewberries of litera-\\nture that please us best like Bottom the Weaver, we\\nprefer the bottle of hay. What a mockery of right\\nenjoyment our endless prying and sifting, our hunting\\nof riddles in metaphors, innuendoes in tropes, ciphers in\\nShakspeare Literature exhausted, we may turn to art,\\nand resolve, say, the Sistine Madonna (I deprecate the\\nManes of the Divine Painter into some ingenious\\nand recondite rebus. For such critical chopped-hay\\nsweeter to the modern taste than honey of- Hybla\\nCharles Lamb had little relish. I am, sir, he once\\nboasted to an analytical, unimaginative proser who had\\ninsisted upon explaining some quaint passage in Mar-\\nvel! or Wither, I am, sir, a matter-of-lie man. It was\\nhis best warrant to sit at the Muses banquet. Charles\\nLamb was blessed with an intellectual palate as fine as\\nKeats s, and could enjoy the savor of a book (or of that\\ndainty, in the whole mtindtis edibilis the most delicate,\\nRoast Pig, for that matter) without pragmatically ask-\\ning, as the king did of the apple in the dumpling, how\\nthe devil it got there. His value as a critic is grounded", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "12 INTRODUCTION.\\nin this capacity of naive enjoyment (not of pig, but of\\nliterature), of discerning beauty and making us discern\\nit, thus adding to the known treasures and pleasures\\nof mankind.\\nSuggestions not unprofitable for these later days lurk\\nin these traits of Eha the student and critic. How\\nworthy the imitation, for instance, of those disciples who\\nband together to treat a fine poem (of Browning, say,\\nor Shelley) as they might a chapter in the Revelation,\\nspeculating sagely upon the import of the seven seals\\nand the horns of the great beast, instead of enjoying\\nthe obvious beauties of their author. To the school-\\nmaster whose motto would seem too often to be the\\ncounsel of the irate old lady in Dickens, Give him a meal\\nof chaff Charles Lamb s critical methods are rich\\nin suggestion. How many ingenuous boys, lads in the\\nvery flush and hey-day of appreciativeness of the epic\\nvirtues, have been parsed, declined, and conjugated into\\nan utter detestation of the melodious names of Homer\\nand Virgil Better far for such victims had they, in-\\nstead of aspiring to the vanities of a classical educa-\\ntion/ sat, like Keats, unlearnedly at the feet of quaint\\nChapman, or Dryden, or even of Mr. Pope.\\nPerhaps, by way of preparative to the reading of\\nCharles Lamb s letters, it will be well to run over once\\nmore the leading facts of his life. First let us glance\\nat his outward appearance. Fortunately there are a\\nnumber of capital pieces of verbal portraiture of Elia.\\nReferring to the year 1817, Barry Cornwall wrote:\\nPersons who had been in the habit of traversing Covent\\nGarden at that time of night, by extending their walk a few\\nyards into Russell Street have noticed a small, spare man\\nclothed in black, who went out every morning, and returned\\nevery afternoon as the hands of the clock moved toward\\ncertain hours. You could not mistake him. He was some-\\nwhat stiff in his manner, and almost clerical in dress, which\\nindicated much wear. He had a long, melancholy face, with", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION. 13\\nkeen, penetrating eyes; and he walked with a short, resolute\\nstep citywards. He looked no one in the face for more than\\na momentj yet contrived to see everything as he went on.\\nNo one who ever studied the human features could pass him\\nby without recollecting his countenance it was full of sen-\\nsibility, and it came upon you like new thought, which you\\ncould not help dwelling upon afterwards it gave rise to\\nmeditation, and did you good. This small, half-clerical man\\nwas Charles Lamb.\\nHis countenance is thus described by Thomas Hood\\nHis was no common face, none of those willow-pattern\\nones which Nature turns out by thousands at her potteries,\\nbut more like a chance specimen of the Chinese ware, one\\nto the set unique, antique, quaint, you might have sworn to\\nit piecemeal, a separate affidavit to each feature.\\nMrs. Charles Mathews, wife of the comedian, who\\nmet Lamb at a dinner, gives an amusing account of\\nhim\\nMr. Lamb s first appearance was not prepossessing. His\\nfigure was small and mean, and no man was certainly ever\\nless beholden to his tailor. His bran new suit of black\\ncloth (in which he affected several times during the day to\\ntake great pride, and to cherish as a novelty that he had\\nlooked for and wanted) was drolly contrasted with his very\\nrusty silk stockings, shown from his knees, and his much too\\nlarge, thick shoes, without polish. His shirt rejoiced in a wide,\\nill-plaited frill, and his very small, tight, white neckcloth was\\nhemmed to a fine point at the ends that formed part of a lit-\\ntle bow. His hair was black and sleek, but not formal, and\\nhis face the gravest I ever saw, but indicating great intellect,\\nand resembling very much the portraits of Charles I.\\nFrom this sprightly and not too flattering sketch we\\nmay turn to Serjeant Talfourd s tender and charming\\nportrait, slightly idealized, no doubt for the man of\\nthe coif held a brief for his friend, and was a poet\\nbesides\\nMethinks I see him before me now as he appeared then,\\nand as he continued without any perceptible alteration to me,", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "1 4 INTR on UC TION.\\nduring the twenty years of intimacy which followed, and were\\nclosed by his death. A light frame, so fragile that it seemed\\nas if a breath would overthrow it, clad in clerk-like black,\\nwas surmounted by a head of form and expression the most\\nnoble and sweet. His black hair curled crisply about an\\nexpanded forehead his eyes, softly brown, twinkled with\\nvarying expression, though the prevalent expression was\\nsad and the nose, slightly curved, and delicately carved at\\nthe nostril, with the lower outline of the face delicately oval,\\ncompleted a head wliich was finely placed upon the shoulders,\\nand gave importance and even dignity to a diminutive and\\nshadowy stem. Who shall describe his countenance, catch its\\nquivering sweetness, and fix it forever in words There are\\nnone, alas to answer the vain desire of friendship. Deep\\nthought, striving with humor the lines of suffering wreathed\\ninto cordial mirth, and a smile of painful sweetness, present\\nan image to the mind it can as little describe as lose. His per-\\nsonal appearance and manner are not unjustly characterized\\nby what he himself says in one of his letters to Manning,^\\na compound of the Jew, the gentleman, and the angel.\\nThe writings of Charles Lamb abound in passages of\\nautobiography. I was born, he tells us in that delight-\\nful sketch, The Old Benchers of the Inner Temple,\\nand passed the first seven years of my life in the Tem-\\nple. Its church, its halls, its gardens, its fountain, its\\nriver, I had almost said, for in those young years\\nwhat was this king of rivers to me but a stream that\\nwatered our pleasant places these are of my oldest\\nrecollections. His father, John Lamb, the Lovel\\nof the essay cited, had come up a little boy from Lin-\\ncolnshire to enter the service of Samuel Salt, one of\\nthose Old Benchers upon whom the pen of Elia\\nhas shed immortality, a stanch friend and patron to\\nthe Lambs, the kind proprietor of that spacious closet\\nof good old English reading upon whose fair and\\nwholesome pasturage Charles and his sister, as\\nchildren, browsed at will.\\n1 Letter L.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "INTROD UCTION, 1 5\\nJohn Lamb had married Elizabeth Field, whose\\nmother was for fifty years housekeeper at the country-\\nseat of the Plumers, Blakesware, in Hertfordshire, the\\nBlakesmoor of the Essays, frequent scene of Lamb s\\nchildish holiday sports, a spacious mansion, with its\\npark and terraces and firry wilderness, the haunt of the\\nsquirrel and day-long murmuring wood-pigeon an\\nEden it must have seemed to the London-bred child, in\\nwhose fancy the dusty trees and sparrows and smoke-\\ngrimed fountain of Temple Court had been a pastoral.\\nWithin the cincture of its excluding garden-walls, wrote\\nElia in later years, I could have exclaimed with that\\ngarden-loving poet,^\\nBind me, ye woodbines, in your twines\\nCurl me about, ye gadding vines\\nAnd oh, so close your circles lace\\nThat I may never leave this place\\nBut lest your fetters prove too weak.\\nEre I your silken bondage break,\\nDo you, O brambles, chain me too,\\nAnd, courteous briers, nail me through.\\nAt Blakesware, too, was the room whence the spirit\\nof Sarah Battle that gentlewoman born winged\\nits flight to a region where revokes and luke-warm\\ngamesters are unknown.\\nTo John and Elizabeth Lamb were born seven chil-\\ndren, only three of whom, John, Mary, and Charles,\\nsurvived their infancy. Of the survivors, Charles was\\nthe youngest, John being twelve and Mary ten years\\nhis senior, a fact to be weighed in estimating the\\nheroism of Lamb s later life. At the age of seven,\\nCharles Lamb, son of John Lamb, scrivener, and\\nElizabeth, his wife, was entered at the school of\\nChrist s Hospital, the antique foundation of that\\ngodly and royal child King Edward VL Of his life\\n1 Cowley.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "l6 INTRODUCTION.\\nat this institution he has left us abundant and charming\\nmemorials in the Essays, Recollections of Christ s\\nHospital, and Christ s Hospital Five-and-thirty Years\\nAgo, the latter sketch corrective of the rather op-\\ntimistic impressions of the former.\\nWith his schoolfellows Charles seems to have been,\\ndespite his timid and retiring disposition (he said of\\nhimself, while the others were all fire and play, he\\nstole along with all the self-concentration of a young\\nmonk a decided favorite. Lamb, wrote C. V. Le\\nGrice, a schoolmate often mentioned in essay and\\nletter, was an amiable, gentle boy, very sensible and\\nkeenly observing, indulged by his schoolfellows and\\nby his master on account of his infirmity of speech.\\nI never heard his name mentioned without the\\naddition of Charles, although, as there was no other\\nboy of the name of Lamb, the addition was unneces-\\nsary but there was an implied kindness in it, and it\\nwas a proof that his gentle manners excited that\\nkindness.\\nFor us the most important fact of the Christ s Hospi-\\ntal school-days is the commencement of Lamb s life-long\\nfriendship with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, two years his\\nsenior, and the object of his fervent hero-worship.\\nMost of us, perhaps, can find the true source of what-\\never of notable good or evil we have effected in life in\\nthe moulding influence of one of these early friendships\\nor admirations. It is the boy s hero, the one he loves\\nand reverences among his schoolfellows, not his task-\\nmaster, that is his true teacher, the setter of the\\nbroader standards by which he is to abide through life.\\nHappy the man the feet of whose early idols have not\\nbeen of clay.\\nIt was under the quickening influence of the eloquent,\\nprecocious genius of the inspired charity boy that\\nCharles Lamb s ideals and ambitions shaped themselves\\nout of the haze of a child s conceptions. Coleridge at", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION. 1 7\\nsixteen was already a poet, his ear attuned to the\\nsubtlest melody of verse, and his hand rivalling, in pre-\\nluding fragments, the efforts of his maturer years he\\nwas already a philosopher, rapt in Utopian schemes\\nand mantling hopes as enchanting and as chimerical\\nas the pleasure-domes and caves of ice decreed by\\nKubla Khan and the younger lad became his ardent\\ndisciple.\\nLamb quitted Christ s Hospital, prematurely, in No-\\nvember, 1787, and the companionship of the two friends\\nwas for a time interrupted. To part with Coleridge, to\\nexchange the ease and congenial scholastic atmosphere\\nof the Hospital for the res angiista domi, for the intel-\\nlectual starvation of a life of counting-house drudgery,\\nmust have been a bitter trial for him. But the shadow of\\npoverty was upon the little household in the Temple on\\nthe horizon of the future the blackening clouds of anxie-\\nties still graver were gathering and the youngest child\\nwas called home to share the common burden.\\nCharles Lamb was first employed in the South Sea\\nHouse, where his brother John a cheerful optimist,\\na dilettante in art, genial, prosperous, thoroughly selfish,\\nin so far as the family fortunes were concerned an out-\\nsider already held a lucrative post. It was not long\\nbefore Charles obtained promotion in the form of a\\nclerkship with the East India Company, one of the\\nlast kind services of Samuel Salt, who died in the same\\nyear, 1792, and with the East India Company he\\nremained for the rest of his working life.\\nUpon the death of their generous patron the Lambs\\nremoved from the Temple and took lodgings in Little\\nQueen Street, Holborn and for Charles the battle of\\nlife may be said to have fairly begun. His work as a\\njunior clerk absorbed, of course, the greater part of his\\nday and of his year. Yet there were breathing-spaces\\nthere were the long evenings with the poets with Mar-\\n1 The James Elia of the essay My Relations.\\n2", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "1 8 INTRODUCTION.\\nlowe, Drayton, Drummond of Hawthornden, and Cow-\\nley, the sweetest names, which carry a perfume in\\nthe mention there were the visits to the play, the\\nyearly vacation jaunts to simny Hertfordshire. The\\nintercourse with Coleridge, too, was now occasionally\\nrenewed. The latter had gone up to Cambridge early\\nin 1791, there to remain except the period of his six\\nmonths dragooning for the next four years. During\\nhis visits to London it was the habit of the two school-\\nfellows to meet at a tavern near Smithfield, the Sal-\\nutation and Cat, to discuss the topics dear to both and\\nit was about this time that Lamb s sonnet to Mrs Sid-\\ndons, his first appearance in print, was published in the\\nMorning Chronicle.\\nThe year 1796 was a terribly eventful one for the\\nLambs. There was a taint of insanity in the family\\non the father s side, and on May 27, 1796, we find\\nCharles writing to Coleridge these sad words, doubly\\nsad for the ring of mockery in them\\nMy life has been somewhat diversified of late. The six\\nweeks that finished last year and began this, your very\\nhumble servant spent very agreeably in a madhouse at\\nHoxton. I am got somewhat rational now, and don t bite\\nany one. But mad I was\\nCharles, thanks to the resolution with which he com-\\nbated the tendency, and to the steadying influence of\\nhis work at the desk, despite his occasional murmurs,\\nhis best friend and sheet-anchor in life, never again\\nsuccumbed to the family malady but from that mo-\\nment, over his small household. Madness like Death\\nin Milton s vision continually shook its dart, and\\nat best only delayed to strike.\\nIt was in the September of 1796 that the calamity\\nbefell which has tinged the story of Charles and Mary\\n1 Letter I. 2 Talfourd s Memoir.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "INTRO D UC TION. 1 9\\nLamb with the sombrest hues of the Greek tragedy.\\nThe family were still in the Holborn lodgings, the\\nmother an invalid, the father sinking into a second\\nchildhood. Mary, in addition to the burden of min-\\nistering to her parents, was working for their support\\nwith her needle.\\nAt this point it will be well to insert a prefatory word\\nor two as to the character of Mary Lamb and here\\nthe witnesses are in accord. There is no jarring of\\nopinion, as in her brother s case for Charles Lamb\\nhas been sorely misjudged, often, it must be admitted,\\nwith ground of reason sometimes by persons who might\\nand should have looked deeper. In a notable instance,\\nthe heroism of his life has been meanly overlooked by\\none who preached to mankind with the eloquence of\\nthe Prophets the prime need and virtue of recognizing\\nthe hero. If self-abnegation lies at the root of true hero-\\nism, Charles Lamb that sorry phenomenon with\\nan insuperable proclivity to gin was a greater\\nhero than was covered by the shield of Achilles. The\\ncharacter of Mary Lamb is quickly summed up. She\\nwas one of the most womanly of women. In all its\\nessential sweetness, says Talfourd, her character\\nwas like her brother s while, by a temper more placid,\\na spirit of enjoyment more serene, she was enabled\\nto guide, to counsel, to cheer him, and to protect him\\non the verge of the mysterious calamity, from the\\ndepths of which she rose so often unruffled to his side.\\nTo a friend in any difficulty she was the most comfort-\\nable of advisers, the wisest of consolers. Hazlitt said\\nthat he never met with a woman who could reason,\\nand had met with only one thoroughly reasonable,\\nMary Lamb. The writings of Elia are strewn, as\\nwe know, with the tenderest tributes to her worth. I\\nwish, he says, that I could throw into a heap the\\nCarlyle.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "20 INTRODUCTION.\\nremainder of our joint existences, that we might share\\nthem in equal division.\\nThe psychology of madness is a most subtle inquiry.\\nHow slight the mysterious touch that throws the\\nsmooth-running human mechanism into a chaos of\\njarring elements, that transforms, in the turn of an\\neyelash, the mild humanity of the gentlest of beings\\ninto the unreasoning ferocity of the tiger.\\nThe London Times of September 26, 1796, con-\\ntained the following paragraph\\nOn Friday afternoon the coroner and a jury sat on the\\nbody of a lady in the neighborhood of Holborn, who died in\\nconsequence of a wound from her daughter the preceding day.\\nIt appeared by the evidence adduced that while the family\\nwere preparing for dinner, the young lady seized a case-knife\\nlying on the table, and in a menacing manner pursued a little\\ngirl, her apprentice, round the room. On the calls of her\\ninfirm mother to forbear, she renounced her first object, and\\nwith loud shrieks approached her parent. The child, by her\\ncries, quickly brought up the landlord of the house, but too\\nlate.i The dreadful scene presented him the mother lifeless,\\npierced to the heart, on a chair, her daughter yet wildly stand-\\ning over her with the fatal knife, and the old man, her father,\\nweeping by her side, himself bleeding at the forehead from\\nthe effects of a severe blow he received from one of the forks\\nshe had been madly hurling about the room.\\nFor a few days prior to this, the family had observed\\nsome symptoms of insanity in her, which had so much in-\\ncreased on the Wednesday evening that her brother, early\\nthe next morning, went to Dr. Pitcairn but that gentleman\\nwas not at home.\\nThe jury of course brought in their verdict, Lunacy\\nI need not supply the omitted names of the actors in\\nthis harrowing scene. Mary Lamb was at once placed\\nIt would seem from Lamb s lettter to Coleridge (Letter IV.) that\\nit was he^ not the landlord, who appeared thus too late, and who\\nsnatched the knife from the unconscious hand.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "INTR on UC TION. 2 1\\nin the Asylum at Hoxton, and the victim of her frenzy\\nwas^ laid to rest in the churchyard of St. Andrew s,\\nHolborn. It became necessary for Charles and his\\nfather to make an immediate change of residence, and\\nthey took lodgings at Pentonville. There is a pregnant\\nsentence in one of Lamb s letters that flashes with the\\nvividness of lightning into the darkest recesses of those\\nearly troubles and embarrassments. We are, he wrote\\nto Coleridge, m a manner iiiarked.\\nCharles Lamb after some weeks obtained the release\\nof his sister from the Hoxton Asylum by formally un-\\ndertaking her future guardianship, a charge which was\\nborne, until Death released the compact, with a stead-\\nfastness, a cheerful renunciation of what men regard as\\nthe crowning blessings of manhood,^ that has shed a\\nhalo more radiant even than that of his genius about\\nthe figure it was small and mean, said sprightly\\nMrs. Mathews of the India House clerk.\\nAs already stated, the mania that had once attacked\\nCharles never returned but from the side of Mary\\nLamb this grimmest of spectres never departed. Mary\\nis again/r ?;;2 homej Mary fallen ill again how\\noften do such tear-fraught phrases tenderly veiled, lest\\nsome chance might bring them to the eye of the blame-\\nless sufferer recur in the Letters Brother and sister\\nwere ever on the watch for the symptoms premonitory\\nof the return of this their sorrow s crown of sorrows.\\nUpon their little holiday excursions, says Talfourd, a\\nstrait-waistcoat, carefully packed by Miss Lamb herself,\\nwas their constant companion. Charles Lloyd relates\\nthat he once met them slowly pacing together a little\\nfootpath in Hoxton fields, both weeping bitterly, and\\nfound on joining them that they were taking their solemn\\nway to the old asylum. Thus, upon this guiltless pair\\nwere visited the sins of their fathers.\\nThe reader is referred to Lamb s beautiful essay, Dream\\nChildren.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "2 2 INTR on UC TION.\\nWith the tragical events just narrated, the stonn of\\ncalamity seemed to have spent its force, and there were\\nthenceforth plenty of days of calm and of sunshine for\\nCharles Lamb. The stress of poverty was lightened\\nand finally removed by successive increases of salary at\\nthe India House the introductions of Coleridge and\\nhis own growing repute in the world of letters gathered\\nabout him a circle of friends Southey, Wordsworth,\\nHazlitt, Manning, Barton, and the rest more con-\\ngenial, and certainly more profitable, than the vagrant\\nzjitimados, to the world s eye a ragged regiment,\\nwho had wasted his substance and his leisure in the\\nearly Temple days.\\nLamb s earliest avowed appearance as an author was\\nin Coleridge s first volume of poems, published by Cottle,\\nof Bristol, in 1796. The effusions signed C. L., says\\nColeridge in the preface, were written by Mr. Charles\\nLamb, of the India House. Independently of the sig-\\nnature, their superior merit would have sufficiently dis-\\ntinguished them. The effusions were ^four sonnets,\\ntwo of them the most noteworthy touching upon\\nthe one love-romance of Lamb s lif e,^ his earl) attach-\\nment to the fair-haired Hertfordshire girl, the Anna\\nof the Sonnets, the Alice W n of the Essays.\\nWe remember that Elia in describing the gallery of old\\nfamily portraits, in the essay, Blakesmoor in H\\nshire, dwells upon that beauty with the cool, blue,\\npastoral drapery, and a lamb, that hung next the great\\nbay window, with the bright yellow Hertfordshire hair,\\nso like Diy Alice.\\nIn 1797 Cottle issued a second edition of Coleridge s\\npoems, this time with eleven additional pieces by Lamb,\\nmaking fifteen of his in all, and containing verses\\nby their friend Charles Lloyd. It is unlikely, observes\\nIf we except his passing tenderness for the young Quakeress,\\nHester Savory. Lamb admitted that he had never spoken to the\\nlady in his hfe.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "INTR OD UC TION. 2 3\\nCanon Ainger, that this little venture brought any profit\\nto its authors, or that a subsequent volume of blank verse\\nby Lamb and Lloyd in the following year proved more\\nremunerative. In 1798 Lamb, anxious for his sister s\\nsake to add to his slender income, composed his minia-\\nture romance, as Talfourd calls it, Rosamund Gray\\nand this little volume, which has not yet lost its charm,\\nproved a moderate success. Shelley, writing from Italy\\nto Leigh Hunt in 1 819, said of it What a lovely thing\\nis his Rosamund Gray How much knowledge of the\\nsweetest and deepest part of our nature in it When I\\nthink of such a mind as Lamb s, when I see how un-\\nnoticed remain things of such exquisite and complete\\nperfection, what should I hope for myself if I had not\\nhigher objects in view than fame 1\\nIt is rather unpleasant, in view of this generous if\\noverstrained tribute, to find the object of it referring\\nlater to the works of his encomiast as thin sown with\\nprofit or delight,\\nIn 1802 Lamb published in a small duodecimo his\\nblank-verse tragedy, John Woodvil, it had previ-\\nously been declined by John Kemble as unsuited to the\\nstage, and in 1806 was produced at the Drury Lane\\nTheatre his farce Mr. H., the summary failure of\\nwhich is chronicled with much humor in the Letters.^\\nThe Tales from Shakspeare, by Charles and Mary\\nLamb, were pubHshed by Godwin in 1807, and a\\nsecond edition was called for in the following year.\\nLamb was now getting on surer and more remunera-\\ntive ground; and in 1808 he prepared for the firm\\nof Longmans his masterly Specimens of the English\\nDramatic Poets contemporary with Shakspeare. Con-\\ncerning this work he wrote to Manning\\nSpecimens are becoming fashionable. We have Speci-\\nmens of Ancient English Poets, Specimens of Modern Eng-\\n1 Letter LXXXIII 2 Letters LXVII., LXVIIL, LXIX.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "2 4 INTR 01) UC TION.\\nlish Poets, Specimens of Ancient English Prose Writers,\\nwithout end. They used to be called Beauties. You have\\nseen Beauties of Shakspeare so have many people that\\nnever saw any beauties in Shakspeare.\\nFrom Charles Lamb s Specimens dates, as we\\nknow, the revival of the study of the old English\\ndramatists other than Shakespeare. He was the first\\nto call attention to the neglected beauties of those great\\nElizabethans, Webster, Marlowe, Ford, Dekker, Mas-\\nsinger, no longer accounted mere mushrooms that\\nsprang up in a ring under the great oak of Arden.\\nThe opportunity that was to call forth Lamb s special\\nfaculty in authorship came late in life. In January, 1820,\\nBaldwin, Cradock, and Joy, the publishers, brought out\\nthe first number of a new monthly journal under the\\nname of an earlier and extinct periodical, the London\\nMagazine, and in the August number appeared an\\narticle, Recollections of the South Sea House, over\\nthe signature EliaP- With this delightful sketch the\\nessayist Elia may be said to have been born. In none\\nof Lamb s previous writings had there been more than a\\nhint of that unique vein, wise, playful, tender, fantas-\\ntic, everything by starts, and nothing long, exhibited\\nwith a felicity of phrase certainly unexcelled in English\\nprose literature, that we associate with his name. The\\ncareful reader of the Letters cannot fail to note that it\\nis there that Lamb s peculiar quality in authorship is\\nfirst manifest. There is a letter to South ey, written as\\nearly as 1798, that has the true Elia ring.^ With the\\nLondon Magazine, which was discontinued in 1826,\\n1 W. S. Landor.\\n2 In assuming this pseudonym Lamb- borrowed the name of a\\nfellow-clerk who had served with him thirty years before in the Soutli\\nSea House, an Italian named Elia. The name has probably never\\nbeen pronounced as Lamb intended. Call him Ellia^ he said in\\na letter to J. Taylor, concerning this old acquaintance.\\n8 Letter XV 11.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION. 25\\nElia was born, and with it he may be said to have died,\\nalthough some of his later contributions to the New\\nMonthly 1 and to the Englishman s Magazine were\\nincluded in the Last Essays of Elia, collected and pub-\\nlished in 1833. The first series of Lamb s essays under\\nthe title of Elia had been published in a single volume by\\nTaylor and Hessey, of the London Magazine, in 1823.\\nThe story of Lamb s working life latterly an un-\\neventful one, broken chiefly by changes of abode and\\nby the yearly holiday jaunts, migrations from the\\nblue bed to the brown from 1796, when the cor-\\nrespondence with Coleridge begins, is told in the letters.\\nFor thirty-three years he served the East India Com-\\npany, and he served it faithfully and steadily. There\\nis, indeed, a tradition that havmg been reproved on one\\noccasion for coming to the office late in the morning, he\\npleaded that he always left it so very early in the\\nevening. Poets, we know, often heard the chimes\\nat midnight in Elia s day, and the plea has certainly\\na most Lamb-like ring. That the Company s directors,\\nhowever, were more than content with the service of\\ntheir literate clerk, the sequel shows.\\nIt is manifest in certain letters, written toward the\\nclose of 1824 and in the beginning of 1825, that Lamb s\\nconfinement was at last telling upon him, and that he\\nwas thinking of a release from his bondage to the\\ndesk s dead wood. In February, 1825, he wrote to\\nBarton,\\nYour gentleman brother sets my mouth watering after\\nliberty. Oh that I were kicked out of Leadenhall with\\nevery mark of indignity, and a competence in my fob The\\nbirds of the air would not be so free as I should. How\\nI would prance and curvet it, and pick up cowslips, and\\nramble about purposeless as an idiot\\n1 The rather unimportant series, Popular Fallacies, appeared\\nin the New Monthly.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "26 INTRODUCTION.\\nLater in March we learn that he had signified to the\\ndirectors his wilHngness to resign.\\nI am sick of hope deferred. The grand wheel is in agi-\\ntation that is to turn up my fortune but round it rolls,\\nand will turn up nothing. I have a glimpse of freedom, of\\nbecoming a gentleman at large, but I am put off from day\\nto day. I have offered my resignation, and it is neither ac-\\ncepted nor rejected. Eight weeks am I kept in this fear-\\nful suspense. Guess what an absorbing state I feel it. I am\\nnot conscious of the existence of friends, present or absent.\\nThe East India directors alone can be that thing to me. I\\nhave just learned that nothing will be decided this week.\\nWhy the next Why any week\\nBut the grand wheel was really turning to some\\npurpose, and a few days later, April 6, 1825, he joyfully\\nwrote to Barton,\\nMy spirits are so tumultuary with the novelty of my\\nrecent emancipation that I have scarce steadiness of hand,\\nmuch more mind, to compose a letter. I am free, B. B.,\\nfree as air\\nThe little bird that wings the sky\\nKnows no such liberty.\\nI was set free on Tuesday in last week at four o clock. I\\ncame home forever\\nThe quality of the generosity of the East India\\ndirectors was not strained in Lamb s case. It should\\nbe recorded as an agreeable commercial phenomenon\\nthat these officials, men of business acting in a busi-\\nness matter, words too often held to exclude all such\\nQuixotic matters as sentiment, gratitude, and Christian\\nequity between man and man, were not only just, but\\nmunificent. From the path of Charles and Mary\\nLamb already beset with anxieties grave enough\\n1 In the essay The Superannuated Man Lamb describes, with\\ncertain changes and modifications, his retirement from the India\\nHouse.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "iNTR on uc tion: 2 7\\nthey removed forever the shadow of want. Lamb s\\nsalary at the time of his retirement was nearly seven\\nhundred pounds a year, and the offer made to him was\\na pension of four hundred and fifty, with a deduction\\nof nine pounds a year for his sister, should she survive\\nhim.\\nLamb lived to enjoy his freedom and the Company s\\nbounty nearly nine years. Soon after his retirement he\\nsettled with his sister at Enfield, within easy reach of\\nhis loved London, removing thence to the neighboring\\nparish of Edmonton, his last change of residence.\\nColeridge s death, in July, 1834, was a heavy blow to\\nhim. When I heard of the death of Coleridge, he\\nwrote, it was without grief. It seemed to me that he\\nhad long been on the confines of the next world, that\\nhe had a hunger for eternity. I grieved then that I could\\nnot grieve but since, I feel how great a part he was of\\nme. His great and dear spirit haunts me. I cannot\\nthink a thought, I cannot make a criticism on men or\\nbooks, without an ineffectual turning and reference to\\nhim. He was the proof and touchstone of all my cogi-\\ntations. Lamb did not long outlive his old schoolfellow.\\nWalking in the middle of December along the London\\nroad, he stumbled and fell, inflicting a slight wound upon\\nhis face. The injury at first seemed trivial but soon\\nafter, erysipelas appearing, it became evident that his\\ngeneral health was too feeble to resist. On the 27th of\\nDecember, 1834, he passed quietly away, whispering in\\nhis last moments the names of his dearest friends.\\nMary Lamb survived her brother nearly thirteen years,\\ndying, at the advanced age of eighty-two, on May 20,\\n1847. With increasing years her attacks had become\\nmore frequent and of longer duration, till her mind be-\\ncame permanently weakened. After leaving Edmon-\\nton, she lived chiefly in a pleasant house in St. John s\\nWood, surrounded by old books and prints, under the\\ncare of a nurse. Her pension, together with the income", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "28 INTRODUCTION.\\nfrom her brother s savings, was amply sufficient for\\nher support.\\nTalfourd, who was present at the burial of Mary\\nLamb, has eloquently described the earthly reunion of\\nthe brother and sister\\nA few survivors of the old circle, then sadly thinned,\\nattended her remains to the spot in Edmonton churchyard\\nwhere they were laid, above those of her brother. In accord-\\nance with Lamb s own feeling, so far as it could be gathered\\nfrom his expressions on a subject to which he did not often\\nor willingly refer, he had been interred in a deep grave, simply\\ndug and wattled round, but without any affectation of stone\\nor brickwork to keep the human dust from its kindred earth.\\nSo dry, however, is the soil of the quiet churchyard that the\\nexcavated earth left perfect walls of stiff clay, and permitted\\nus just to catch a glimpse of the still untarnished edges of the\\ncoffin, in which all the mortal part of one of the most delight-\\nful persons who ever lived was contained, and on which the\\nremains of her he had loved with love passing the love of\\nwoman were henceforth to rest, the last glances we shall\\never have even of that covering, concealed from us as we\\nparted by the coffin of the sister. We felt, I believe, after\\na moment s strange shuddering, that the reunion was well\\naccomplished although the true-hearted son of Admiral\\nBurney, who had known and loved the pair we quitted\\nfrom a child, and who had been among the dearest objects of\\nexistence to him, refused to be comforted.\\nThere are certain handy phrases, the legal-tender of\\nconversation, that people generally use without troubling\\nthemselves to look into their title to currency. It is\\noften said, for instance, with an air of deploring a phase\\nof general mental degeneracy, that letter-writing is a\\nlost art. And so it is, not because men nowadays, if\\nthey were put to it, could not, on the average, write as\\ngood letters as ever (the average, although we certainly\\nhave no Lambs, and perhaps no Walpoles or Southeys\\nto raise it, would probably be higher), but because the", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION. 29\\nconditions that call for and develop the epistolary art\\nhave largely passed away. With our modern facility of\\ncommunication, the letter has lost the pristine dignity\\nof its function. The earth has dwindled strangely\\nsince the advent of steam and electricity, and in a\\ngeneration used to Mr. Edison s devices. Puck s girdle\\npresents no difficulties to the imagination. In Charles\\nLamb s time the expression from Land s End to John\\nO Groat s meant something; to-day it means a few\\ncomfortable hours by rail, a few minutes by telegraph.\\nWordsworth in the North of England was to Lamb, so\\nfar as the chance of personal contact was concerned,\\nnearly as remote as Manning in China. Under such\\nconditions a letter was of course a weighty matter\\nit was a thoughtful summary of opinion, a rarely re-\\ncurring budget of general intelligence, expensive to\\nsend, and paid for by the recipient and men put their\\nminds and energies into composing it. One wrote at\\nthat time, says W. C. Hazlitt, a letter to an acquaint-\\nance in one of the home counties which one would only\\nwrite nowadays to a settler in the Colonies or a relative\\nin India.\\nBut to whatever conditions or circumstances we may\\nowe the existence of Charles Lamb s letters, their qual-\\nity is of course the fruit of the genius and temperament\\nof the writer. Unpremeditated as the strain of the sky-\\nlark, they have almost to excess (were that possible) the\\nprime epistolary merit of spontaneity. From the brain\\nof the writer to the sheet before him flows an unbroken\\nPactolian stream. Lamb, at his best, ranges with\\nShakspearian facility the gamut of human emotion,\\nexclaiming, as it were at one moment, with Jaques,\\nMotley s the only wear in the next probing the\\nsource of tears. He is as ejaculatory with his pen as\\nother men are with their tongues. Puns, quotations, con-\\nceits, critical estimates of the rarest insight and sug-\\ngestiveness, chase each other over his pages like clouds", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "so INTRODUCTION.\\nover a summer sky and the whole is leavened with the\\nsterling ethical and aesthetic good sense that renders\\nCharles Lamb one of the wholesomest of writers.\\nAs to the plan on which the selections for this volume\\nhave been made, it needs only to be said that, in gen-\\neral, the editor has aimed to include those letters which\\nexhibit most fully the writer s distinctive charm and\\nquality. This plan leaves, of course, a residue of consid-\\nerable biographical and critical value but it is believed\\nthat to all who really love and appreciate him, Charles\\nLamb s Best Letters are those which are most\\nuniquely and unmistakably Charles Lamb s.\\nE. G. J.\\nSeptember, 1891.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "THE BEST LETTERS\\nOF\\nCHARLES LAMB.\\nT.\\nTO SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.\\nMay 27, 1796.\\nDear Coleridge, Make yourself perfectly easy\\nabout May. I paid his bill when I sent your\\nclothes. I was flush of money, and am so still to\\nall the purposes of a single life so give yourself\\nno further concern about it. The money would\\nbe superfluous to me if I had it.\\nWhen Southey becomes as modest as his prede-\\ncessor, Milton, and publishes his Epics in duode-\\ncimo, I will read em a guinea a book is somewhat\\nexorbitant, nor have I the opportunity of borrowing\\nthe work. The extracts from it in the Monthly\\nReview, and the short passages in your Watch-\\nman, seem to me much superior to anything in his\\npartnership account with Lovell.^ Your poems I\\nshall procure forthwith. There were noble lines in\\n1 Southey had just published his Joan of Arc, in quarto.\\nHe and Lovell had published jointly, two years before,\\nPoenis by Bion and Moschus.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "32 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nwhat you inserted in one of your numbers from\\nReligious Musings, but I thought them elaborate.\\nI am somewhat glad you have given up that paper\\nit must have been dry, unprofitable, and of disso-\\nnant mood to your disposition. I wish you success\\nin all your undertakings, and am glad to hear you\\nare employed about the Evidences of Religion.\\nThere is need of multiplying such books a hundred-\\nfold in this philosophical age, to prevent converts\\nto atheism, for they seem too tough disputants to\\nmeddle with afterwards.\\nColeridge, I know not what suffering scenes you\\nhave gone through at Bristol. My life has been\\nsomewhat diversified of late. The six weeks that\\nfinished last year and began this, your very humble\\nservant spent very agreeably in a madhouse at Hox-\\nton. I am got somewhat rational now, and don t\\nbite any one. But mad I was and many a vagary\\nmy imagination played with me, enough to make\\na volume, if all were told. My sonnets I have ex-\\ntended to the number of nine since I saw you, and\\nwill some day communicate to you. I am beginning\\na poem in blank verse, which, if I finish, I publish.\\nWhite is on the eve of publishing (he took the\\nhint from Vortigern) Original Letters of Falstaff,\\nShallow, etc. a copy you shall have when it\\ncomes out. They are without exception the best\\nimitations I ever saw. Coleridge, it may convince\\nyou of my regards for you when I tell you my\\nhead ran on you in my madness as much almost\\n1 A Christ s Hospital schoolfellow, the Jem White of\\nthe Elia essay, The Praise of Chimney-Sweepers.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 33\\nas on another person, who I am incHned to think\\nwas the more immediate cause of my temporary\\nfrenzy.\\nThe sonnet I send you has small merit as poetry\\nbut you will be curious to read it when I tell you\\nit was written in my prison-house in one of my\\nlucid intervals.\\nTO MY SISTER.\\nIf from my lips some angry accents fell,\\nPeevish complaint, or harsh reproof unkind,\\nT was but the error of a sickly mind\\nAnd troubled thoughts, clouding the purer well\\nAnd waters clear of Reason and for me\\nLet this my verse the poor atonement be,\\nMy verse, which thou to praise wert e er inclined\\nToo highly, and with partial eye to see\\nNo blemish. Thou to me didst ever show\\nKindest affection and wouldst oft-times lend\\nAn ear to the desponding love-sick lay,\\nWeeping my sorrows with me, who repay\\nBut ill the mighty debt of love I owe,\\nMary, to thee, my sister and my friend.\\nWith these lines, and with that sister s kindest\\nremembrances to Cottle, I conclude.\\nYours sincerely,\\nLamb\\nII.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\n{No month) 1796.\\nTuesday night. Of your Watchman, the re-\\nview of Burke was the best prose. I augured great\\nthings from the first number. There is some\\n3", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "34 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nexquisite poetry interspersed. I have re-read the\\nextract from the Religious Musings, and retract\\nwhatever invidious there was in my censure of it as\\nelaborate. There are times when one is not in\\na disposition thoroughly to relish good writing. I\\nhave re-read it in a more favorable moment, and\\nhesitate not to pronounce it sublime. If there be\\nanything in it approaching to tumidity (which I\\nmeant not to infer; by elaborate I meant simply\\nlabored it is the gigantic hyperbole by which\\nyou describe the evils of existing society snakes,\\nlions, hyenas, and behemoths, is carrying your re-\\nsentment beyond bounds. The pictures of The\\nSimoom, of Frenzy and Ruin, of The Whore\\nof Babylon, and The Cry of Foul Spirits disin-\\nherited of Earth, and The Strange Beatitude\\nwhich the good man shall recognize in heaven, as\\nwell as the particularizing of the children of wretch-\\nedness (I have unconsciously included every part\\nof it), form a variety of uniform excellence. I\\nhunger and thirst to read the poem complete.\\nThat is a capital line in your sixth number,\\nThis dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering month.\\nThey are exactly such epithets as Burns would have\\nstumbled on, whose poem on the ploughed-up\\ndaisy you seem to have had in mind. Your com-\\nplaint that of your readers some thought there was\\ntoo much, some too little, original matter in your\\nnumbers, reminds me of poor dead Parsons in the\\nCritic. Too little incident! Give me leave\\nto tell you, sir, there is too much incident. I had", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 35\\nlike to have forgot thanking you for that exquisite\\nlittle morsel, the first Sclavonian Song. The ex-\\npression in the second, more happy to be un-\\nhappy in hell, is it not very quaint? Accept my\\nthanks, in common with those of all who love good\\npoetry, for The Braes of Yarrow. I congratulate\\nyou on the enemies you must have made by your\\nsplendid invective against the barterers in human\\nflesh and sinews. Coleridge, you will rejoice to\\nhear that Cowper is recovered from his lunacy, and\\nis employed on his translation of the Italian, etc.,\\npoems of Milton for an edition where Fuseli pre-\\nsides as designer. Coleridge, to an idler like\\nmyself, to write and receive letters are both very\\npleasant; but I wish not to break in upon your\\nvaluable time by expecting to hear very frequently\\nfrom you. Reserve that obligation for your mo-\\nments of lassitude, when you have nothing else to\\ndo for your loco-restive and all your idle propen-\\nsities, of course, have given way to the duties of\\nproviding for a family. The mail is come in, but\\nno parcel; yet this is Tuesday. Farewell, then,\\ntill to-morrow for a niche and a nook I must leave\\nfor criticisms. By the way, I hope you do not send\\nyour own only copy of Joan of Arc; I will in\\nthat case return it immediately.\\nYour parcel is come you have been lavish of\\nyour presents.\\nWordsworth s poem I have hurried through, not\\nwithout delight. Poor Lovell my heart almost\\naccuses me for the light manner I lately spoke of\\nhim, not dreaming of his death. My heart bleeds", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "36 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nfor your accumulated troubles God send you\\nthrough em with patience. I conjure you dream\\nnot that I will ever think of being repaid the very\\nword is galling to the ears. I have read all your\\nReligious Musings with uninterrupted feelings\\nof profound admiration. You may safely rest your\\nfame on it. The best remaining things are what I\\nhave before read, and they lose nothing by my\\nrecollection of your manner of rec ting em, for I\\ntoo bear in mind the voice, the look, of absent\\nfriends, and can occasionally mimic their manner\\nfor the amusement of those who have seen em.\\nYour impassioned manner of recitation I can recall\\nat any time to mine own heart and to the ears\\nof the bystanders. I rather wish you had left the\\nmonody on Chatterton concluding, as it did, ab-\\nruptly. It had more of unity. The conclusion\\nof your Religious Musings, I fear, will entitle you\\nto the reproof of your beloved woman, who wisely\\nwill not suffer your fancy to run riot, but bids you\\nwalk humbly with your God. The very last words, I\\nexercise my young novitiate thought in ministeries\\nof heart-stirring song, though not now new to me,\\ncannot be enough admired. To speak politely, they\\nare a well-turned compliment to poetry. I hasten\\nto read Joan of Arc, etc. I have read your lines\\nat the beginning of second book they are worthy\\nof Milton, but in my mind yield to your Religious\\nMusings. I shall read the whole carefully, and\\nin some future letter take the hberty to particularize\\n1 Coleridge contributed some four hundred lines to the\\nsecond book of Southey s epic.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 37\\nmy opinions of it. Of what is new to me among\\nyour poems next to the Musings, that beginning\\nMy Pensive Sara gave me most pleasure. The\\nlines in it I just alluded to are most exquisite they\\nmade my sister and self smile, as conveying a\\npleasing picture of Mrs. C. checking your wild\\nwanderings, which we were so fond of hearing you\\nindulge when among us. It has endeared us more\\nthan anything to your good lady, and your own self-\\nreproof that follows delighted us. T is a charming\\npoem throughout (you have well remarked that\\ncharming, admirable, exquisite are the words ex-\\npressive of feelings more than conveying of ideas,\\nelse I might plead very well want of room in my\\npaper as excuse for generalizing). I want room\\nto tell you how we are charmed with your verses in\\nthe manner of Spenser, etc. I am glad you resume\\nthe Watchman. Change the name leave out\\nall articles of news, and whatever things are pecu-\\nliar to newspapers, and confine yourself to ethics,\\nverse, criticism or, rather, do not confine your-\\nself. Let your plan be as diffuse as the Specta-\\ntor, and I 11 answer for it the work prospers. If\\nI am vain enough to think I can be a contributor,\\nrely on my inclinations. Coleridge, in reading\\nyour Religious Musings, I felt a transient supe-\\nriority over you. I have seen Priestley. I love to\\nsee his name repeated in your writings. I love\\nand honor him almost profanely. You would be\\ncharmed with his Sermons, if you never read em.\\nYou have doubtless read his books illustrative of the\\ndoctrine of Necessity. Prefixed to a late work of", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "38 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nhis in answer to Paine, there is a preface giving an\\naccount of the man and his services to men, written\\nby Lindsey, his dearest friend, well worth your\\nreading.\\nTuesday Eve. Forgive my prolixity, which is yet\\ntoo brief for all I could wish to say. God give you\\ncomfort, and all that are of your household Our\\nloves and best good-wishes to Mrs. C.\\nC. Lamb.\\nIII.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nJune 10, 1796.\\nWith Joan of Arc I have been delighted,\\namazed. I had not presumed to expect anything of\\nsuch excellence from Southey. Why, the poem is\\nalone sufficient to redeem the character of the age\\nwe live in from the imputation of degenerating in\\npoetry, were there no such beings extant as Burns,\\nand Bowles, Cowper, and fill up the blank\\nhow you please I say nothing. The subject is well\\nchosen it opens well. To become more particular,\\nI will notice in their order a few passages that chiefly\\nstruck me on perusal. Page 26 Fierce and terri-\\nble Benevolence is a phrase full of grandeur and\\noriginality. The whole context made me feel pos-\\nsessed^ even like Joan herself. Page 28 It is most\\nhorrible with the keen sword to gore the finely fibred\\nhuman frame, and what follows, pleased me might-\\nily. In the second book, the first forty lines in par-\\nticular are majestic and high-sounding. Indeed, the", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 39\\nwhole vision of the Palace of Ambition and what\\nfollows are supremely excellent. Your simile of the\\nLaplander, By Niemi s lake, or Balda Zhiok, or the\\nmossy stone of Solfar-Kapper, will bear compar-\\nison with any in Milton for fulness of circumstance\\nand lofty-pacedness of versification. Southey s\\nsimiles, though many of em are capital, are all in-\\nferior. In one of his books, the simile of the oak\\nin the storm occurs, I think, four times. To return\\nthe light in which you view the heathen deities is\\naccurate and beautiful. Southey s personifications\\nin this book are so many fine and faultless pictures.\\nI was much pleased with your manner of accounting\\nfor the reason why monarchs take delight in war.\\nAt the 447th line you have placed Prophets and\\nEnthusiasts cheek by jowl, on too intimate a footing\\nfor the dignity of the former. Necessarian-like-\\nspeaking, it is correct. Page 98 Dead is the\\nDouglas cold thy warrior frame, illustrious Buchan,\\netc., are of kindred excellence with Gray s Cold is\\nCadwallo s tongue, etc. How famously the Maid\\nbaffles the Doctors, Seraphic and Irrefragable,\\nwith all their trumpery! Page 126: the pro-\\ncession, the appearances of the Maid, of the Bastard\\nSon of Orleans, and 01 Tremouille, are full of fire\\nand fancy, and exquisite melody of versification.\\nThe personifications from line 303 to 309, in the\\nheat of the battle, had better been omitted they\\nare not very striking, and only encumber. The\\nconverse which Joan and Conrade hold on the banks\\n1 Lapland mountains. From Coleridge s Destiny of\\nNations.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "40 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nof the Loire is altogether beautiful. Page 313\\nthe conjecture that in dreams all things are that\\nseem, is one of those conceits which the poet de-\\nlights to admit into his creed, a creed, by the way,\\nmore marvellous and mystic than ever Athanasius\\ndreamed of. Page 315 I need only mention those\\nlines ending with She saw a serpent gnawing at\\nher heart They are good imitative lines he\\ntoiled and toiled, of toil to reap no end, but endless\\ntoil and never-ending woe. Page 347 Cruelty is\\nsuch as Hogarth might have painted her. Page\\n361 all the passage about Love (where he seems to\\nconfound conjugal love with creating and preserving\\nlove) is very confused, and sickens me with a load\\nof useless personifications else that ninth book is\\nthe finest in the volume, an exquisite combination\\nof the ludicrous and the terrible. I have never read\\neither, even in translation, but such I conceive to\\nbe the manner of Dante or Ariosto. The tenth\\nbook is the most languid.\\nOn the whole, considering the celerity wherewith\\nthe poem was finished, I was astonished at the\\nunfrequency of weak lines. I had expected to find\\nit verbose. Joan, I think, does too little in battle,\\nDunois perhaps the same Conrade too much. The\\nanecdotes interspersed among the battles refresh the\\nmind very agreeably, and I am delighted with the\\nvery many passages of simple pathos abounding\\nthroughout the poem, passages which the author of\\nCrazy Kate might have written. Has not Master\\nSouthey spoke very slightingly in his preface and\\ndisparagingly of Cowper s Homer? What makes", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 41\\nhim reluctant to give Cowper his fame And does\\nnot Sou they use too often the expletives did and\\ndoes They have a good effect at times, but\\nare too inconsiderable, or rather become blemishes\\nwhen they mark a style. On the whole, I expect\\nSouthey one day to rival Milton; I already deem\\nhim equal to Cowper, and superior to all living poets\\nbesides. What says Coleridge The Monody on\\nHenderson is immensely good the rest of that little\\nvolume is readable and above inediocrify} I pro-\\nceed to a more pleasant task, pleasant because the\\npoems are yours pleasant because you impose the\\ntask on me and pleasant, let me add, because it\\nwill confer a whimsical importance on me to sit in\\njudgment upon your rhymes. First, though, let me\\nthank you again and again, in my own and my\\nsister s name, for your invitations. Nothing could\\ngive us more pleasure than to come but (were\\nthere no other reasons) while my brother s leg is so\\nbad, it is out of the question. Poor fellow he is\\nvery feverish and light-headed but Cruikshanks has\\npronounced the symptoms favourable, and gives us\\nevery hope that there will be no need of amputa-\\ntion. God send not We are necessarily confined\\nwith him all the afternoon and evening till very late,\\nso that I am stealing a few minutes to write to you.\\nThank you for your frequent letters you are\\nthe only correspondent and, I might add, the only\\nfriend I have in the world. I go nowhere, and\\n1 The Monody referred to was by Cottle, and appeared\\nin a volume of poems published by him at Bristol in 1795.\\nColeridge had forwarded the book to Lamb for his opinion.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "42 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nhave no acquaintance. Slow of speech and reserved\\nof manners, no one seeks or cares for my society,\\nand 1 am left alone. Austin calls only occasionally,\\nas though it were a duty rather, and seldom stays\\nten minutes. Then judge how thankful I am for\\nyour letters Do not, however, burden yourself\\nwith the correspondence. I trouble you again so\\nsoon only in obedience to your injunctions. Com-\\nplaints apart, proceed we to our task. I am\\ncalled away to tea, thence must wait upon my\\nbrother so must delay till to-morrow. Farewell\\nWednesday.\\nThursday. I will first notice what is new to me.\\nThirteenth page The thrilling tones that concen-\\ntrate the soul is a nervous line, and the six first\\nlines of page 14 are very pretty, the twenty-first\\neffusion a perfect thing. That in the manner of\\nSpenser is very sweet, particularly at the close the\\nthirty-fifth effusion is most exquisite, that line in\\nparticular, And, tranquil, muse upon tranquillity.\\nIt is the very reflex pleasure that distinguishes the\\ntranquillity of a thinking being from that of a shep-\\nherd, a modern one I would be understood to\\nmean, a Damoetas one that keeps other people s\\nsheep. Certainly, Coleridge, your letter from Shur-\\nton Bars has less merit than most things in your\\nvolume personally it may chime in best with your\\nown feelings, and therefore you love it best. It\\nhas, however, great merit. In your fourth epistle\\nthat is an exquisite paragraph, and fancy-full, of A\\nstream there is which rolls in lazy flow, etc. Mur-\\nmurs sweet undersong mid jasmin bowers is a", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 43\\nsweet line, and so are the three next. The con-\\ncluding simile is far-fetched tempest-honored\\nis a quaintish phrase.\\nYours is a poetical family. I was much surprised\\nand pleased to see the signature of Sara to that\\nelegant composition, the fifth epistle. I dare not\\ncriticise the Religious Musings; I like not to\\nselect any part, where all is excellent. I can only\\nadmire, and thank you for it in the name of a Chris-\\ntian, as well as a lover of good poetry; only let me\\nask, is not that thought and those words in Young,\\nstands in the sun, or is it only such as Young,\\nin one of his better moments, might have writ?\\nBelieve thou, O my soul,\\nLife is a vision shadowy of Truth\\nAnd vice, and anguish, and the wormy grave,\\nShapes of a dream\\nI thank you for these lines in the name of a neces-\\nsarian, and for what follows in next paragraph, in\\nthe name of a child of fancy. After all, you cannot\\nnor ever will write anything with which I shall be so\\ndelighted as what I have heard yourself repeat. You\\ncame to town, and I saw you at a time when your\\nheart was yet bleeding with recent wounds. Like\\nyourself, I was sore galled with disappointed hope\\nyou had\\nMany an holy lay\\nThat, mourning, soothed the mourner on his way.\\nI had ears of sympathy to drink them in, and they\\nyet vibrate pleasant on the sense. When I read in\\nyour little volume your nineteenth effusion, or the\\ntwenty-eighth or twenty- ninth, or what you call the", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "44 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nSigh, I think I hear yoit again. I image to my-\\nself the Httle smoky room at the Salutation and\\nCat, where we have sat together through the winter\\nnights, beguiling the cares of life with poesy. When\\nyou left London, I felt a dismal void in my heart.\\nI found myself cut off, at one and the same time,\\nfrom two most dear to me. How blest with ye\\nthe path could I have trod of quiet life In your\\nconversation you had blended so many pleasant fan-\\ncies that they cheated me of my grief; but in your\\nabsence the tide of melancholy rushed in again, and\\ndid its worst mischief by overwhelming my reason.\\nI have recovered, but feel a stupor that makes me\\nindiiferent to the hopes and fears of this life. I\\nsometimes wish to introduce a religious turn of\\nmind but habits are strong things, and my religious\\nfervours are confined, alas to some fleeting mo-\\nments of occasional solitary devotion.\\nA correspondence, opening with you, has roused\\nme a little from my lethargy and made me conscious\\nof existence. Indulge me in it I will not be very\\ntroublesome At some future time I will amuse\\nyou with an account, as full as my memory will per-\\nmit, of the strange turn my frenzy took. I look\\nback upon it at times with a gloomy kind of envy\\nfor while it lasted, I had many, many hours of pure\\nhappiness. Dream not, Coleridge, of having tasted\\nall the grandeur and wildness of fancy till you have\\ngone mad All now seems to me vapid, compar-\\natively so. Excuse this selfish digression. Your\\nMonody is so superlatively excellent that I can\\n1 The Monody on Chatterton.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 45\\nonly wish it perfect, which I can t help feeling it is\\nnot quite. Indulge me in a few conjectures what\\nI am going to propose would make it more com-\\npressed and, I think, more energetic, though, I am\\nsensible, at the expense of many beautiful lines.\\nLet it begin, Is this the land of song-ennobled\\nline? and proceed to Otway s famished form\\nthen, Thee, Chatterton, to blaze of Seraphim\\nthen, clad in Nature s rich array, to orient\\nday then, but soon the scathing lightning, to\\nblighted land; then, sublime of thought, to\\nhis bosom glows then\\nBut soon upon his poor unsheltered head\\nDid Penury her sickly mildew shed;\\nAh where are fled the charms of vernal grace,\\nAnd joy s wild gleams that lightened o er his face.\\nThen youth of tumultuous soul to sigh, as\\nbefore. The rest may all stand down to gaze upon\\nthe waves below. What follows now may come\\nnext as detached verses, suggested by the Mon-\\nody, rather than a part of it. They are, indeed,\\nin themselves, very sweet\\nAnd we, at sober eve, would round thee throng,\\nHanging enraptured on thy stately song\\nin particular, perhaps. If I am obscure, you may\\nunderstand me by counting lines. I have proposed\\nomitting twenty-four lines; I feel that thus com-\\npressed it would gain energy, but think it most\\nlikely you will not agree with me for who shall go\\nabout to bring opinions to the bed of Procrustes,\\nand introduce among the sons of men a monotony", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "46 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nof identical feelings I only propose with diffidence.\\nReject you, if you please, with as little remorse as\\nyou would the color of a coat or the pattern of a\\nbuckle, where our fancies differed.\\nThe Pixies is a perfect thing, and so are the\\nLines on the Spring, page 28. The Epitaph\\non an Infant, like a Jack-o -lantern, has danced\\nabout (or like Dr. Forster s- scholars) out of the\\nMorning Chronicle into the Watchman, and\\nthence back into your collection. It is very pretty,\\nand you seem to think so, but, may be, o erlooked\\nits chief merit, that of filling up a whole page. I\\nhad once deemed sonnets of unrivalled use that way,\\nbut your Epitaphs, I find, are the more diffuse.\\nEdmund still holds its place among your best\\nverses. Ah fair delights to roses round, in\\nyour poem called Absence, recall (none more\\nforcibly) to my mind the tones in which yott recited\\nit. I will not notice, in this tedious (to you) man-\\nner, verses which have been so long delighful to me,\\nand which you already know my opinion of. Of\\nthis kind are Bowles, Priestley, and that most exqui-\\nsite and most Bowles-like of all, the nineteenth effu-\\nsion. It would have better ended with agony of\\ncare; the last two lines are obvious and unneces-\\nsary and you need not now make fourteen lines of\\nit, now it is rechristened from a Sonnet to an\\nEffusion.\\nSchiller might have written the twentieth effu-\\nsion t is worthy of him in any sense. I was glad\\nto meet with those lines you sent me when my\\n1 Dr. Faustus s.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 47\\nsister was so ill I had lost the copy, and I felt\\nnot a little proud at seeing my name in your verse.\\nThe Complaint of Ninathoma (first stanza in par-\\nticular) is the best, or only good, imitation of\\nOssian I ever saw, your Restless Gale excepted.\\nTo an Infant is most sweet; is not foodful,\\nthough, very harsh? Would not dulcet fruit\\nbe less harsh, or some other friendly bi- syllable?\\nIn Edmund, Frenzy fierce-eyed child is not\\nso well as frantic, though that is an epithet add-\\ning nothing to the meaning. Slander couching was\\nbetter than squatting. In the Man of Ross\\nit was a better line thus,\\nIf neath this roof thy wine-cheered moments pass,\\nthan as it stands now. Time nor nothing can\\nreconcile me to the concluding five lines of Kos-\\nciusko call it anything you will but sublime.\\nIn my twelfth effusion I had rather have seen what\\nI wrote myself, though they bear no comparison\\nwith your exquisite lines,\\nOn rose-leaf d beds amid your faery bowers, etc.\\nI love my sonnets because they are the reflected\\nimages of my own feelings at different times. To\\ninstance, in the thirteenth,\\nHow reason reeled, etc.,\\nare good lines, but must spoil the whole with me,\\nwho know it is only a fiction of yours, and that the\\nrude dashings did in fact not rock me to\\nrepose. I grant the same objection applies not\\nto the former sonnet but still I love my own feel-\\nings, they are dear to memory, though they now", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "48 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nand then wake a sigh or a tear. Thinking on\\ndivers things fordone, I charge you, Coleridge,\\nspare my ewe-lambs and though a gentleman may\\nborrow six lines in an epic poem (I should have\\nno objection to borrow five hundred, and without\\nacknowledging), still, in a sonnet, a personal poem,\\nI do not ask my friend the aiding verse I\\nwould not wrong your feelings by proposing any\\nimprovements (did I think myself capable of sug-\\ngesting em) in such personal poems as Thou\\nbleedest, my poor heart, od so, I am caught,\\nI have already done it but that simile I propose\\nabridging would not change the feeling or introduce\\nany alien ones. Do you understand me In the\\ntwenty-eighth, however, and in the Sigh, and\\nthat composed at Clevedon, things that come from\\nthe heart direct, not by the medium of the fancy,\\nI would not suggest an alteration.\\nWhen my blank verse is finished, or any long\\nfancy poem, propino tibi alterandum, cut-up-\\nandum, abridgeandum, just what you will with it;\\nbut spare my ewe-lambs That to Mrs. Siddons,\\nnow, you were welcome to improve, if it had been\\nworth it but I say unto you again, Coleridge, spare\\nmy ewe-lambs I must confess, were they mine,\\nI should omit, in editione seamda, effusions two and\\nthree, because satiric and below the dignity of the\\npoet of Religious Musings, fifth, seventh, half\\nof the eighth, that Written in early youth, as far\\nas thousand eyes, though I part not unreluc-\\ntantly with that lively line,\\nChaste joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes,", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 49\\nand one or two just thereabouts. But I would sub-\\nstitute for it that sweet poem called Recollection,\\nin the fifth number of the Watchman, better,\\nI think, than the remainder of this poem, though\\nnot differing materially; as the poem now stands,\\nit looks altogether confused. And do not omit those\\nlines upon the Early Blossom in your sixth num-\\nber of the Watchman; and I would omit the\\ntenth effusion, or what would do better, alter and\\nimprove the last four lines. In fact, I suppose,\\nif they were mine, I should not omit em but your\\nverse is, for the most part, so exquisite that I\\nlike not to see aught of meaner matter mixed with\\nit. Forgive my petulance and often, I fear, ill-\\nfounded criticisms, and forgive me that I have,\\nby this time, made your eyes and head ache with\\nmy long letter; but I cannot forego hastily the\\npleasure and pride of thus conversing with you.\\nYou did not tell me whether I was to include the\\nCondones ad Populum in my remarks on your\\npoems. They are not unfrequently sublime, and\\nI think you could not do better than to turn em\\ninto verse, if you have nothing else to do. Aus-\\ntin, I am sorry to say, is a confirmed atheist. Stod-\\ndart, a cold-hearted, well-bred, conceited disciple of\\nGodwin, does him no good. His wife has several\\ndaughters (one of em as old as himself) Surely\\nthere is something unnatural in such a marriage.\\nHow I sympathize with you on the dull duty of\\na reviewer, and heartily damn with you Ned Evans\\nand the Prosodist I shall, however, wait impa-\\ntiently for the articles in the Critical Review\\n4", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "50 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nnext month, because they are yours. Young Evans\\n(W. Evans, a branch of a family you were once\\nso mtimate with) is come into our office, and sends\\nhis love to you. Coleridge, I devoutly wish that\\nFortune, who has made sport with you so long, may\\nplay one freak more, throw you into London or\\nsome spot near it, and there snug-ify you for life.\\nT is a selfish but natural wish for me, cast as I am\\non life s wide plain, friendless. Are you ac-\\nquainted with Bowles.? I see by his last Elegy (writ-\\nten at Bath) you are near neighbors. Thursday.\\nAnd I can think I can see the groves again;\\nWas it the voice of thee Turns not the voice\\nof thee, my buried friend; Who dries with her\\ndark locks the tender tear, are touches as true\\nto Nature as any in his other Elegy, written at the\\nHot Wells, about poor Kassell, etc. You are doubt-\\nless acquainted with it.\\nI do not know that I entirely agree with you in\\nyour stricture upon my sonnet To Innocence.\\nTo men whose hearts are not quite deadened by\\ntheir commerce with the world, innocence (no\\nlonger familiar) becomes an awful idea. So I felt\\nwhen I wrote it. Your other censures (qualified\\nand sweetened, though, with praises somewhat ex-\\ntravagant) I perfectly coincide with; yet I choose\\nto retain the word lunar, indulge a lunatic\\nin his loyalty to his mistress the moon I have just\\nbeen reading a most pathetic copy of verses on\\nSophia Pringle, who was hanged and burned for coin-\\ning. One of the strokes of pathos (which are very\\nmany, all somewhat obscure) is, She lifted up her", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 51\\nguilty forger to heaven. A note explains, by for-\\nger, her right hand, with which she forged or coined\\nthe base metal. For pathos read bathos. You\\nhave put me out of conceit with my blank verse by\\nyour Religious Musings. I think it will come to\\nnothing. I do not like em enough to send em. I\\nhave just been reading a book, which I may be too\\npartial to, as it was the delight of my childhood but\\nI will recommend it to you, it is Izaak Walton s\\nComplete Angler. All the scientific part you may\\nomit in reading. The dialogue is very simple, full of\\npastoral beauties, and will charm you. Many pretty\\nold verses are interspersed. This letter, which would\\nbe a week s work reading only, I do not wish you to\\nanswer in less than a month. I shall be richly con-\\ntent with a letter from you some day early in July\\nthough, if you get anyhow settled before then, pray\\nlet me know it immediately t would give me much\\nsatisfaction. Concerning the Unitarian chapel, the\\nsalary is the only scruple that the most rigid moral-\\nist would admit as valid. Concerning the tutorage,\\nis not the salary low, and absence from your family\\nunavoidable? London is the only fostering soil for\\ngenius. Nothing more occurs just now; so I will\\nleave you, in mercy, one small white spot empty\\nbelow, to repose your eyes upon, fatigued as they\\nmust be with the wilderness of words they have by\\nthis time painfully travelled through. God love you,\\nColeridge, and prosper you through life though\\nmine will be loss if your lot is to be cast at Bristol,\\nor at Nottingham, or anywhere but London. Our\\nloves to Mrs. C C. L.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "52 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nIV.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nJune 14, 1796.\\nI AM not quite satisfied now with the Chatterton,^\\nand with your leave will try my hand at it again. A\\nmaster-joiner, you know, may leave a cabinet to be\\nfinished, when his own hands are full. To your list of\\nillustrative personifications, into which a fine imagi-\\nnation enters, I will take leave to add the following\\nfrom Beaumont and Fletcher s Wife for a Month\\nt is the conclusion of a description of a sea-fight\\nThe game of death was never played so nobly the\\nmeagre thief grew wanton in his mischiefs, and his\\nshrunk, hollow eyes smiled on his ruins. There is\\nfancy in these of a lower order from Bonduca\\nThen did I see these valiant men of Britain, like\\nboding owls creep into tods of ivy, and hoot their\\nfears to one another nightly. Not that it is a per-\\nsonification, only it just caught my eye in a httle\\nextract-book I keep, which is full of quotations from\\nB. and F. in particular, in which authors I can t help\\nthinking there is a greater richness of poetical fancy\\nthan in any one, Shakspeare excepted. Are you\\nacquainted with Massinger? At a hazard I will\\ntrouble you with a passage from a play of his called\\nA Very Woman. The lines are spoken by a lover\\n(disguised) to his faithless mistress. You will re-\\nmark the fine effect of the double endings. You\\n1 Coleridge s Monody on Chatterton.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 53\\nwill by your ear distinguish the lines, for I write em\\nas prose. Not far from where my father lives, a\\nlady, a neighbor by, blest with as great a beattty as\\nNature durst bestow without undoing, dwelt, and\\nmost happily, as I thought then, and blest the\\nhouse a thousand times she dwelt in. This beauty,\\nin the blossom of my youth, when my first fire knew\\nno adulterate incense, nor I no way to flatter but my\\nfondness in all the bravery my friends could show\\nme, in all the faith my innocence could give me, in\\nthe best language my true tongue could tell me, and\\nall the broken sighs my sick heart lend me, I sued\\nand served long did I serve this lady, long was my\\ntravail, long my trade to win her with all the duty\\nof my soul I served her. Then she must love.\\nShe did, but never me she could not love me\\nshe would not love, she hated, more, she scorn d\\nme and in so a poor and base a way abused me for\\nall my services, for all my bounties, so bold neglects\\nflung on me. What out of love, and worthy love,\\nI gave her (shame to her most unworthy mind\\nto fools, to girls, to fiddlers and her boys she flung,\\nall in disdain of me. One more passage strikes\\nmy eye from B. and F. s Palamon and Arcite.\\nOne of em complains in prison This is all our\\nworld we shall know nothing here but one another,\\nhear nothing but the clock that tells us our woes\\nthe vine shall grow, but we shall never see it, etc.\\nIs not the last circumstance exquisite? I mean not\\nto lay myself open by saying they exceed Milton,\\nand perhaps Collins in sublimity. But don t you\\nconceive all poets after Shakspeare yield to em in", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "54 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nvariety of genius Massinger treads close on their\\nheels but you are most probably as well acquainted\\nwith his writings as your humble servant. My quo-\\ntations, in that case, will only serve to expose my\\nbarrenness of matter. Southey in simplicity and\\ntenderness is excelled decidedly only, I think, by\\nBeaumont and F. in his Maid s Tragedy, and\\nsome parts of Philaster in particular, and else-\\nwhere occasionally and perhaps by Cowper in his\\nCrazy Kate, and in parts of his translation, such\\nas the speeches of Hecuba and Andromache. I\\nlong to know your opinion of that translation. The\\nOdyssey especially is surely very Homeric. What\\nnobler than the appearance of Phoebus at the begin-\\nning of the Iliad, the lines ending with Dread\\nsounding, bounding on the silver bow\\nI beg you will give me your opinion of the trans-\\nlation it afforded me high pleasure. As curious a\\nspecimen of translation as ever fell into my hands,\\nis a young man s in our office, of a French novel.\\nWhat in the original was literally amiable delusions\\nof the fancy, he proposed to render the fair frauds\\nof the imagination. I had much trouble in Hcking\\nthe book into any meaning at all. Yet did the\\nknave clear fifty or sixty pounds by subscription\\nand selling the copyright. The book itself not a\\nweek s work To-day s portion of my journalizing\\nepistle has been very dull and poverty-stricken. I\\nwill here end.\\nTuesday night.\\nI have been drinking egg-hot and smoking Oro-\\nnooko (associated circumstances, which ever forci-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 55\\nbly recall to my mind our evenings and nights at\\nthe Salutation My eyes and brain are heavy\\nand asleep, but my heart is awake and if words\\ncame as ready as ideas, and ideas as feelings, I\\ncould say ten hundred kind things. Coleridge, you\\nknow not my supreme happiness at having one\\non earth (though counties separate us) whom I can\\ncall a friend. Remember you those tender lines\\nof Logan\\nOur broken friendships we deplore,\\nAnd loves of youth that are no more\\nNo after friendships e er can raise\\nTh endearments of our early days,\\nAnd ne er the heart such fondness prove,\\nAs when we first began to love.\\nI am writing at random, and half-tipsy, what you\\nmay not equally understand, as you will be sober\\nwhen you read it but my sober and my half-tipsy\\nhours you are alike a sharer in. Good night.\\nThen up rose our bard, like a prophet in drink,\\nCraigdoroch, thou It soar when creation shall sink.\\nBurns.\\nV.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nSeptember 27, 1796.\\nMy dearest Friend, White, or some of my\\nfriends, or the public papers, by this time may have\\ninformed you of the terrible calamities that have\\nfallen on our family. I will only give you the out-\\nlines My poor dear, dearest sister, in a fit of", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "56 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ninsanity, has been the death of her own mother.\\nI was at hand only time enough to snatch the knife\\nout of her grasp. She is at present in a madhouse,\\nfrom whence I fear she must be moved to an hos-\\npital. God has preserved to me my senses, I eat,\\nand drink, and sleep, and have my judgment, I\\nbelieve, very sound. My poor father was slightly\\nwounded, and I am left to take care of him and my\\naunt. Mr. Norris, of the Blue-coat School, has been\\nvery kind to us, and we have no other friend but,\\nthank God, I am very calm and composed, and able\\nto do the best that remains to do. Write as reli-\\ngious a letter as possible, but no mention of what is\\ngone and done with. With me the former things\\nare passed away, and I have something more to do\\nthan to feel.\\nGod Almighty have us all in his keeping\\nC. Lamb.\\nMention nothing of poetry. I have destroyed\\nevery vestige of past vanities of that kind. Do as\\nyou please, but if you publish, publish mine (I give\\nfree leave) without name or initial, and never send\\nme a book, I charge you.\\nYour own judgment will convince you not to take\\nany notice of this yet to your dear wife. You look\\nafter your family I have my reason and strength\\nleft to take care of mine. I charge you, don t think\\nof coming to see me. Write. I will not see you, if\\nyou come. God Almighty love you an(f all of us\\nC. Lamb.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 57\\nVI.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nOctober 3, 1796.\\nMy dearest Friend, Your letter was an inesti-\\nmable treasure to me. It will be a comfort to you,\\nI know, to know that our prospects are somewhat\\nbrighter. My poor dear, dearest sister, the unhappy\\nand unconscious instrument of the Almighty s judg-\\nments on our house, is restored to her senses, to a\\ndreadful sense and recollection of what has past,\\nawful to her mind and impressive (as it must be to\\nthe end of life), but tempered with religious resigna-\\ntion and the reasonings of a sound judgment, which\\nin this early stage knows how to distinguish between\\na deed committed in a transient fit of frenzy, and\\nthe terrible guilt of a mother s murder. I have seen\\nher. I found her, this morning, calm and serene\\nfar, very, very far, from an indecent, forgetful serenity.\\nShe has a most affectionate and tender concern for\\nwhat has happened. Indeed, from the beginning,\\nfrightful and hopeless as her disorder seemed, I had\\nconfidence enough in her strength of mind and reli-\\ngious principle to look forward to a time when even\\nshe might recover tranquillity. God be praised,\\nColeridge, wonderful as it is to tell, I have never\\nonce been otherwise than collected and calm even\\non the dreadful day and in the midst of the terrible\\nscene, I preserved a tranquillity which bystanders\\nmay have construed into indifference, a tranquil-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "58 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nlity not of despair. Is it folly or sin in me to say\\nthat it was a religious principle that most supported\\nme I allow much to other favorable circumstances.\\nI felt that I had something else to do than to regret.\\nOn that first evening my aunt was lying insensible,\\nto all appearance like one dying; my father with\\nhis poor forehead plastered over, from a wound he\\nhad received from a daughter dearly loved by him,\\nand who loved him no less dearly my mother a dead\\nand murdered corpse in the next room, yet was\\nI wonderfully supported. I closed not my eyes in\\nsleep that night, but lay without terrors and without\\ndespair. I have lost no sleep since. I had been\\nlong used not to rest in things of sense, had en-\\ndeavored after a comprehension of mind unsatisfied\\nwith the ignorant present time and this kept\\nme up. I had the whole weight of the family thrown\\non me for my brother,^ little disposed (I speak\\nnot without tenderness for him) at any time to take\\ncare of old age and infirmities, had now, with his bad\\nleg, an exemption from such duties and I was now\\nleft alone.\\nOne little incident may serve to make you under-\\nstand my way of managing my mind. Within a day\\nor two after the fatal one, we dressed for dinner a\\ntongue which we had had salted for some weeks in\\nthe house. As I sat down, a feeling like remorse\\nstruck me this tongue poor Mary got for me,\\nand can I partake of it now, when she is far away?\\nA thought occurred and relieved me if I give in\\nJohn Lamb, the James Elia of the essay My Rela-\\ntions.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 59\\nto this way of feeling, there is not a chair, a room,\\nan object in our rooms, that will not awaken the\\nkeenest griefs I must rise above such weaknesses.\\nI hope this was not want of true feehng. I did not\\nlet this carry me, though, too far. On the very\\nsecond day (I date from the day of horrors), as is\\nusual in such cases, there were a matter of twenty\\npeople, I do think, supping in our room they pre-\\nvailed on me to eat with the^n (for to eat I never\\nrefused). They were all making merry in the room\\nSome had come from friendship, some from busy\\ncuriosity, and some from interest. I was going to\\npartake with them, when my recollection came that\\nmy poor dead mother was lying in the next room,\\nthe very next room a mother who through life\\nwished nothing but her children s welfare. Indigna-\\ntion, the rage of grief, something like remorse, rushed\\nupon my mind. In an agony of emotion I found my\\nway mechanically to the adjoining room, and fell on\\nmy knees by the side of her coffin, asking forgive-\\nness of Heaven, and sometimes of her, for forgetting\\nher so soon. TranquilUty returned, and it was the\\nonly violent emotion that mastered me and I think\\nit did me good.\\nI mention these things because I hate conceal-\\nment, and love to give a faithful journal of what\\npasses within me. Our friends have been very\\ngood. Sam Le Grice,^ who was then in town, was\\nwith me the three or four first days, and was as\\na brother to me, gave up every hour of his time,\\nto the very hurting of his health and spirits, in\\n1 A Christ s Hospital schoolfellow.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "6o LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nconstant attendance and humoring my poor father\\ntalked with him, read to him, played at cribbage\\nwith him (for so short is the old man s recollection\\nthat he was playing at cards, as though nothing had\\nhappened, while the coroner s inquest was sitting\\nover the way Samuel wept tenderly when he\\nwent away, for his mother wrote him a very severe\\nletter on his loitering so long in town, and he was\\nforced to go. Mr. Norris, of Christ s Hospital, has\\nbeen as a father to me, Mrs. Norris as a mother,\\nthough we had few claims on them. A gentleman,\\nbrother to my god- mother, from whom we never\\nhad right or reason to expect any such assistance,\\nsent my father twenty pounds; and to crown all\\nthese God s blessings to our family at such a time,\\nan old lady, a cousin of my father and aunt s, a\\ngentlewoman of fortune, is to take my aunt and\\nmake her comfortable for the short remainder of\\nher days. My aunt is recovered, and as well as\\never, and highly pleased at thoughts of going, and\\nhas generously given up the interest of her little\\nmoney (which was formerly paid my father for her\\nboard) wholely and solely to my sister s use.\\nReckoning this, we have. Daddy and I, for our\\ntwo selves and an old maid-servant to look after\\nhim when I am out, which will be necessary, ;\u00c2\u00a3i7o,\\nor ;^i8o rather, a year, out of which we can spare\\n\u00c2\u00a3,^0 or ^60 at least for Mary while she stays at\\nIslington, where she must and shall stay during her\\nfather s life, for his and her comfort. I know John\\nwill make speeches about it, but she shall not go\\ninto an hospital. The good lady of the madhouse", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 6i\\nand her daughter, an elegant, sweet-behaved young\\nlady, love her, and are taken with her amazingly\\nand I know from her own mouth she loves them,\\nand longs to be with them as much. Poor thing,\\nthey say she was but the other morning saying she\\nknew she must go to Bethlem for life; that one\\nof her brothers would have it so, but the other\\nwould wish it not, but be obliged to go with the\\nstream that she had often, as she passed Bethlem,\\nthought it likely, here it may be my fate to end\\nmy days, conscious of a certain flightiness in her\\npoor head oftentimes, and mindful of more than\\none severe illness of that nature before. A legacy\\nof ^loo which my father will have at Christmas,\\nand this \u00c2\u00a320 mentioned before, with what is in\\nthe house, will much more than set us clear. If\\nmy father, an old servant-maid, and I can t live, and\\nlive comfortably, on ^130 or ^120 a year, we\\nought to burn by slow fires and I almost would,\\nthat Mary might not go into an hospital.\\nLet me not leave one unfavorable impression on\\nyour mind respecting my brother. Since this has\\nhappened, he has been very kind and brotherly;\\nbut I fear for his mind. He has taken his ease\\nin the world, and is not fit himself to struggle with\\ndifficulties, nor has much accustomed himself to\\nthrow himself into their way and I know his lan-\\nguage is already, Charles, you must take care of\\nyourself, you must not abridge yourself of a single\\npleasure you have been used to, etc., and in\\nthat style of talking. But you, a necessarian, can\\nrespect a diiference of mind, and love what is ami-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "62 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nable in a character not perfect. He has been very\\ngood, but I fear for his mind. Thank God, I\\ncan unconnect myself with him, and shall manage\\nall my father s moneys in future myself, if I take\\ncharge of Daddy, which poor John has not even\\nhinted a wish, at any future time even, to share\\nwith me. The lady at this madhouse assures me\\nthat I may dismiss immediately both doctor and\\napothecary, retaining occasionally a composing\\ndraught or so for a while and there is a less ex-\\npensive establishment in her house, where she will\\nonly not have a room and nurse to herself, for JP^^o\\nor guineas a year, the outside would be ^60.\\nYou know, by economy, how much more even I\\nshall be able to spare for her comforts. She will, I\\nfancy, if she stays, make one of the family rather\\nthan of the patients and the old and young ladies I\\nlike exceedingly, and she loves dearly and they,\\nas the saying is, take to her very extraordinarily,\\nif it is extraordinary that people who see my sister\\nshould love her.\\nOf all the people I ever saw in the world, my\\npoor sister was most and thoroughly devoid of the\\nleast tincture of selfishness. I will enlarge upon her\\nqualities, poor dear, dearest soul, in a future let-\\nter, for my own comfort, for I understand her\\nthoroughly and if I mistake not, in the most try-\\ning situation that a human being can be found in,\\nshe will be found (I speak not with sufficient humil-\\nity, I fear, but humanly and foolishly speaking)\\nshe will be found, I trust, uniformly great and ami-\\nable. God keep her in her present mind, to whom", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. (i2\\nbe thanks and praise for all His dispensations to\\nmankind\\nC. Lamb.\\nThese mentioned good fortunes and change of\\nprospects had almost brought my mind over to the\\nextreme the very opposite to despair. I was in\\ndanger of making myself too happy. Your letter\\nbrought me back to a view of things which I had\\nentertained from the beginning. I hope (for Mary\\nI can answer) but I hope that shall through life\\nnever have less recollection, nor a fainter impres-\\nsion, of what has happened than I have now. T is\\nnot a light thing, nor meant by the Almighty to be\\nreceived lightly. I must be serious, circumspect,\\nand deeply religious through life and by such\\nmeans may both of us escape madness in future, if\\nit so please the Almighty\\nSend me word how it fares with Sara. I repeat\\nit, your letter was, and will be, an inestimable treas-\\nure to me. You have a view of what my situation\\ndemands of me, like my own view, and I trust a just\\none.\\nColeridge, continue to write, but do not forever\\noffend me by talking of sending me cash. Sin-\\ncerely and on my soul, we do not want it. God\\nlove you both\\nI will write again very soon. Do you write\\ndirectly.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "64 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nVII.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nOctober 17, 1796.\\nMy dearest Friend, I grieve from my very soul\\nto observe you in your plans of life veering about\\nfrom this hope to the other, and settling nowhere.\\nIs it an untoward fatality (speaking humanly) that\\ndoes this for you, a stubborn, irresistible concur-\\nrence of events, or hes the fault, as I fear it does,\\nin your own mind? You seem to be taking up\\nsplendid schemes of fortune only to lay them down\\nagain and your fortunes are an ignis fatuus that has\\nbeen conducting you in thought from Lancaster\\nCourt, Strand, to somewhere near Matlock; then\\njumping across to Dr. Somebody s, whose son s tutor\\nyou were likely to be and would to God the dan-\\ncing demon may conduct you at last in peace and\\ncomfort to the life and labours of a cottager\\nYou see from the above awkward playfulness of\\nfancy that my spirits are not quite depressed. I\\nshould ill deserve God s blessings, which, since the\\nlate terrible event, have come down in mercy upon\\nus, if I indulge in regret or querulousness. Mary\\ncontinues serene and cheerful. I have not by me a\\nlittle letter she wrote to me for though I see her\\nalmost every day, yet we delight to write to one an-\\nother, for we can scarce see each other but in com-\\npany with some of the people of the house. I have\\nnot the letter by me, but will quote from memory\\nwhat she wrote in it I have no bad, terrifying", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 65\\ndreams. At midnight, when I happen to awake, the\\nnurse sleeping by the side of me, with the noise of\\nthe poor mad people around me, I have no fear.\\nThe spirit of my mother seems to descend and smile\\nupon me, and bid me live to enjoy the life and rea-\\nson which the Almighty has given me. I shall see\\nher again in heaven she will then understand me\\nbetter. My grandmother, too, will understand me\\nbetter, and will then say no more, as she used to do,\\nPolly, what are those poor crazy, moythered brains of\\nyours thinking of always Poor Mary my mother\\nindeed never understood her right. She loved her, as\\nshe loved us all, with a mother s love but in opinion,\\nin feeling and sentiment and disposition, bore so dis-\\ntant a resemblance to her daughter that she never\\nunderstood her right, never could believe how\\nmuch she loved her, but met her caresses, her protes-\\ntations of filial affection, too frequently with coldness\\nand repulse. Still, she was a good mother. God\\nforbid I should think of her but most respectfully,\\nmost affectionately. Yet she would always love my\\nbrother above Mary, who was not worthy of one tenth\\nof that affection which Mary had a right to claim.\\nBut it is my sister s gratifying recollection that\\nevery act of duty and of love she could pay, every\\nkindness (and I speak true, when I say to the hurt-\\ning of her health, and most probably in great part\\nto the derangement of her senses) through a long\\ncourse of infirmities and sickness she could show\\nher, she ever did. I will some day, as I promised,\\nenlarge to you upon my sister s excellences t will\\nseem like exaggeration, but I will do it. At present,\\n5", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "66 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nshort letters suit my state of mind best. So take my\\nkindest wishes for your comfort and estabhshment\\nin Hfe, and for Sara s welfare and comforts with you.\\nGod love you God love us all\\nC. Lamb.\\nVIII.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nNovember 14, 1796.\\nColeridge, I love you for dedicating your poetry\\nto Bowles.-^ Genius of the sacred fountain of tears,\\nit was he who led you gently by the hand through\\nall this valley of weeping, showed you the dark green\\nyew-trees and the willow shades where, by the fall of\\nwaters, you might indulge in uncomplaining melan-\\ncholy, a delicious regret for the past, or weave fine\\nvisions of that awful future,\\nWhen all the vanities of life s brief day\\nOblivion s hurrying hand hath swept away,\\nAnd all its sorrows, at the awful blast\\nOf the archangel s trump, are but as shadows past.\\nI have another sort of dedication in my head for\\nmy few things, which I want to know if you approve\\nof and can insert.^ I mean to inscribe them to my\\nsister. It will be unexpected, and it will give her\\npleasure or do you think it will look whimsical\\n1 The earliest sonnets of William Lisle Bowles were pub-\\nlished in 1789, the year of Lamb s removal from Christ s\\nHospital.\\n2 Alluding to the prospective joint volume of poems (by\\nColeridge, Lamb, and Charles Lloyd) to be published by Cottle\\nin 1797. This was Lamb s second serious literary venture, he\\nand Coleridge having issued a joint volume in 1796.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 67\\nat all As I have not spoke to her about it, I can\\neasily reject the idea. But there is a monotony in\\nthe affections which people living together, or as we\\ndo now, very frequently seeing each other, are apt to\\ngive in to, a sort of indifference in the expression\\nof kindness for each other, which demands that we\\nshould sometimes call to our aid the trickery of sur-\\nprise. Do you pubUsh with Lloyd, or without him\\nIn either case my little portion may come last, and\\nafter the fashion of orders to a country correspon-\\ndent, I will give directions how I should like to have\\nem done. The tide-page to stand thus\\nPOEMS\\nBY\\nCHARLES LAMB, OF THE INDIA HOUSE.\\nUnder this tide the following motto, which, for\\nwant of room, I put over- leaf, and desire you to\\ninsert whether you like it or no. May not a gen-\\ntleman choose what arms, mottoes, or armorial\\nbearings the herald will give him leave, without\\nconsulting his republican friend, who might advise\\nnone May not a publican put up the sign of the\\nSaracen s Head, even though his undiscerning\\nneighbor should prefer, as more genteel, the Cat\\nand Gridiron?\\n[Motto.]\\nThis beauty, in the blossom of my youth,\\nWhen my first fire knew no adulterate incense.\\nNor I no way to flatter but my fondness,\\nIn the best language my true tongue could tell me,\\nAnd all the broken sighs my sick heart lend me,\\nI sued and served. Long did I love this lady.\\nMassinger.\\nFrom A Verv Woman.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "68 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nTHE DEDICATION.\\nTHE FEW FOLLOWING POEMS,\\nCREATURES OF THE FANCY AND THE FEELING\\nIN life s more vacant hours,\\nPRODUCED, for THE MOST PART, BY\\nLOVE IN IDLENESS,\\nARE,\\nWITH ALL A brother s FONDNESS,\\nINSCRIBED TO\\nMARY ANN LAMB,\\nTHE author s BEST FRIEND AND SISTER.\\nThis is the pomp and paraphernaHa of parting,\\nwith which I take my leave of a passion which has\\nreigned so royally (so long) within me thus, with\\nits trappings of laureateship, I fling it off, pleased\\nand satisfied with myself that the weakness troubles\\nme no longer. I am wedded, Coleridge, to the\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2fortunes of my sister and my poor old father. Oh,\\nmy friend, I think sometimes, could I recall the\\ndays that are past, which among them should I\\nchoose? Not those merrier days, not the plea-\\nsant days of hope, not those wanderings with a\\nfair-hair d maid, which I have so often and so\\nfeehngly regretted, but the days, Coleridge, of a\\nmother s fondness for her schoolboy. What would\\nI give to call her back to earth for one day, on\\nmy knees to ask her pardon for all those little\\nasperities of temper which from time to time have\\n1 An allusion to Lamb s first love, the Anna of his\\nsonnets, and the original, probably, of Rosamund Gray\\nand of Alice W n in the beautiful essay Dream\\nChildren.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 69\\ngiven her gentle spirit pain. And the day, my\\nfriend, I trust will come there will be time\\nenough for kind offices of love, if Heaven s\\neternal year be ours. Hereafter, her meek spirit\\nshall not reproach me. Oh, my friend, cultivate\\nthe filial feehngs, and let no man think himself\\nreleased from the kind charities of relationship.\\nThese shall give him peace at the last these are\\nthe best foundation for every species of benevo-\\nlence. I rejoice to hear, by certain channels, that\\nyou, my friend, are reconciled with all your rela-\\ntions. T is the most kindly and natural species\\nof love, and we have all the associated train of early\\nfeelings to secure its strength and perpetuity. Send\\nme an account of your health indeed I am solicit-\\nous about you. God love you and yours\\nC. Lamb.\\nIX.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\n[Fragment]\\nDec. 5, 1796.\\nAt length I have done with verse-making, not\\nthat I reUsh other people s poetry less theirs comes\\nfrom em without effort mine is the difficult opera-\\ntion of a brain scanty of ideas, made more difficult\\nby disuse. I hs^e been reading The Task with\\nfresh delight. I am glad you love Cowper. I\\ncould forgive a man for not enjoying Milton but\\nI would not call that man my friend who should be\\noffended with the divine chit-chat of Cowper.\\nWrite to me. God love you and yours\\nC. L.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "70 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nX.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nDec. lo, 1796.\\nI HAD put my letter into the post rather hastily,\\nnot expecting to have to acknowledge another from\\nyou so soon. This morning s present has made me\\nalive again. My last night s epistle was childishly\\nquerulous but you have put a little life into me,\\nand I will thank you for your remembrance of me,\\nwhile my sense of it is yet warm j for if I linger a\\nday or two, I may use the same phrase of acknowl-\\nedgment, or similar, but the feeling that dictates it\\nnow will be gone I shall send you a caput mor-\\ntumn, not a cor vivens. Thy Watchman s, thy\\nbellman s verses, I do retort upon thee, thou libel-\\nlous varlet, why, you cried the hours yourself,\\nand who made you so proud? But I submit, to\\nshow my humility, most implicitly to your dogmas.\\nI reject entirely the copy of verses you reject.\\nWith regard to my leaving off versifying,^ you have\\nsaid so many pretty things, so many fine compli-\\nments, ingeniously decked out in the garb of sin-\\ncerity, and undoubtedly springing from a present\\nfeeling somewhat like sincerity, that you might melt\\nthe most un-muse-ical soul, did you not (now for a\\nRowland compliment for your profusion of Olivers),\\ndid you not in your very epistle, by the many\\npretty fancies and profusion of heart displayed in\\n1 See preceding letter.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 71\\nit, dissuade and discourage me from attempting\\nanything after you. At present I have not leisure\\nto make verses, nor anything approaching to a\\nfondness for the exercise. In the ignorant present\\ntime, who can answer for the future man? At\\nlovers perjuries Jove laughs, and poets have\\nsometimes a disingenuous way of forswearing their\\noccupation. This, though, is not my case. The\\ntender cast of soul, sombred with melancholy and\\nsubsiding recollections, is favorable to the Sonnet\\nor the Elegy but from\\nThe sainted growing woof\\nThe teasing troubles keep aloof.\\nThe music of poesy may charm for a while the im-\\nportunate, teasing cares of life but the teased and\\ntroubled man is not in a disposition to make that\\nmusic.\\nYou sent me some very sweet lines relative to\\nBurns but it was at a time when, in my highly agi-\\ntated and perhaps distorted state of mind, I thought\\nit a duty to read em hastily and burn em. I\\nburned all my own verses, all my book of extracts\\nfrom Beaumont and Fletcher and a thousand\\nsources I burned a little journal of my foolish pas-\\nsion which I had a long time kept,\\nNoting, ere they past away,\\nThe little lines of yesterday.\\nI almost burned all your letters I did as bad, I\\nlent em to a friend to keep out of my brother s\\nsight, should he come and make inquisition into our\\npapers for much as he dwelt upon your conversation", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "72 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nwhile you were among us, and delighted to be with\\nyou, it has been his fashion ever since to depreciate\\nand cry you down, you were the cause of my\\nmadness, you and your damned foolish sensibility\\nand melancholy and he lamented with a true\\nbrotherly feeling that we ever met, even as the sober\\ncitizen, when his son went astray upon the moun-\\ntains of Parnassus, is said to have cursed wit, and\\npoetry, and Pope.-^ I quote wrong, but no matter.\\nThese letters I lent to a friend to be out of the way\\nfor a season but I have claimed them in vain, and\\nshall not cease to regret their loss. Your packets\\nposterior to the date of my misfortunes, commencing\\nwith that valuable consolatory epistle, are every day\\naccumulating, they are sacred things with me.\\nPublish your Burns when and how you like it\\nwill be new to me, my memory of it is very con-\\nfused, and tainted with unpleasant associations.\\nBurns was the god of my idolatry, as Bowles of\\nyours. I am jealous of your fraternizing with Bowles,\\nwhen I think you relish him more than Burns or my\\nold favorite, Cowper. But you conciliate matters\\nwhen you talk of the divine chit-chat of the\\nlatter by the expression I see you thoroughly relish\\nhim. I love Mrs. Coleridge for her excuses an\\nhundred-fold more dearly than if she heaped line\\nupon line, out- Hannah- ing Hannah More, and had\\n1 Epistle to Arbuthnot\\nPoor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope,\\nAnd curses wit, and poetry, and Pope.\\n2 The lines on him which Coleridge had sent to Lamb,\\nand which the latter had burned.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 73\\nrather hear you sing Did a very httle baby by\\nyour family fireside, than listen to you when you\\nwere repeating one of Bowles s sweetest sonnets in\\nyour sweet manner, while we two were indulging\\nsympathy, a solitary luxury, by the fireside at the\\nSalutation. Yet have I no higher ideas of heaven.\\nYour company was one cordial in this melancholy\\nvale, the remembrance of it is a blessing partly,\\nand partly a curse. When I can abstract myself\\nfrom things present, I can enjoy it with a fresh-\\nness of relish but it more constantly operates to\\nan unfavorable comparison with the uninterest-\\ning converse I always and only can partake in. Not\\na soul loves Bowles here scarce one has heard of\\nBurns few but laugh at me for reading my Testa-\\nment, they talk a language I understand not I\\nconceal sentiments that would be a puzzle to them.\\nI can only converse with you by letter, and with the\\ndead in their books. My sister, Ind eed, is all I can\\nwish in a companion; but our spirits are alike\\npoorly, our reading and knowledge from the self-\\nsame sources, our communication with the scenes of\\nthe world alike narrow. Never having kept separate\\ncompany, or any company together; never hav-\\ning read separate books, and few books together,\\nwhat knowledge have we to convey to each other?\\nIn our little range of duties and connections, how few\\nsentiments can take place without friends, with few\\nbooks, with a taste for religion rather than a strong\\nreligious habit We need some support, some\\nleading-strings to cheer and direct us. You talk\\nvery wisely and be not sparing of your advice.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "74 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nContinue to remember us, and to show us you do\\nremember us we will take as lively an interest in\\nwhat concerns you and yours. All I can add to\\nyour happiness will be sympathy. You can add to\\nmine more: you can teach me wisdom. I am in-\\ndeed an unreasonable correspondent but I was\\nunwilling to let my last night s letter go off without\\nthis qualifier you will perceive by this my mind is\\neasier, and you will rejoice. I do not expect or\\nwish you to write till you are moved and of course\\nshall not, till you announce to me that event, think\\nof writing myself. Love to Mrs. Coleridge and\\nDavid Hartley, and my kind remembrance to\\nLloyd, if he is with you.\\nC. Lamb.\\nXL\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nJanuary 5, 1797.\\nSunday Morning. You cannot surely mean to\\ndegrade the Joan of Arc into a pot-girl.^ You are\\nnot going, I hope, to annex to that most splendid\\nornament of Southey s poem all this cock-and-a-buU\\n1 Coleridge, in later years, indorsed Lamb s opinion of this\\nportion of his contribution to Joan of Arc. I was really\\nastonished, he said, (i) at the schoolboy, wretched, alle-\\ngoric machinery; {2) at the transmogrification of the fanatic\\nvirago into a modern novel-pawing proselyte of the Age of\\nReason, a Tom Paine in petticoats; (3) at the utter want\\nof all rhythm in the verse, the monotony and dead plumb-down\\nof the pauses, and the absence of all bone, muscle, and sinew\\nin the single lines.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 75\\nStory of Joan, the publican s daughter of Neufchatel,\\nwith the lamentable episode of a wagoner, his wife,\\nand six children. The texture will be most lamenta-\\nbly disproportionate. The first forty or fifty lines of\\nthese addenda are no doubt in their way admirable\\ntoo but many would prefer the Joan of Southey.\\nOn mightiest deeds to brood\\nOf shadowy vastness, such as made my heart\\nThrob fast anon I paused, and in a state\\nOf half expectance listened to the wind.\\nThey wondered at me, who had known me once\\nA cheerful, careless damsel.\\nThe eye,\\nThat of the circling throng and of the visible world,\\nUnseeing, saw the shapes of holy phantasy.\\nI see riothing in your description of the Maid equal\\nto these. There is a fine originality certainly in those\\nlines,\\nFor she had lived in this bad world\\nAs in a place of tombs,\\nAnd touched not the pollutions of the dead\\nbut your fierce vivacity is a faint copy of the\\nfierce and terrible benevolence of Southey;\\nadded to this, that it will look like rivalship in you,\\nand extort a comparison with Southey, I think\\nto your disadvantage. And the lines, considered in\\nthemselves as an addition to what you had before\\nwritten (strains of a far higher mood), are but such\\nas Madame Fancy loves in some of her more fa-\\nmiliar moods, at such times as she has met Noll\\nGoldsmith, and walked and talked with him, calling\\nhim old acquaintance. Southey certainly has no", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "76 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\npretensions to vie with you in the sublime of poetry\\nbut he tells a plain tale better than you. I will enu-\\nmerate some woful blemishes, some of em sad de-\\nviations from that simplicity which was your aim.\\nHailed who might be near (the canvas-coverture\\nmoving, by the by, is laughable) a woman and\\nsix children (by the way, why not nine children?\\nIt would have been just half as pathetic again)\\nstatues of sleep they seemed frost-mangled\\nwretch; green putridity; hailed him im-\\nmortal (rather ludicrous again); voiced a sad\\nand simple tale (abominable unproven-\\ndered such his tale Ah, suffering to the\\nheight of what was sufffered (a most insufferable\\nline) amazements of affright; The hot, sore\\nbrain attributes its own hues of ghastliness and\\ntorture (what shocking confusion of ideas\\nIn these delineations of common and natural\\nfeelings, in the familiar walks of poetry, yoli seem\\nto resemble Montauban dancing with Roubign^ s\\ntenants,^ much of his native loftiness re77iained\\nin the execution\\nI was reading your Religious Musings the other\\nday, and sincerely I think it the noblest poem in the\\nlanguage next after the Paradise Lost and even\\nthat was not made the vehicle of such grand truths.\\nThere is one mind, etc., down to Almighty s\\nthrone, are without a rival in the whole compass of\\nmy poetical reading.\\nStands in the sun, and with no partial gaze\\nViews all creation.\\n1 In Mackenzie s tale, Julia de Roubigne.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 77\\nI wish I could have written those hnes. I rejoice\\nthat I am able to relish them. The loftier walks of\\nPindus are your proper region. There you have\\nno compeer in modern times. Leave the lowlands,\\nunenvied, in possession of such men as Cowper\\nand Southey. Thus am I pouring balsam into the\\nwounds I may have been inflicting on my poor\\nfriend s vanity.\\nIn your notice of Southey s new volume you\\nomit to mention the most pleasing of all, the\\nMiniature.\\nThere were\\nWho formed high hopes and flattering ones of thee,\\nYoung Robert\\nSpirit of Spenser was the wanderer wrong\\nFairfax I have been in quest of a long time.\\nJohnson, in his Life of Waller, gives a most de-\\nlicious specimen of him, and adds, in the true man-\\nner of that deUcate critic, as well as amiable man,\\nIt may be presumed that this old version will not\\nbe much read after the elegant translation of my\\nfriend Mr. Hoole. I endeavored I wished to\\ngain some idea of Tasso from this Mr. Hoole, the\\ngreat boast and ornament of the India House, but\\nsoon desisted. I found him more vapid than small-\\nest small beer sun-vinegared. Your Dream,\\ndown to that exquisite line,\\nI can t tell half his adventures,\\nis a most happy resemblance of Chaucer. The re-\\nmainder is so-so. The best line, I think, is, He\\nbelong d, I believe, to the witch Melancholy. By", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "78 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nthe way, when will our volume come out Don t\\ndelay it till you have written a new Joan of Arc.\\nSend what letters you please by me, and in any way\\nyou choose, single or double. The India Company\\nis better adapted to answer the cost than the gener-\\nality of my friend s correspondents, such poor and\\nhonest dogs as John Thelwall particularly. I can-\\nnot say I know Coulson, at least intimately I once\\nsupped with him and Austin I think his manners\\nvery pleasing. I will not tell you what I think of\\nLloyd, for he may by chance come to see this letter\\nand that thought puts a restraint on me. I cannot\\nthink what subject would suit your epic genius,\\nsome philosophical subject, I conjecture, in which\\nshall be blended the sublime of poetry and of\\nscience. Your proposed Hymns will be a fit\\npreparatory study wherewith to discipline your\\nyoung novitiate soul. I grow dull I 11 go walk\\nmyself out of my dulness.\\nSunday Night. You and Sara are very good\\nto think so kindly and so favorably of poor Mary\\nI would to God all did so too. But I very much\\nfear she must not think of coming home in my\\nfather s lifetime. It is very hard upon her, but\\nour circumstances are peculiar, and we must submit\\nto them. God be praised she is so well as she is.\\nShe bears her situation as one who has no right to\\ncomplain. My poor old aunt, whom you have seen,\\nthe kindest, goodest creature to me when I was at\\nschool who used to toddle there to bring me good\\nthings, when I, schoolboy- like, only despised her for\\nit, and used to be ashamed to see her come and sit", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 79\\nherself down on the old coal-hole steps as you went\\ninto the old grammar-school, and open her apron,\\nand bring out her basin, with some nice thing she\\nhad caused to be saved for me, 1 the good old\\ncreature is now lying on her death-bed. I cannot\\nbear to think on her deplorable state. To the\\nshock she received on that our evil day, from which\\nshe never completely recovered, I impute her ill-\\nness. She says, poor thing, she is glad she is come\\nhome to die with me. I was always her favourite\\nNo after friendship e er can raise\\nThe endearments of our early days\\nNor e er the heart such fondness prove,\\nAs when it first began to love.\\nXII.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nJanuary 10, 1797.\\nI NEED not repeat my wishes to have my little\\nsonnets printed verbatim my last way. In particu-\\nlar, I fear lest you should prefer printing my first\\nsonnet, as you have done more than once, did the\\nwand of Merlin wave, it looks so like Mr. Merlin,\\nthe ingenious successor of the immortal Merlin, now\\nliving in good health and spirits, and flourishing in\\nmagical reputation, in Oxford Street and, on my\\nlife, one half who read it would understand it so.\\n1 See the essay, Christ s Hospital Five-and-Thirty Years\\nAgo.\\n2 A well-known conjuror of the time.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "8o lETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nDo put em forth finally, as I have, in various letters,\\nsettled it for first a man s self is to be pleased, and\\nthen his friends, and of course the greater num-\\nber of his friends, if they differ inter se. Thus taste\\nmay safely be put to the vote. I do long to see\\nour names together, not for vanity s sake, and\\nnaughty pride of heart altogether; for not a living\\nsoul I know, or am intimate with, will scarce read\\nthe book, so I shall gain nothing, quoad famam\\nand yet there is a little vanity mixes in it, I cannot\\nhelp denying. I am aware of the unpoetical cast\\nof the last six lines of my last sonnet, and think my-\\nself unwarranted in smuggling so tame a thing into\\nthe book only the sentiments of those six lines are\\nthoroughly congenial to me in my state of mind,\\nand I wish to accumulate perpetuating tokens of my\\naffection to poor Mary. That it has no originality\\nin its cast, nor anything in the feelings but what\\nis common and natural to thousands, nor ought\\nproperly to be called poetry, I see still, it will tend\\nto keep present to my mind a view of things which\\nI ought to indulge. These six lines, too, have not,\\nto a reader, a connectedness with the foregoing.\\nOmit it if you like. What a treasure it is to my\\npoor, indolent, and unemployed mind thus to lay\\nhold on a subject to talk about, though tis but\\na sonnet, and that of the lowest order How\\nmournfully inactive I am T is night good\\nnight.\\nMy sister, I thank God, is nigh recovered she\\nwas seriously ill. Do, in your next letter, and that\\nright soon, give me some satisfaction respecting", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 8i\\nyour present situation at Stowey. Is it a farm that\\nyou have got? and what does your worship know\\nabout farming?\\nColeridge, I want you to write an epic poem.\\nNothing short of it can satisfy the vast capacity of\\ntrue poetic genius. Having one great end to direct\\nall your poetical faculties to, and on which to lay out\\nyour hopes, your ambition will show you to what you\\nare equal. By the sacred energies of Milton by\\nthe dainty, sweet, and soothing phantasies of honey-\\ntongued Spenser I adjure you to attempt the\\nepic, or do something more ample than the writ-\\ning an occasional brief ode or sonnet something\\nto make yourself forever known, to make the\\nage to come your own. But I prate doubtless you\\nmeditate something. When you are exalted among\\nthe lords of epic fame, I shall recall with pleasure\\nand exultingly the days of your humility, when you\\ndisdained not to put forth, in the same volume with\\nmine, your Religious Musings and that other\\npoem from the Joan of Arc, those promising first-\\nfruits of high renown to come. You have learning,\\nyou have fancy, you have enthusiasm, you have\\nstrength and amplitude of wing enow for flights like\\nthose I recommend. In the vast and unexplored\\nregions of fairy-land there is ground enough unfound\\nand uncultivated search there, and realize your\\nfavorite Susquehanna scheme. In all our com-\\nparisons of taste, I do not know whether I have\\never heard your opinion of a poet very dear to me,\\nthe now-out-of-fashion Cowley. Favor me with\\nyour judgment of him, and tell me if his prose\\n6", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "82 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nessays, in particular, as well as no inconsiderable\\npart of his verse, be not delicious. I prefer the\\ngraceful rambling of his essays even to the courtly\\nelegance and ease of Addison, abstracting from this\\nthe latter s exquisite humor.\\nWhen the little volume is printed, send me three\\nor four, at all events not more than six, copies, and\\ntell me if 1 put you to any additional expense by\\nprinting with you. I have no thought of the kind,\\nand in that case must reimburse you.\\nPriestley, whom I sin in almost adoring, speaks\\nof such a choice of company as tends to keep up\\nthat right bent and firmness of mind which a neces-\\nsary intercourse with the world would otherwise\\nwarp and relax. Such fellowship is the true\\nbalsam of life its cement is infinitely more durable\\nth kn that of the friendships of the world, and it\\nlooks for its proper fruit and complete gratification\\nto the life beyond the grave. Is there a possible\\nchance for such an one as I to realize in this world\\nsuch friendships? Where am I to look for em?\\nWhat testimonials shall I bring of my being worthy\\nof such friendship Alas the great and good go\\ntogether in separate herds, and leave such as I\\nto lag far, far behind in all intellectual and, far\\nmore grievous to say, in all moral accomplishments.\\nColeridge, I have not one truly elevated character\\namong my acquaintance, not one Christian not\\none but undervalues Christianity. Singly what am\\nI to do? Wesley (have you read his life?), was he\\nnot an elevated character Wesley has said, Re-\\nligion is not a solitary thing. Alas it necessarily", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. ^2\\nis so with me, or next to solitary. T is true you\\nwrite to me. But correspondence by letter and\\npersonal intimacy are very widely different. Do,\\ndo write to me, and do some good to my mind, al-\\nready how much warped and relaxed by the\\nworld T is the conclusion of another evening.\\nGood night God have us all in His keeping\\nIf you are sufficiently at leisure, obhge me with\\nan account of your plan of life at Stowey your\\nliterary occupations and prospects, in short, make\\nme acquainted with every circumstance which, as\\nrelating to you, can be interesting to me. Are you\\nyet a Berkleyan? Make me one. I rejoice in\\nbeing, speculatively, a necessarian. Would to God\\nI were habitually a practical one Confirm me in\\nthe faith of that great and glorious doctrine, and\\nkeep me steady in the contemplation of it. You\\nsome time since expressed an intention you had of\\nfinishing some extensive work on the Evidences of\\nNatural and Revealed Religion. Have you let that\\nintention go Or are you doing anything towards\\nit? Make to yourself other ten talents. My letter\\nis full of nothingness. I talk of nothing. But I\\nmust talk. I love to write to you. I take a pride\\nin it. It makes me think less meanly of myself. It\\nmakes me think myself not totally disconnected\\nfrom the better part of mankind. I know I am too\\ndissatisfied with the beings around me but I can-\\nnot help occasionally exclaiming, Woe is me, that\\nI am constrained to dwell with Meshech, and to\\nhave my habitation among the tents of Kedar. I\\nknow I am noways better in practice than my neigh-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "^4 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nbors, but I have a taste for religion, an occasional\\nearnest aspiration after perfection, which they have\\nnot. I gain nothing by being with such as myself,\\nwe encourage one another in mediocrity. I am\\nalways longing to be with men more excellent than\\nmyself. All this must sound odd to you but these\\nare my predominant feelings when I sit down to\\nwrite to you, and I should put force upon my mind,\\nwere I to reject them. Yet I rejoice, and feel my\\nprivilege with gratitude, when I have been reading\\nsome wise book, such as I have just been reading,\\nPriestley on Philosophical Necessity, in the thought\\nthat I enjoy a kind of communion, a kind of friend-\\nship even, with the great and good. Books are to\\nme instead of friends. I wish they did not resemble\\nthe latter in their scarceness.\\nAnd how does little David Hartley Ecquid in\\nantiquam virtutem? Does his mighty name work\\nwonders yet upon his little frame and opening mind\\nI did not distinctly understand you, you don t\\nmean to make an actual ploughman of him? Is\\nLloyd with you yet Are you intimate with Southey\\nWhat poems is he about to publish? He hath a\\nmost prolific brain, and is indeed a most sweet poet.\\nBut how can you answer all the various mass of\\ninterrogation I have put to you in the course of\\nthe sheet? Write back just what you like, only\\nwrite something, however brief. I have now nigh\\nfinished my page, and got to the end of another\\nevening (Monday evening), and my eyes are heavy\\nand sleepy, and my brain unsuggestive. I have\\njust heart enough awake to say good night once", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB, 85\\nmore, and God love you, my dear friend God love\\nus all Mary bears an affectionate remembrance of\\nyou.\\nCharles Lamb.\\nXIII.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nFebruary 13, 1797.\\nYour poem is altogether admirable parts of it\\nare even exquisite in particular your personal ac-\\ncount of the Maid far surpasses anything of the\\nsort in Southey.^ I perceived all its excellences,\\non a first reading, as readily as now you have been\\nremoving a supposed film from my eyes. I was\\nonly struck with a certain faulty disproportion in\\nthe matter and the style, which I still think I per-\\nceive, between these lines and the former ones. I\\nhad an end in view, I wished to make you reject\\nthe poem, only as being discordant with the other\\nand, in subservience to that end, it was politically\\ndone in me to over-pass, and make no mention of,\\nmerit which, could you think me capable of over-\\nlooking, might reasonably damn forever in your\\njudgment all pretensions in me to be critical. There,\\nI will be judged by Lloyd whether I have not made\\na very handsome recantation. I was in the case of\\na man whose friend has asked him his opinion of a\\ncertain young lady the deluded wight gives judg-\\nment against her in toto, don t like her face, her\\n1 See Letter VIII.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "86 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nwalk, her manners finds fault with her eyebrows\\ncan see no wit in her. His friend looks blank;\\nhe begins to smell a rat wind veers about he ac-\\nknowledges her good sense, her judgment in dress,\\na certain simplicity of manners and honesty of heart,\\nsomething too in her manners which gains upon you\\nafter a short acquaintance, and then her accurate\\npronunciation of the French language, and a pretty,\\nuncultivated taste in drawing. The reconciled gen-\\ntleman smiles applause, squeezes him by the hand,\\nand hopes he will do him the honor of taking a bit\\nof dinner with Mrs. and him a plain family\\ndinner some day next week for, I suppose,\\nyou never heard we were married. I m glad to\\nsee you like my wife, however you 11 come and\\nsee her, ha? Now am I too proud to retract en-\\ntirely? Yet I do perceive I am in some sort strait-\\nened you are manifestly wedded to this poem, and\\nwhat fancy has joined, let no man separate. I turn\\nme to the Joan of Arc, second book.\\nThe solemn openings of it are with sounds which,\\nLloyd would say, are silence to the mind. The\\ndeep preluding strains are fitted to initiate the mind,\\nwith a pleasing awe, into the sublimest mysteries of\\ntheory concerning man s nature and his noblest\\ndestination, the philosophy of a first cause of\\nsubordinate agents in creation superior to man;\\nthe subserviency of pagan worship and pagan faith\\nto the introduction of a purer and more perfect reli-\\ngion, which you so elegantly describe as winning,\\nwith gradual steps, her difficult way northward from\\nBethabara. After all this cometh Joan, a publican s", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 87\\ndaughter, sitting od an ale-house bench, and marking\\nthe swingings of the signboard, finding a poor man,\\nhis wife and six children, starved to death with cold,\\nand thence roused into a state of mind proper to\\nreceive visions emblematical of equality, which,\\nwhat the devil Joan had to do with, I don t know,\\nor indeed with the French and American revolu-\\ntions though that needs no pardon, it is executed\\nso nobly. After all, if you perceive no dispropor-\\ntion, all argument is vain; I do not so much object\\nto parts. Again, when you talk of building your\\nfame on these lines in preference to the Religious\\nMusings j I cannot help conceiving of you and of\\nthe author of that as two different persons, and I\\nthink you a very vain man.\\nI have been re-reading your letter. Much of it I\\ncould dispute but with the latter part of it, in which\\nyou compare the two Joans with respect to their\\npredispositions for fanaticism, I toto corde coincide\\nonly I think that Southey s strength rather lies in\\nthe description of the emotions of the Maid under\\nthe weight of inspiration. These (I see no mighty\\ndifference between her describing them or you de-\\nscribing them), these if you only equal, the pre-\\nvious admirers of his poem, as is natural, will prefer\\nhis if you surpass, prejudice will scarcely allow it,\\nand I scarce think you will surpass, though your\\nspecimen at the conclusion (I am in earnest) I think\\nvery nigh equals them. And in an account of a\\nfanatic or of a prophet the description of her emo-\\ntions is expected to be most highly finished. By\\nthe way, I spoke far too disparagingly of your lines.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "SS LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nand, I am ashamed to say, purposely. I should like\\nyou to specify or particularize the story of the\\nTottering Eld, of his eventful years all come\\nand gone, is too general why not make him a\\nsoldier, or some character, however, in which he\\nhas been witness to frequency of cruel wrong and\\nstrange distress I think I should. When I\\nlaughed at the miserable man crawling from\\nbeneath the coverture, I wonder I did not perceive\\nit was a laugh of horror, such as I have laughed\\nat Dante s picture of the famished Ugolino. With-\\nout falsehood, I perceive an hundred beauties in\\nyour narrative. Yet I wonder you do not perceive\\nsomething out-of-the-way, something unsimple and\\nartificial, in the expression, voiced a sad tale. I\\nhate made-dishes at the muses banquet. I be-\\nlieve I was wrong in most of my other objections.\\nBut surely hailed him immortal adds nothing to\\nthe terror of the man s death, which it was your\\nbusiness to heighten, not diminish by a phrase\\nwhich takes away all terror from it. I like that line,\\nThey closed their eyes in sleep, nor knew t was\\ndeath. Indeed, there is scarce a line I do not like.\\nTurbid ecstasy is surely not so good as what\\nyou /z written, troublous. Turbid rather\\nsuits the muddy kind of inspiration which London\\nporter confers. The versification is throughout, to\\nmy ears, unexceptionable, with no disparagement to\\nthe measure of the Religious Musings, which is\\nexactly fitted to the thoughts.\\nYou were building your house on a rock when\\nyou rested your fame on that poem. I can scarce", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 89\\nbring myself to believe that I am admitted to a\\nfamiliar correspondence, and all the license of friend-\\nship, with a man who writes blank verse like Milton.\\nNow, this is delicate flattery, indirect flattery. Go\\non with your Maid of Orleans, and be content to\\nbe second to yourself. I shall become a convert to\\nit, when t is finished.\\nThis afternoon I attend the funeral of my poor\\nold aunt, who died on Thursday. I own I am thank-\\nful that the good creature has ended all her days of\\nsuffering and infirmity. She was to me the che-\\nrisher of infancy and one must fall on these occa-\\nsions into reflections, which it would be common-\\nplace to enumerate, concerning death, of chance\\nand change, and fate in human hfe. Good God,\\nwho could have foreseen all this but four months\\nback I had reckoned, in particular, on my aunt s\\nliving many years she was a very hearty old woman.\\nBut she was a mere skeleton before she died looked\\nmore like a corpse that had lain weeks in the grave,\\nthan one fresh dead. Truly the light is sweet, and\\na pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun\\nbut let a man live many days, and rejoice in them\\nall yet let him remember the days of darkness, for\\nthey shall be many. Coleridge, why are we to live\\non after all the strength and beauty of existence are\\ngone, when all the life of life is fled, as poor Burns\\nexpresses it? Tell Lloyd I have had thoughts of\\nturning Quaker, and have been reading, or am rather\\njust beginning to read, a most capital book, good\\nthoughts in good language, William Penn s No\\nCross, no Crown; I like it immensely. Unluckily", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "90 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nI went to one of his meetings, tell him, in St. John\\nStreet, yesterday, and saw a man mider all the agita-\\ntions and workings of a fanatic, who believed fiimself\\nunder the influence of some inevitable presence.\\nThis cured me of Quakerism I love it in the books\\nof Penn and Woolman, but I detest the vanity of a\\nman thinking he speaks by the Spirit, when what\\nhe says an ordinary man might say without all that\\nquaking and trembUng. In the midst of his inspi-\\nration, and the effects of it were most noisy, was\\nhanded into the midst of the meeting a most terrible\\nblackguard Wapping sailor the poor man, I believe,\\nhad rather have been in the hottest part of an\\nengagement, for the congregation of broad-brims,\\ntogether with the ravings of the prophet, were too\\nmuch for his gravity, though I saw even he had\\ndelicacy enough not to laugh out. And the inspired\\ngentleman, though his manner was so supernatural,\\nyet neither talked nor professed to talk anything\\nmore than good sober sense, common morality, with\\nnow and then a declaration of not speaking from\\nhimself. Among other things, looking back to this\\nchildhood and early youth, he told the meeting what\\na graceless young dog he had been, that in his youth\\nhe had a good share of wit. Reader, if thou hadst\\nseen the gentleman, thou wouldst have sworn that\\nit must indeed have been many years ago, for his\\nrueful physiognomy would have scared away the play-\\nful goddess from the meeting, where he presided,\\nforever. A wit a wit what could he mean\\nLloyd, it minded me of Falkland in the Rivals,\\nAm I full of wit and humor? No, indeed, you are", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 91\\nnot. Am I the life and soul of every company I\\ncome into? No, it cannot be said you are. That\\nhard-faced gentleman a wit Why, Nature wrote\\non his fanatic forehead fifty years ago, Wit never\\ncomes, that comes to all. I should be as scanda-\\nlized at a don-mot issuing from his oracle-looking\\nmouth as to see Cato go down a country- dance.\\nGod love you all You are very good to submit\\nto be pleased with reading my nothings. T is the\\nprivilege of friendship to talk nonsense and to have\\nher nonsense respected. Yours ever,\\nC. Lamb.\\nXIV.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nJanuary 28, 1798.\\nYou have writ me many kind letters, and I have\\nanswered none of them. I don t deserve your\\nattentions. An unnatural indifference has been\\ncreeping on me since my last misfortunes, or I\\nshould have seized the first opening of a corre-\\nspondence with you. To you I owe much under\\nGod. In my brief acquaintance with you in Lon-\\ndon, your conversations won me to the better cause,\\nand rescued me from the polluting spirit of the\\nworld. I might have been a worthless character\\nwithout you; as it is, I do possess a certain im-\\nprovable portion of devotional feehngs, though when\\nI view myself in the light of divine truth, and not\\naccording to the common measures of human judg-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "92 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nment, I am altogether corrupt and sinful. This is\\nno cant. I am very sincere.\\nThese last afflictions,^ Coleridge, have failed to\\nsoften and bend my will. They found me unpre-\\npared. My former calamities produced in me a\\nspirit of humility and a spirit of prayer. I thought\\nthey had sufficiently disciplined me but the event\\nought to humble me. If God s judgments now fail\\nto take away from me the heart of stone, what more\\ngrievous trials ought I not to expect? I have been\\nvery querulous, impatient under the rod, full of lit-\\ntle jealousies and heartburnings. I had wellnigh\\nquarrelled with Charles Lloyd, and for no other\\nreason, I believe, than that the good creature did\\nall he could to make me happy. The truth is, I\\nthought he tried to force my mind from its natural\\nand proper bent he continually wished me to be\\nfrom home he was drawing me from the consider-\\nation of my poor dear Mary s situation, rather than\\nassisting me to gain a proper view of it with relig-\\nious consolations. I wanted to be left to the ten-\\ndency of my own mind in a solitary state which,\\nin times past, I knew had led to quietness and a\\npatient bearing of the yoke. He was hurt that I\\nwas not more constantly with him but he was\\nliving with White, a man to whom I had never\\nbeen accustomed to impart my dearest feelings,\\nthough from long habits of friendliness, and many\\na social and good quality, I loved him very much.\\nI met company there sometimes, indiscriminate\\ncompany. Any society almost, when I am in afflic-\\n1 Mary Lamb had fallen ill again.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 93\\ntion, is sorely painful to me. I seem to breathe\\nmore freely, to think more collectedly, to feel more\\nproperly and calmly, when alone. All these things\\nthe good creature did with the kindest intentions\\nin the world, but they produced in me nothing but\\nsoreness and discontent. I became, as he com-\\nplained, jaundiced towards him. But he has\\nforgiven me; and his smile, I hope, will draw all\\nsuch humors from me. I am recovering, God be\\npraised for it, a healthiness of mind, something like\\ncalmness but I want more religion, I am jealous\\nof human helps and leaning- places. I rejoice in\\nyour good fortunes. May God at the last settle\\nyou You have had many and painful trials hu-\\nmanly speaking, they are going to end but we\\nshould rather pray that discipline may attend us\\nthrough the whole of our lives. A careless and\\na dissolute spirit has advanced upon me with large\\nstrides. Pray God that my present afflictions may\\nbe sanctified to me Mary is recovering but I\\nsee no opening yet of a situation for her. Your invi-\\ntation went to my very heart but you have a power\\nof exciting interest, of leading all hearts captive, too\\nforcible to admit of Mary s being with you. I con-\\nsider her as perpetually on the brink of madness.\\nI think you would almost make her dance within\\nan inch of the precipice she must be with duller\\nfancies and cooler intellects. I know a young man\\nof this description who has suited her these twenty\\nyears, and may live to do so still, if we are one day\\nrestored to each other. In answer to your sugges-\\ntions of occupation for me, I must say that I do", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "94 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nnot think my capacity altogether suited for dis-\\nquisitions of that kind. I have read little I\\nhave a very weak memory, and retain little of what\\nI read am unused to composition in which any\\nmethodizing is required. But I thank you sincerely\\nfor the hint, and shall receive it as far as I am able,\\nthat is, endeavor to engage my mind in some con-\\nstant and innocent pursuit. I know my capacities\\nbetter than you do.\\nAccept my kindest love, and believe me yours,\\nas ever.\\nC. L.\\nXV.\\nTO ROBERT SOUTHEY\\n(No month, 1798.)\\nDear Southey, I thank you heartily for the\\neclogue it pleases me mightily, being so full\\nof picture-work and circumstances. I find no fault\\nin it, unless perhaps that Joanna s ruin is a catas-\\ntrophe too trite and this is not the first or second\\ntime you have clothed your indignation, in verse, in\\na tale of ruined innocence. The old lady, spinning\\nin the sun, I hope would not disdain to claim some\\nkindred with old Margaret. I could almost wish\\nyou to vary some circumstances in the conclusion.\\nA gentleman seducer has so often been described\\nin prose and verse what if you had accomplished\\nJoanna s ruin by the clumsy arts and rustic gifts\\nof some country fellow? I am thinking, I believe,\\nof the song,\\n1 The eclogue was entitled The Ruined Cottage.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 95\\nAn old woman clothed in gray,\\nWhose daughter was charming and young.\\nAnd she was deluded away\\nBy Roger s false, flattering tongue.\\nA Roger- Lothario would be a novel character; I\\nthink you might paint him very well. You may\\nthink this a very silly suggestion, and so indeed it\\nis but, in good truth, nothing else but the first\\nwords of that foolish ballad put me upon scribbling\\nmy Rosamund. But I thank you heartily for\\nthe poem. Not having anything of my own to send\\nyou in return, though, to tell truth, I am at work\\nupon something which, if I were to cut away and\\ngarble, perhaps I might send you an extract or two\\nthat might not displease you but I will not do\\nthat and whether it will come to anything, I know\\nnot, for I am as slow as a Fleming painter when\\nI compose anything. I will crave leave to put\\ndown a few lines of old Christopher Marlowe s I\\ntake them from his tragedy, The Jew of Malta.\\nThe Jew is a famous character, quite out of nature\\nbut when we consider the terrible idea our simple\\nancestors had of a Jew, not more to be discom-\\nmended for a certain discoloring (I think Addison\\ncalls it) than the witches and fairies of Marlowe s\\nmighty successor. The scene is betwixt Barabas,\\nthe Jew, and Ithamore, a Turkish captive exposed\\nto sale for a slave.\\nBarabas.\\n{A p7 ecioiis rascal.)\\nAs for myself, I walk abroad o nights,\\nAnd kill sick people groaning under walls\\n1 His romance, Rosamund Gray.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "96 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nSometimes I go about and poison wells\\nAnd now and then, to cherish Christian thieves,\\nI am content to lose some of my crowns,\\nThat I may, walking in my gallery,\\nSee m go pinioned along by my door.\\nBeing young, I studied physic, and began\\nTo practise first upon the Italian\\nThere I enriched the priests with burials.\\nAnd always kept the sexton s arms in ure\\nWith digging graves and ringing dead men s knells.\\nAnd after that, was I an engineer.\\nAnd in the wars twixt France and Germany,\\nUnder pretence of serving Charles the Fifth,\\nSlew friend and enemy with my stratagems.\\nThen after that was I an usurer,\\nAnd with extorting, cozening, forfeiting,\\nAnd tricks belonging unto brokery,\\nI fiU d the jails with bankrupts in a year.\\nAnd with young orphans planted hospitals,\\nAnd every moon made some or other mad\\nAnd now and then one hang d himself for grief,\\nPinning upon his breast a long great scroll,\\nHow I with interest tormented him.\\nNow hear Ithamore, the other gentle nature, ex-\\nplain how he has spent his time\\nIthamore.\\n[A Comical Dog.)\\nFaith, master, in setting Christian villages on fire,\\nChaining of eunuchs, binding galley-slaves.\\nOne time I was an hostler in an inn.\\nAnd in the night-time secret would I steal\\nTo travellers chambers, and there cut their throats.\\nOnce at Jerusalem, where the pilgrims kneel d,\\nI strewed powder on the marble stones,\\nAnd therewithal their knees would rankle so,\\n1 Use.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 97\\nThat I have laugh d a-good to see the cripples\\nGo limping home to Christendom on stilts.\\nBarabas.\\nWhy, this is something.\\nThere is a mixture of the ludicrous and the\\nterrible in these lines, brimful of genius and antique\\ninvention, that at first reminded me of your old\\ndescription of cruelty in hell, which was in the true\\nHogarthian style. I need not tell yotc that Marlowe\\nwas author of that pretty madrigal, Come live with\\nme, and be my Love, and of the tragedy of Ed-\\nward II., in which are certain lines unequalled in\\nour English tongue. Honest Walton mentions the\\nsaid madrigal under the denomination of certain\\nsmooth verses made long since by Kit Marlowe.\\nI am glad you have put me on the scent after old\\nQuarles. If I do not put up those eclogues, and\\nthat shortly, say I am no true-nosed hound. I have\\nhad a letter from Lloyd the young metaphysician\\nof Caius is well, and is busy recanting the new\\nheresy, metaphysics, for the old dogma Greek. My\\nsister, I thank you, is quite well. She had a slight\\nattack the other day, which frightened me a good\\ndeal but it went off unaccountably. Love and\\nrespects to Edith.\\nYours sincerely,\\nC. Lamb.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "98 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nXVI.\\nTO SOUTHEY.\\nNovember?), 1798.\\nI PERFECTLY accord with your opinion of old Wither.\\nQuarles is a wittier writer, but Wither lays more hold\\nof the heart. Quarles thinks of his audience when\\nhe lectures Wither soliloquizes in company with a\\nfull heart. What wretched stuff are the Divine\\nFancies of Quarles Religion appears to him no\\nlonger valuable than it furnishes matter for quibbles\\nand riddles he turns God s grace into wantonness.\\nWither is like an old friend, whose warm-heartedness\\nand estimable qualities make us wish he possessed\\nmore genius, but at the same time make us willing\\nto dispense with that want. I always love W., and\\nsometimes admire Q. Still, that portrait is a fine\\none and the extract from The Shepherds Hunt-\\ning places him in a starry height far above Quarles.\\nIf you wrote that review in Crit. Rev., I am sorry\\nyou are so sparing of praise to the Ancient Mari-\\nnere so far from calling it, as you do, with\\nsome wit but more severity, A Dutch Attempt,\\netc., I call it a right English attempt, and a success-\\nful one, to dethrone German sublimity. You have\\nselected a passage fertile in unmeaning miracles, but\\nhave passed by fifty passages as miraculous as the\\n1 The Lyrical Ballads of Wordsworth and Coleridge\\nhad just appeared. The volume contained four pieces, in-\\ncluding the Ancient Mariner, by Coleridge.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 99\\nmiracles they celebrate. I never so deeply felt the\\npathetic as in that part,\\nA spring of love gush d from my heart,\\nAnd I bless d them unaware.\\nIt stung me into high pleasure through sufferings.\\nLloyd does not like it his head is too metaphysical,\\nand your taste too correct, at least I must allege\\nsomething against you both, to excuse my own\\ndotage,\\nSo lonely twas, that God himself\\nScarce seemed there to be etc.\\nBut you allow some elaborate beauties j you should\\nhave extracted em. The Ancient Marinere plays\\nmore tricks with the mind than that last poem,\\nwhich is yet one of the finest written. But I am\\ngetting too dogmatical; and before I degenerate\\ninto abuse, I will conclude with assuring you that\\nI am, Sincerely yours,\\nC. Lamb.\\nXVII.\\nTO SOUTHEY.\\nNovember 28, 1798.\\nI SHOWED my Witch and Dying Lover to\\nDyer^ last night; but George could not compre-\\n1 This quaint scholar, a marvel of simplicity and universal\\noptimism, is a constantly recurring and delightfully humorous\\ncharacter in the Letters. Lamb and Dyer had been school-\\nfellows at Christ s Hospital.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "lOO LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nhend how that could be poetry which did not go\\nupon ten feet, as George and his predecessors had\\ntaught it to do so George read me some lectures\\non the distinguishing qualities of the Ode, the Epi-\\ngram, and the Epic, and went home to illustrate his\\ndoctrine by correcting a proof-sheet of his own\\nLyrics. George writes odes where the rhymes, like\\nfashionable man and wife, keep a comfortable dis-\\ntance of six or eight lines apart, and calls that ob-\\nserving the laws of verse. George tells you, before\\nhe recites, that you must listen with great attention,\\nor you 11 miss the rhymes. I did so, and found\\nthem pretty exact. George, speaking of the dead\\nOssian, exclaimeth, Dark are the poet s eyes. I\\nhumbly represented to him that his own eyes were\\ndark, and many a living bard s besides, and recom-\\nmended Clos d are the poet s eyes. But that\\nwould not do. I found there was an antithesis be-\\ntween the darkness of his eyes and the splendor of\\nhis genius, and I acquiesced.\\nYour recipe for a Turk s poison is invaluable\\nand truly Marlowish. Lloyd objects to shut-\\nting up the womb of his purse in my Curse (which\\nfor a Christian witch in a Christian country is not\\ntoo mild, I hope): do you object? I think there\\nis a strangeness in the idea, as well as shaking the\\npoor like snakes from his door, which suits the\\nspeaker. Witches illustrate, as fine ladies do, from\\ntheir own familiar objects, and snakes and shutting\\nup of wombs are in their way. I don t know that\\nthis last charge has been before brought against em,\\nnor either the sour milk or the mandrake babe but", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 10 1\\nI affirm these be things a witch would do if she\\ncould.\\nMy tragedy will be a medley (as I intend it to\\nbe a medley) of laughter and tears, prose and verse,\\nand in some places rhyme, songs, wit, pathos, hu-\\nmor, and if possible, sublimity, at least, it is not\\na fault in my intention if it does not comprehend\\nmost of these discordant colors. Heaven send they\\ndance not the Dance of Death! I hear that\\nthe Two Noble Englishmen have parted no sooner\\nthan they set foot on German earth but I have not\\nheard the reason, possibly to give novelists a\\nhandle to exclaim, Ah me, what things are per-\\nfect I think I shall adopt your emendation in\\nthe Dying Lover, though I do not myself feel the\\nobjection against Silent Prayer.\\nMy tailor has brought me home a new coat\\nlapelled, with a velvet collar. He assures me every-\\nbody wears velvet collars now. Some are born\\nfashionable, some achieve fashion, and others, like\\nyour humble servant, have fashion thrust upon them.\\nThe rogue has been making inroads hitherto by mod-\\nest degrees, foisting upon me an additional button,\\nrecommending gaiters but to come upon me thus in\\na full tide of luxury, neither becomes him as a tailor\\nor the ninth of a man. My meek gentleman was\\nrobbed the other day, coming with his wife and fam-\\nily in a one-horse shay from Hampstead the villains\\nrifled him of four guineas, some shillings and half-\\n1 John Woodvil.\\n2 Coleridge and Wordsworth, who started for Germany\\ntogether.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "I02 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\npence, and a bundle of customers measures, which\\nthey swore were bank-notes. They did not shoot\\nhim, and when they rode off he addressed them with\\nprofound gratitude, making a congee Gentlemen,\\nI wish you good-night and we are very much obhged\\nto you that you have not used us ill And this is\\nthe cuckoo that has the audacity to foist upon me\\nten buttons on a side and a black velvet collar, a\\ncursed ninth of a scoundrel\\nWhen you write to Lloyd, he wishes his Jacobin\\ncorrespondents to address him as Mr. C. L. Love\\nand respects to Edith. I hope she is well.\\nYours sincerely,\\nC. Lamb.\\nXVIII.\\nTO SOUTHEY.\\nMarch 20, 1799-\\nI AM hugely pleased with your Spider, your\\nold freemason, as you call him. The three first\\nstanzas are delicious they seem to me a com-\\npound of Burns and Old Quarles, those kind of\\nhome -strokes, where more is felt than strikes the\\near, a terseness, a jocular pathos which makes\\none feel in laughter. The measure, too, is novel\\nand pleasing. I could almost wonder Rob Burns\\nin his lifetime never stumbled upon it. The fourth\\nstanza is less striking, as being less original. The\\nfifth falls off. It has no felicity of phrase, no old-\\nfashioned phrase or feeling.\\nYoung hopes, and love s delightful dreams,", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 103\\nsavor neither of Burns nor Quarles they seem more\\nlike shreds of many a modern sentimental sonnet.\\nThe last stanza hath nothing striking in it, if I ex-\\ncept the two concluding lines, which are Burns all\\nover. I wish, if you concur with me, these things\\ncould be looked to. I am sure this is a kind of\\nwriting which comes tenfold better recommended\\nto the heart, comes there more like a neighbor or\\nfamiliar, than thousands of Hamnels and Zillahs\\nand Madelons. I beg you will send me the Holly-\\ntree, if it at all resemble this, for it must please\\nme. I have never seen it. I love this sort of\\npoems, that open a new intercourse with the most\\ndespised of the animal and insect race. I think\\nthis vein may be further opened Peter Pindar hath\\nvery prettily apostrophized a fly; Burns hath his\\nmouse and his louse Coleridge, less successfully,\\nhath made overtures of intimacy to a jackass,\\ntherein only following at unresembling distance\\nSterne and greater Cervantes. Besides these, I\\nknow of no other examples of breaking down the\\npartition between us and our poor earth-born\\ncompanions. It is sometimes revolting to be put\\nin a track of feeling by other people, not one s own\\nimmediate thoughts, else I would persuade you, if\\nI could (I am in earnest), to commence a series of\\nthese animal poems, which might have a tendency\\nto rescue some poor creatures from the antipathy\\nof mankind. Some thoughts come across me\\nfor instance, to a rat, to a toad, to a cockchafer,\\nto a mole, people bake moles alive by a slow\\noven-fire to cure consumption. Rats are, indeed.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "I04 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nthe most despised and contemptible parts of God s\\nearth. I killed a rat the other day by punching\\nhim to pieces, and feel a weight of blood upon me\\nto this hour. Toads, you know, are made to fly,\\nand tumble down and crush all to pieces. Cock-\\nchafers are old sport then again to a worm, with\\nan apostrophe to anglers, those patient tyrants,\\nmeek inflictors of pangs intolerable, cool devils to\\nan owl; to all snakes, with an apology for their\\npoison to a cat in boots or bladders. Your own\\nfancy, if it takes a fancy to these hints, will suggest\\nmany more. A series of such poems, suppose them\\naccompanied with plates descriptive of animal tor-\\nments, cooks roasting lobsters, fishmongers crimp-\\ning skates, etc., would take excessively. I will\\nwillingly enter into a partnership in the plan with\\nyou I think my heart and soul would go with it\\ntoo, at least, give it a thought. My plan is but\\nthis minute come into my head but it strikes me\\ninstantaneously as something new, good, and useful,\\nfull of pleasure and full of moral. If old Quarles\\nand Wither could live again, we would invite them\\ninto our firm. Burns hath done his part.\\nPoor Sam Le Grice I am afraid the world\\n1 Leigh Hunt says Walton says that an angler does no\\nhurt but to fish and this he counts as nothing. Now,\\nfancy a Genius fishing for us. Fancy him baiting a great\\nhook with pickled salmon, and twitching up old Izaac Walton\\nfrom the banks of the River Lee, with the hook through his\\near. How he would go up, roaring and screaming, and\\nthinking the devil had got him\\nOther joys\\nAre but toys.\\nWalton.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 105\\nand the camp and the university have spoiled him\\namong them. Tis certain he had at one time a\\nstrong capacity of turning out something better. I\\nknew him, and that not long since, when he had a\\nmost warm heart. I am ashamed of the indiffer-\\nence I have sometimes felt towards him. I think\\nthe devil is in one s heart. I am under obligations\\nto that man for the warmest friendship and hear-\\ntiest sympathy,^ even for an agony of sympathy\\nexpressed both by word and deed, and tears for me\\nwhen I was in my greatest distress. But I have\\nforgot that, as, I fear, he has nigh forgot the aw-\\nful scenes which were before his eyes when he\\nserved the office of a comforter to me. No service\\nwas too mean or troublesome for him to perform.\\nI can t think what but the devil, that old spider,\\ncould have suck d my heart so dry of its sense of\\nall gratitude. If he does come in your way, Southey,\\nfail not to tell him that I retain a most affectionate\\nremembrance of his old friendliness, and an earnest\\nwish to resume our intercourse. In this I am seri-\\nous. I cannot recommend him to your society,\\nbecause I am afraid whether he be quite worthy of\\nit. But I have no right to dismiss him from my\\nregard. He was at one time, and in the worst of\\ntimes, my own familiar friend, and great comfort to\\nme then. I have known him to play at cards with\\nmy father, meal-times excepted, literally all day\\nlong, in long days too, to save me from being teased\\nby the old man when I was not able to bear it.\\nGod bless him for it, and God bless you, Southey\\nC. L.\\n1 See Letter VI.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "I06 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB,\\nXIX.\\nTO THOMAS MANNING.i\\nMarch i, 1800.\\nI HOPE by this time you are prepared to say the\\nFalstaff s Letters are a bundle of the sharpest,\\nqueerest, profoundest humors of any these juice-\\ndrained latter times have spawned. I should have\\nadvertised you that the meaning is frequently hard\\nto be got at, and so are the future guineas that\\nnow lie ripening and aurifying in the womb of some\\nundiscovered Potosi but dig, dig, dig, dig. Man-\\nning I set to with an unconquerable propulsion to\\nwrite, with a lamentable want of what to write. My\\nprivate goings on are orderly as the movements of\\nthe spheres, and stale as their music to angels ears.\\nPublic affairs, except as they touch upon me, and\\nso turn into private, I cannot whip up my mind to\\nfeel any interest in. I grieve, indeed, that War\\nand Nature and Mr. Pitt, that hangs up in Lloyd s\\nbest parlour, should have conspired to call up three\\n1 To this remarkable person we are largely indebted for\\nsome of the best of Lamb s letters, lie was mathematical\\ntutor at Caius College, Cambridge, and in later years be-\\ncame somewhat famous as an explorer of the remoter parts\\nof China and Thibet. Lamb had been introduced to him,\\nduring a Cambridge visit, by Charles Lloyd, and afterwards\\ntold Crabb Robinson that he was the most wonderful man\\nhe ever met. An account of Manning will be found in the\\nmemoir prefixed to his Journey to Lhasa, in 1811-12.\\n(George Bogle and Thomas Manning s Journey to Thibet and\\nLhasa, by C. R. Markham, 1876.)", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 107\\nnecessaries, simple commoners as our fathers knew\\nthem, into the upper house of luxuries, bread and\\nbeer and coals, Manning. But as to France and\\nFrenchmen, and the Abbe Sieyes and his constitu-\\ntions, I cannot make these present times present to\\nme. I read histories of the past, and I live in\\nthem although, to abstract senses, they are far less\\nmomentous than the noises which keep Europe\\nawake. I am reading Burnet s Own Times. Did\\nyou ever read that garrulous, pleasant history? He\\ntells his story like an old man, past political service,\\nbragging to his sons on winter evenings of the part\\nhe took in public transactions when his old cap\\nwas new. Full of scandal, which all true history is.\\nNo palliatives but all the stark wickedness that\\nactually gives the momentum to national actors.\\nQuite the prattle of age and outlived importance.\\nTruth and sincerity staring out upon you perpetually\\nin alto relievo. Himself a party man, he makes\\nyou a party man. None of the cursed philosophi-\\ncal Humeian indifference, so cold and unnatural\\nand inhuman None of the cursed Gibbonian fine\\nwriting, so fine and composite. None of Dr. Rob-\\nertson s periods with three members. None of Mr.\\nRoscoe s sage remarks, all so apposite, and coming\\nin so clever, lest the reader should have had the\\ntrouble of drawing an inference. Burnet s good\\nold prattle I can bring present to my mind I can\\nmake the Revolution present to me the French\\nRevolution, by a converse perversity in my nature,\\nI fling as far from me. To quit this tiresome sub-\\nject, and to relieve you from two or three dismal", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "I08 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nyawns, which I hear in spirit, I here conclude my\\nmore than commonly obtuse letter, dull up to the\\ndulness of a Dutch commentator on Shakspeare.\\nMy love to Lloyd and Sophia.\\nC. L.\\nXX.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nMay 12, 1800.\\nMy dear Coleridge, I don t know why I write,\\nexcept from the propensity misery has to tell her\\ngriefs. Hetty died on Friday night, about eleven\\no clock, after eight days illness Mary, in conse-\\nquence of fatigue and anxiety, is fallen ill again, and\\nI was obliged to remove her yesterday. I am left\\nalone in a house with nothing but Hetty s dead\\nbody to keep me company. To-morrow I bury her,\\nand then I shall be quite alone, with nothing but a\\ncat to remind me that the house has been full of\\nliving beings like myself. My heart is quite sunk,\\nand I don t know where to look for relief. Mary\\nwill get better again but her constantly being liable\\nto such relapses is dreadful; nor is it the least of\\nour evils that her case and all our story is so well\\nknown around us. We are in a manner marked.\\nExcuse my troubling you but I have nobody by me\\nto speak to me. I slept out last night, not being\\nable to endure the change and the stillness. But I\\ndid not sleep well, and I must come back to my\\nown bed. I am going to try and get a friend to\\n1 The Lambs old servant.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 109\\ncome and be with me to-morrow. I am completely\\nshipwrecked. My head is quite bad. I almost\\nwish that Mary were dead. God bless you. Love\\nto Sara and Hartley.\\nC. Lamb.\\nXXI.\\nTO MANNING.\\nBefore June, 1800.\\nDear Manning, I feel myself unable to thank\\nyou sufficiently for your kind letter. It was doubly\\nacceptable to me, both for the choice poetry and\\nthe kind, honest prose which it contained. It was\\njust such a letter as I should have expected from\\nManning.\\nI am in much better spirits than when I wrote\\nlast. I have had a very eligible offer to lodge with\\na friend in town. He will have rooms to let at mid-\\nsummer, by which time I hope my sister will be well\\nenough to join me. It is a great object to me to\\nlive in town, where we shall be much more private,\\nand to quit a house and neighborhood where poor\\nMary s disorder, so frequently recurring, has made\\nus a sort of marked people. We can be nowhere\\nprivate except in the midst of London. We shall\\nbe in a family where we visit very frequently only\\nmy landlord and I have not yet come to a conclu-\\nsion. He has a partner to consult. I am still\\non the tremble, for I do not know where we could\\ngo into lodgings that would not be, in many re-\\nspects, highly exceptionable. Only God send Mary", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "no LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nwell again, and I hope all will be well The pros-\\npect, such as it is, has made me quite happy. I\\nhave just time to tell you of it, as I know it will give\\nyou pleasure. Farewell.\\nC. Lamb.\\nXXII.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nAugust, 6, 1800.\\nDear Coleridge, I have taken to-day and\\ndelivered to Longman and Co., Imprimis your\\nbooks, viz., three ponderous German dictiona-\\nries, one volume (I can find no more) of German\\nand French ditto, sundry other German books un-\\nbound, as you left them, Percy s Ancient Poetry,\\nand one volume of Anderson s Poets. I specify\\nthem, that you may not lose any. Secundo a\\ndressing-gown (value, fivepence) in which you used\\nto sit and look like a conjuror when you were\\ntranslating Wallenstein. A case of two razors\\nand a shaving-box and strap. This it has cost me a\\nsevere struggle to part with. They are in a brown-\\npaper parcel, which also contains sundry papers\\nand poems, sermons, so7ne few Epic poems, one\\nabout Cain and Abel, which came from Poole,\\netc., and also your tragedy with one or two small\\nGerman books, and that drama in which Got-fader\\nperforms. Tertio a small oblong box containing\\nall you7 letters, collected from all your waste papers,\\nand which fill the said little box. All other waste", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. II I\\npapers, which I judged worth sending, are in the\\npaper parcel aforesaid. But you will find all your\\nletters in the box by themselves. Thus have I dis-\\ncharged my conscience and my lumber-room of all\\nyour property, save and except a foho entitled\\nTyrrell s Bibliotheca Politica, which you used to\\nlearn your politics out of when you wrote for the Post,\\nmutatis mutandis, i. e., applying past inferences\\nto modern data. I retain that, because I am sensi-\\nble I am very deficient in the politics myself; and I\\nhave torn up don t be angry; waste paper has\\nrisen forty per cent, and I can t aiford to buy it\\nall Bonaparte s Letters, Arthur Young s Treatise\\non Corn, and one or two more light-armed infantry,\\nwhich I thought better suited the flippancy of Lon-\\ndbn discussion than the dignity of Keswick thinking.\\nMary says you will be in a passion about them when\\nyou come to miss them but you must study philoso-\\nphy. Read Albertus Magnus de Chartis Amissis\\nfive times over after phlebotomizing, tis Burton s\\nrecipe, and then be angry with an absent friend if\\nyou can. Sara is obscure. Am I to understand by\\nher letter that she sends a kiss to Eliza Bucking-\\nham? Pray tell your wife that a note of interro-\\ngation on the superscription of a letter is highly\\nungrammatical She proposes writing my name\\nLambe? Lamb is quite enough. I have had the\\nAnthology, and like only one thing in it, Lewti but\\nof that the last stanza is detestable, the rest most\\nexquisite The epithet enviable would dash the\\nfinest poem. For God s sake (I never was more\\nserious), don t make me ridiculous any more by", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "112 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nteniiing me gentle-hearted in print, or do it in\\nbetter verses.-^ It did well enough five years ago,\\nwhen I came to see you, and was moral coxcomb\\nenough at the time you wrote the lines, to feed upon\\nsuch epithets but, besides that, the meaning of\\ngentle is equivocal at best, and almost always\\nmeans poor-spirited the very quality of gentle-\\nness is abhorrent to such vile trumpetings. My\\nsentiment is long since vanished. I hope my virtues\\nhave done sucking. I can scarce think but you\\nmeant it in joke. I hope you did, for I should\\nbe ashamed to think you could think to gratify me\\nby such praise, fit only to be a cordial to some green-\\nsick sonneteer.\\nXXIII.\\nTO MANNING.\\nAugust, 1800.\\nDear Manning, I am going to ask a favor of\\nyou, and am at a loss how to do it in the most deli-\\ncate manner. For this purpose I have been looking\\ninto Pliny s Letters, who is noted to have had the\\nbest grace in begging of all the ancients (I read\\nhim in the elegant translation of Mr. Melmoth) but\\nnot finding any case there exactly similar with mine,\\nI am constrained to beg in my own barbarian way.\\nTo come to the point, then, and hasten into the\\n1 An allusion to Coleridge s lines, This Lime-Tree Bower\\nmy Prison, wherein he styles Lamb my gentle-hearted\\nCharles.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 113\\nmiddle of things, have you a copy of your Algebra\\nto give away? I do not ask it for myself; I have\\ntoo much reverence for the Black Arts ever to ap-\\nproach thy circle, illustrious Trismegist But that\\nworthy man and excellent poet, George Dyer, made\\nme a visit yesternight on purpose to borrow one,\\nsupposing, rationally enough, I must say, that you\\nhad made me a present of one before this; the\\nomission of which I take to have proceeded only\\nfrom negligence: but it is a fault. I could lend\\nhim no assistance. You must know he is just now\\ndiverted from the pursuit of Bell Letters by a par-\\nadox, which he has heard his friend Frend (that\\nlearned mathematician) maintain, that the negative\\nquantities of mathematicians were merce migce,\\nthings scarcely in rerum naturd, and smacking too\\nmuch of mystery for gentlemen of Mr. Frend s clear\\nUnitarian capacity. However, the dispute, once set\\na-going, has seized violently on George s pericranick\\nand it is necessary for his health that he should\\nspeedily come to a resolution of his doubts. He\\ngoes about teasing his friends with his new mathe-\\nmatics; he even frantically talks of purchasing\\nManning s Algebra, which shows him far gone, for,\\nto my knowledge, he has not been master of seven\\nshillings a good time. George s pockets and s\\nbrains are two things in nature which do not abhor\\na vacuum. Now, if you could step in, in this\\n1 Manning, while at Cambridge, published a work on\\nAlgebra.\\n2 The Rev. William Frend, who was expelled from Cam-\\nbridge for Unitarianism.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "114 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ntrembling suspense of his reason, and he should find\\non Saturday morning, lying for him at the Porter s\\nLodge, CHfford s Inn, his safest address, Man-\\nning s Algebra, with a neat manuscriptum in the\\nblank leaf, running thus, From the Author it\\nmight save his wits and restore the unhappy author\\nto those studies of poetry and criticism which are\\nat present suspended, to the infinite regret of the\\nwhole literary world. N. B. Dirty books, smeared\\nleaves, and dogs ears will be rather a recommenda-\\ntion than otherwise. N. B. He must have the\\nbook as soon as possible, or nothing can withhold\\nhim from madly purchasing the book on tick.\\nThen shall we see him sweetly restored to the chair\\nof Longinus, to dictate in smooth and modest\\nphrase the laws of verse to prove that Theocritus\\nfirst introduced the Pastoral, and Virgil and Pope\\nbrought it to its perfection that Gray and Mason\\n(who always hunt in couples in George s brain) have\\nshown a great deal of poetical fire in their lyric poetry\\nthat Aristotle s rules are not to be servilely followed,\\nwhich George has shown to have imposed great\\nshackles upon modern genius. His poems, I find,\\nare to consist of two vols., reasonable octavo and\\na third book will exclusively contain criticisms, in\\nwhich he asserts he has gone pi^etty deeply into the\\nlaws of blank verse and rhyme, epic poetry, dra-\\nmatic and pastoral ditto, all which is to come out\\nbefore Christmas. But above all he has touched\\nmost deeply upon the Drama, comparing the English\\nwith the modern German stage, their merits and\\ndefects. Apprehending that his studies (not to", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 115\\nmention his turn, which I take to be chiefly towards\\nthe lyrical poetry) hardly quahfied him for these\\ndisquisitions, I modestly inquired what plays he had\\nread. I found by George s reply that he had read\\nShakspeare, but that was a good while since he\\ncalls him a great but irregular genius, which I think\\nto be an original and just remark. (Beaumont and\\nFletcher, Massinger, Ben Jonson, Shirley, Marlowe,\\nFord, and the worthies of Dodsley s Collection,\\nhe confessed he had read none of them, but pro-\\nfessed his intention of looking through them all, so\\nas to be able to touch upon them in his book.)\\nSo Shakspeare, Otway, and I believe Rowe, to whom\\nhe was naturally directed by Johnson s Lives, and\\nthese not read lately, are to stand him in stead of a\\ngeneral knowledge of the subject. God bless his\\ndear absurd head\\nBy the by, did I not v/rite you a letter with some-\\nthing about an invitation in it but let that pass\\nI suppose it is not agreeable.\\nN. B. It would not be amiss if you were to ac-\\ncompany your present with a dissertation on negative\\nquantities.\\nC. L.\\nXXIV.\\nTO MANNING.\\n1800.\\nGeorge Dyer is an Archimedes and an Archi-\\nmagus and a Tycho Brahe and a Copernicus and\\nthou art the darling of the Nine, and midwife to", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "Il6 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ntheir wandering babe also We take tea with that\\nlearned poet and critic on Tuesday night, at half-\\npast five, in his neat library the repast will be light\\nand Attic, with criticism. If thou couldst contrive\\nto wheel up thy dear carcase on the Monday, and\\nafter dining with us on tripe, calves kidneys, or\\nwhatever else the Cornucopia of St. Clare may be\\nwilling to pour out on the occasion, might we not\\nadjourn together to the Heathen s, thou with thy\\nBlack Backs, and I with some innocent volume of\\nthe Bell Letters, Shenstone, or the like it would\\nmake him wash his old flannel gown (that has not\\nbeen washed, to my knowledge, since it has been his,\\nOh, the long time with tears of joy. Thou\\nshouldst settle his scruples, and unravel his cobwebs,\\nand sponge off the sad stuff that weighs upon his\\ndear wounded pia mater thou shouldst restore light\\nto his eyes, and him to his friends and the public\\nParnassus should shower her civic crowns upon thee\\nfor saving the wits of a citizen I thought I saw a\\nlucid interval in George the other night he broke\\nin upon my studies just at tea-time, and brought with\\nhim Dr. Anderson, an old gentleman who ties his\\nbreeches knees with packthread, and boasts that he\\nhas been disappointed by ministers. The Doctor\\nwanted to see vie for, I being a poet, he thought I\\nmight furnish him with a copy of verses to suit his\\nAgricultural Magazine. The Doctor, in the course\\nof the conversation, mentioned a poem, called the\\nEpigoniad, by one Wilkie, an epic poem, in which\\nthere is not one tolerable good line all through, but\\nevery incident and speech borrowed from Homer.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB, 117\\nGeorge had been sitting inattentive seemingly to\\nwhat was going on, hatching of negative quantities,\\nwhen, suddenly, the name of his old friend Ho-\\nmer stung his pericranicks, and, jumping up, he\\nbegged to know where he could meet with Wilkie s\\nwork. It was a curious fact that there should be\\nsuch an epic poem and he not know of it and he\\nmitst get a copy of it, as he was going to touch pretty\\ndeeply upon the subject of the epic, and he was sure\\nthere must be some things good in a poem of eight\\nthousand hnes I was pleased with this transient\\nreturn of his reason and recurrence to his old ways\\nof thinking it gave me great hopes of a recovery,\\nwhich nothing but your book can completely insure.\\nPray come on Monday if you can, and stay your\\nown time. I have a good large room, with two beds\\nin it, in the handsomest of which thou shalt repose\\na-nights, and dream of spheroides. I hope you will\\nunderstand by the nonsense of this letter that I am\\nnot melancholy at the thoughts of thy coming; I\\nthought it necessary to add this, because you love\\nprecision. Take notice that our stay at Dyer s will\\nnot exceed eight o clock, after which our pursuits\\nwill be our own. But indeed I think a little recrea-\\ntion among the Bell Letters and poetry will do you\\nsome service in the interval of severer studies. I\\nhope we shall fully discuss with George Dyer what I\\nhave never yet heard done to my satisfaction, the\\nreason of Dr. Johnson s malevolent strictures on the\\nhigher species of the Ode.\\nC. Lamb.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "Il8 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nXXV.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nAugust 14, 1800.\\nMy head is playing all the tunes in the world,\\nringing such peals It has just finished the Merry\\nChrist Church Bells, and absolutely is beginning\\nTurn again, Whittington. Buz, buz, buz; bum,\\nbum, bum wheeze, wheeze, wheeze fen, fen, fen\\ntinky, tinky, tinky cr annch. I shall certainly come\\nto be condemned at last. I have been drinking too\\nmuch for two days running. I find my moral sense\\nin the last stage of a consumption, and my rehgion\\ngetting faint. This is disheartening, but T trust the\\ndevil will not overpower me. In the midst of this\\ninfernal torture Conscience is barking and yelping\\nas loud as any of them, I have sat down to read\\nover again, and I think I do begin to spy out some-\\nthing with beauty and design in it. I perfectly ac-\\ncede to all your alterations, and only desire that you\\nhad cut deeper, when your hand was in.\\nNow I am on the subject of poetry, I must an-\\nnounce to you, who, doubtless, in your remote part\\nof the island, have not heard tidings of so great a\\nblessing, that George Dyer hath prepared two pon-\\nderous volumes full of poetry and criticism. They\\nimpend over the town, and are threatened to fall in\\nthe winter. The first volume contains every sort of\\npoetry except personal satire, which George, in his", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 119\\ntruly original prospectus, renounceth forever, whim-\\nsically foisting the intention in between the price\\nof his book and the proposed number of subscribers.\\n(If I can, I will get you a copy of his handbill^ He\\nhas tried his vein in every species besides, the\\nSpenserian, Thomsonian, Masonic, and Akensidish\\nmore especially. The second volume is all criti-\\ncism wherein he demonstrates to the entire satis-\\nfaction of the literary world, in a way that must\\nsilence all reply forever, that the pastoral was intro-\\nduced by Theocritus and poUshed by Virgil and\\nPope j that Gray and Mason (who always hunt in\\ncouples in George s brain) have a good deal of poet-\\nical fire and true lyric genius; that Cowley was\\nruined by excess of wit (a warning to all moderns)\\nthat Charles Lloyd, Charles Lamb, and William\\nWordsworth, in later days, have struck the true\\nchords of poesy. Oh, George, George, with a head\\nuniformly wrong and a heart uniformly right, that I\\nhad power and might equal to my wishes then\\nwould I call the gentry of thy native island, and\\nthey should come in troops, flocking at the sound\\nof thy prospectus-trumpet, and crowding who shall\\nbe first to stand in thy list of subscribers I can\\nonly put twelve shillings into thy pocket (which, I\\nwill answer for them, will not stick there long) out\\nof a pocket almost as bare as thine. Is it not a pity\\nso much fine writing should be erased? But, to tell\\nthe truth, I began to scent that I was getting into\\nthat sort of style which Longinus and Dionysius\\nHalicarnassus fitly call the affected.\\nC. L.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "I20 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nXXVI.\\nTO MANNING.\\nAugust 22, 1800.\\nDear Manning, You need not imagine any\\napology necessary. Your fine hare and fine birds\\n(which just now are dangling by our kitchen blaze)\\ndiscourse most eloquent music in your justification.\\nYou just nicked my palate for, with all due deco-\\nrum and leave may it be spoken, my worship hath\\ntaken physic to-day, and being low and puling, re-\\nquireth to be pampered. Foh how beautiful and\\nstrong those buttered onions come to my nose For\\nyou must know we extract a divine spirit of gravy\\nfrom those materials which, duly compounded with\\na consistence of bread and cream (yclept bread-\\nsauce), each to each giving double grace, do mu-\\ntually illustrate and set off (as skilful gold-foils to\\nrare jewels) your partridge, pheasant, woodcock,\\nsnipe, teal, widgeon, and the other lesser daughters\\nof the ark. My friendship, struggling with my carnal\\nand fleshly prudence (which suggests that a bird a\\nman is the proper allotment in such cases) yearneth\\nsometimes to have thee here to pick a wing or so.\\nI question if your Norfolk sauces match our London\\nculinaric.\\nGeorge Dyer has introduced me to the table of\\nan agreeable old gentleman, Dr. Anderson, who gives\\nhot legs of mutton and grape pies at his sylvan\\nlodge at Isleworth, where, in the middle of a street.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 1 21\\nhe has shot up a wall most preposterously before his\\nsmall dwelling, which, with the circumstance of his\\ntaking several panes of glass out of bedroom win-\\ndows (for air), causeth his neighbors to speculate\\nstrangely on the state of the good man s pericra-\\nnicks. Plainly, he lives under the reputation of\\nbeing deranged. George does not mind this cir-\\ncumstance he rather likes him the better for it.\\nThe Doctor, in his pursuits, joins agricultural to poet-\\nical science, and has set George s brains mad about\\nthe old Scotch writers, Barbour, Douglas s ^neid,\\nBlind Harry, etc. We returned home in a return\\npostchaise (having dined with the Doctor) and\\nGeorge kept wondering and wondering, for eight or\\nnine turnpike miles, what was the name, and striving\\nto recollect the name, of a poet anterior to Barbour.\\nI begged to know what was remaining of his works.\\nThere is nothing extant of his works, sir but by\\nall accounts he seems to have been a fine genius\\nThis fine genius, without anything to show for it or\\nany title beyond George s courtesy, without even a\\nname, and Barbour and Douglas and Blind Harry\\nnow are the predominant sounds in George s pia\\nmater, and their buzzings exclude politics, criticism,\\nand algebra, the late lords of that illustrious lum-\\nber-room. Mark, he has never read any of these\\nbucks, but is impatient till he reads them all, at the\\nDoctor s suggestion. Poor Dyer his friends should\\nbe careful what sparks they let fall into such inflam-\\nmable matter.\\nCould I .have my will of the heathen, I would\\nlock him up from all access of new ideas j I would", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "122 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nexclude all critics that would not swear me first\\n(upon their Virgil) that they would feed him with\\nnothing but the old, safe, familiar notions and sounds\\n(the rightful aborigines of his brain), Gray, Aken-\\nside, and Mason. In these sounds, reiterated as\\noften as possible, there could be nothing painful,\\nnothing distracting.\\nGod bless me, here are the birds, smoking hot\\nAll that is gross and unspiritual in me rises at the\\nsight\\nAvaunt friendship and all memory of absent\\nfriends\\nC. Lamb.\\nXXVII.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nAugust 26, 1800.\\nGeorge Dyer is the only literary character I am\\nhappily acquainted with. The oftener I see him,\\nthe more deeply I admire him. He is goodness\\nitself. If I could but calculate the precise date of\\nhis death, I would write a novel on purpose to make\\nGeorge the hero. I could hit him off to a hair.\\nGeorge brought a Dr. Anderson to see me. The\\nDoctor is a very pleasant old man, a great genius\\nfor agriculture, one that ties his breeches-knees with\\npackthread, and boasts of having had disappoint-\\nments from ministers. The Doctor happened to\\nmention an epic poem by one Wilkie, called the\\nSee preceding Letter.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 123\\nEpigoniad, in which he assured us there is not\\none tolerable line from beginning to end, but all\\nthe characters, incidents, etc., verbally copied from\\nHomer. George, who had been sitting quite inat-\\ntentive to the Doctor s criticism, no sooner heard\\nthe sound of Homer strike his pericraniks, than up\\nhe gets, and declares he must see that poem imme-.\\ndiately where was it to be had An epic poem of\\neight thousand lines, and he not hear of it There\\nmust be some things good in it, and it was necessary\\nhe should see it, for he had touched pretty deeply\\nupon that subject in his criticisms on the Epic.\\nGeorge had touched pretty deeply upon the Lyric,\\nI find he has also prepared a dissertation on the\\nDrama, and the comparison of the English and Ger-\\nman theatres. As I rather doubted his competency\\nto do the latter, knowing that his peculiar turn lies\\nin the lyric species of composition, I questioned\\nGeorge what English plays he had read. I found\\nthat he had read Shakspeare (whom he calls an\\noriginal, but irregular, genius), but it was a good\\nwhile ago and he has dipped into Rowe and Ot-\\nway, I suppose having found their names in John-\\nson s Lives at full length; and upon this slender\\nground he has undertaken the task. He never\\nseemed even to have heard of Fletcher, Ford, Mar-\\nlowe, Massinger, and the worthies of Dodsley s Col-\\nlection but he is to read all these, to prepare him\\nfor bringing out his Parallel in the winter. I\\nfind he is also determined to vindicate poetry from\\nthe shackles which Aristotle and some others have\\nimposed upon it, which is very good-natured of", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "124 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nhim, and very necessary just now Now I am\\ntouching so deeply upon poetry, can I forget that\\nI have just received from Cottle a magnificent copy\\nof his Guinea Epic.^ Four-and-twenty books to\\nread in the dog days I got as far as the Mad\\nMonk the first day, and fainted. Mr. Cottle s\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2genius strongly points him to the Pasto7 al, but his\\nincUnations divert him perpetually from his calling.\\nHe imitates Southey, as Rowe did Shakspeare, with\\nhis Good morrow to ye, good master Lieutenant.\\nInstead of a man, a woman, a daughter, he con-\\nstantly writes one a man, one a woman, one\\nhis daughter. Instead of the king, the hero, he\\nconstantly writes, he the king, he the hero,\\ntwo flowers of rhetoric palpably from the Joan.\\nBut Mr. Cottle soars a higher pitch and when he\\nis original, it is in a most original way indeed.\\nHis terrific scenes are indefatigable. Serpents, asps,\\nspiders, ghosts, dead bodies, staircases made of noth-\\ning, with adders tongues for bannisters, Good\\nHeaven, what a brain he must have He puts as\\nmany plums in his pudding as my grandmother\\nused to do and then his emerging from Hell s\\nhorrors into light, and treading on pure flats of this\\nearth for twenty-three books together\\nC. L.\\n1 Alfred.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 125\\nXXVIII.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nOctober 9, 1800.\\nI SUPPOSE you have heard of the death of Amos\\nCottle. I paid a solemn visit of condolence to his\\nbrother, accompanied by George Dyer, of burlesque\\nmemory. I went, trembling, to see poor Cottle so\\nimmediately upon the event. He was in black,\\nand his younger brother was also in black. Every-\\nthing wore an aspect suitable to the respect due to\\nthe freshly dead. For some time after our entrance,\\nnobody spake, till George modestly put in a question,\\nwhether Alfred was likely to sell. This was\\nLethe to Cottle, and his poor face wet with tears,\\nand his kind eye brightened up in a moment. Now\\nI felt it was my cue to speak. I had to thank him\\nfor a present of a magnificent copy, and had prom-\\nised to send him my remarks, \u00e2\u0080\u0094the least thing I\\ncould do; so I ventured to suggest that I per-\\nceived a considerable improvement he had made in\\nhis first book since the state in which he first read it\\nto me. Joseph, who till now had sat with his knees\\ncowering in by the fireplace, wheeled about, and\\nwith great difficulty of body shifted the same round\\nto the corner of a table where I was sitting, and\\nfirst stationing one thigh over the other, which is\\nhis sedentary mood, and placidly fixing his benevo-\\nlent face right against mine, waited my observations.\\nAt that moment it came strongly into my mind that", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "126 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nI had got Uncle Toby before me, he looked so\\nkind and so good. I could not say an unkind thing\\nof Alfred. So I set my memory to work to recol-\\nlect what was the name of Alfred s queen, and with\\nsome adroitness recalled the well-known sound to\\nCottle s ears of Alswitha. At that moment I could\\nperceive that Cottle had forgot his brother was so\\nlately become a blessed spirit. In the language of\\nmathematicians, the author was as 9, the brother\\nas I. I felt my cue, and strong pity working at\\nthe root, I went to work and beslabber d Alfred\\nwith most unqualified praise, or only qualifying my\\npraise by the occasional poUte interposition of an\\nexception taken against trivial faults, slips, and hu-\\nman imperfections, which, by removing the appear-\\nance of insincerity, did but in truth heighten the\\nrelish. Perhaps I might have spared that refine-\\nment, for Joseph was in a humor to hope and\\nbelieve all things. What I said was beautifully sup-\\nported, corroborated, and confirmed by the stu-\\npidity of his brother on my left hand, and by\\nGeorge on my right, who has an utter incapacity of\\ncomprehending that there can be anything bad in\\npoetry. All poems are good poems to George all\\nmen are fine geniuses. So what with my actual\\nmemory, of which I made the most, and Cottle s\\nown helping me out, for I really had forgotten a\\ngood deal of Alfred, I made shift to discuss the\\nmost essential parts entirely to the satisfaction of its\\nauthor, who repeatedly declared that he loved noth-\\ning better than candid criticism. Was I a candid\\ngreyhound now for all this? or did I do right? I", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 127\\nbelieve I did. The effect was luscious to my con-\\nscience. For all the rest of the evening Amos was\\nno more heard of, till George revived the subject by\\ninquiring whether some account should not be\\ndrawn up by the friends of the deceased to be in-\\nserted in Phillips s Monthly Obituary adding,\\nthat Amos was estimable both for his head and\\nheart, and would have made a fine poet if he had\\nlived. To the expediency of this measure Cottle\\nfully assented, but could not help adding that he\\nalways thought that the qualities of his brother s\\nheart exceeded those of his head. I believe his\\nbrother, when living, had formed precisely the same\\nidea of him and I apprehend the world will assent\\nto both judgments. I rather guess that the broth-\\ners were poetical rivals. I judged so when I saw\\nthem together. Poor Cottle, I must leave him,\\nafter his short dream, to muse again upon his poor\\nbrother, for whom I am sure in secret he will yet\\nshed many a tear. Now send me in return some\\nGreta news.\\nC. L.\\nXXIX.\\nTO MANNING.\\nOctober 16, 1800.\\nDear Manning, Had you written one week be-\\nfore you did, I certainly should have obeyed your\\ninjunction; you should have seen me before my\\nletter. I will explain to you my situation. There\\nare six of us in one department. Two of us (within", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "128 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB,\\nthese four days) are confined with severe fevers\\nand two more, who belong to the Tower Mihtia,\\nexpect to have marching orders on Friday. Now,\\nsix are absolutely necessary. I have already asked\\nand obtained two young hands to supply the loss of\\nthe feverites and with the other prospect before\\nme, you may believe I cannot decently ask leave of\\nabsence for myself. All I can promise (and I do\\npromise with the sincerity of Saint Peter, and the con-\\ntrition of sinner Peter if I fail) [is] that I will come\\nthe very first spaj^e week, and go nowhere till I have\\nbeen at Cambridge. No matter if you are in a\\nstate of pupilage when I come for I can employ\\nmyself in Cambridge very pleasantly in the morn-\\nings. Are there not libraries, halls, colleges, books,\\npictures, statues? I wish you had made London in\\nyour way. There is an exhibition quite uncommon\\nin Europe, which could not have escaped yottr\\ngenius, a live rattlesnake, ten feet in length, and\\nthe thickness of a big leg. I went to see it last\\nnight by candlelight. We were ushered into a room\\nvery little bigger than ours at Pentonville. A man\\nand woman and four boys live in this room, joint\\ntenants with nine snakes, most of them such as no\\nremedy has been discovered for their bite. We\\nwalked into the middle, which is formed by a half-\\nmoon of wired boxes, all mansions oi snakes, whip-\\nsnakes, thunder- snakes, pig-nose- snakes, American\\nvipers, and this monster. He lies curled up in\\nfolds j and immediately a stranger enters (for he is\\nused to the family, and sees them play at cards) he\\nset up a rattle like a watchman s in London, or near", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 129\\nas loud, and reared up a head, from the midst of\\nthese folds, like a toad, and shook his head, and\\nshowed every sign a snake can show of irritation.\\nI had the foolish curiosity to strike the wires with\\nmy finger, and the devil flew at me with his toad-\\nmouth wide open the inside of his mouth is quite\\nwhite. I had got my finger away, nor could he\\nwell have bit me with his big mouth, which would\\nhave been certain death in five minutes. But it\\nfrightened me so much that I did not recover my\\nvoice for a minute s space. I forgot, in my fear,\\nthat he was secured. You would have forgot too,\\nfor t is incredible how such a monster can be con-\\nfined in small gauzy-looking wires. I dreamed of\\nsnakes in the night. I wish to Heaven you could\\nsee it. He absolutely swelled with passion to the\\nbigness of a large thigh. I could not retreat with-\\nout infringing on another box, and just behind, a\\nlittle devil, not an inch from my back, had got his\\nnose out, with some difficulty and pain, quite through\\nthe bars He was soon taught better manners.\\nAll the snakes were curious, and objects of terror\\nbut this monster, like Aaron s serpent, swallowed up\\nthe impression of the rest. He opened his cursed\\nmouth, when he made at me, as wide as his head\\nwas broad. I hallooed out quite loud, and felt\\npains all over my body with the fright.\\nI have had the felicity of hearing George Dyer\\nread out one book of The Farmer s Boy. I\\nthought it rather childish. No doubt, there is orig-\\ninality in it (which, in your self-taught geniuses, is\\na most rare quality, they generally getting hold of\\n9", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "I30 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nsome bad models in a scarcity of books, and form-\\ning their taste on them), but no selection. All vs\\ndescribed.\\nMind, I have only heard read one book.\\nYours sincerely,\\nPhilo-Snake,\\nC. L.\\nXXX.\\nTO MANNING.\\nNovember 3, 1800.\\nEcquid meditatiir Archimedes What is Euclid\\ndoing? What has happened to learned Trismegist?\\nDoth he take it in ill part that his humble friend\\ndid not comply with his courteous invitation Let\\nit suffice, I could not come. Are impossibilities\\nnothing? be they abstractions of the intellects,\\nor not (rather) most sharp and mortifying realities?\\nnuts in the Will s mouth too hard for her to crack?\\nbrick and stone walls in her way, which she can by\\nno means eat through? sore lets, impedimenta via-\\n7 U7fi, no thoroughfares? racemi nimiu7n alte pen-\\ndefites Is the phrase classic I allude to the\\ngrapes in ^sop, which cost the fox a strain, and\\ngained the world an aphorism. Observe the super-\\nscription of this letter. In adapting the size of the\\nletters which constitute yotir name and Mr. Crisp s\\nname respectively, I had an eye to your different\\nstations in life. Tis really curious, and must be\\nsoothing to an aristocrat. I wonder it has never\\nbeen hit on before my time. I have made an ac-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 131\\nquisition latterly of a pleasant hajtd, one Rickman,^\\nto whom I was introduced by George Dyer, not\\nthe most flattering auspices under which one man\\ncan be introduced to another. George brings all\\nsorts of people together, setting up a sort of agra-\\nrian law, or common property, in matter of soci-\\nety but for once he has done me a great pleasure,\\nwhile he was only pursuing a principle, as ignes\\nfatiii may light you home. This Rickman lives in\\nour Buildings, immediately opposite our house the\\nfinest fellow to drop in a nights, about nine or ten\\no clock, cold bread-and-cheese time, just in\\nthe WIS king time of the night, when you wi s/i for\\nsomebody to come in, without a distinct idea of a\\nprobable anybody. Just in the nick, neither too\\nearly to be tedious, nor too late to sit a reasonable\\ntime. He is a most pleasant hand, a fine, rat-\\ntling fellow, has gone through life laughing at sol-\\nemn apes himself hugely literate, oppressively full\\nof information in all stuff of conversation, from mat-\\nter of fact to Xenophon and Plato can talk Greek\\nwith Porson, politics with Thelwall, conjecture with\\nGeorge Dyer, nonsense with me, and anything with\\nanybody; a great farmer, somewhat concerned in\\nan agricultural magazine reads no poetry but\\nShakspeare, very intimate with Southey, but never\\nreads his poetry relishes George Dyer, thoroughly\\npenetrates into the ridiculous wherever found, un-\\nderstands the ^rsf time (a great desideratum in\\n1 John Rickman, clerk-assistant at the table of the House\\nof Commons, an eminent statistician, and the intimate friend\\nof Lamb, Southey, and others of their set", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "132 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ncommon minds) you need never twice speak\\nto him does not want explanations, translations,\\nlimitations, as Professor Godwin does when you\\nmake an assertion up to anything, down to every-\\nthing, whatever sapit honiinem. A perfect man.\\nAll this farrago, which must perplex you to read,\\nand has put me to a little trouble to select, only\\nproves how impossible it is to describe a pleasant\\nhand. You must see Rickman to know him, for he\\nis a species in one, a new class an exotic, any\\nslip of which I am proud to put in my garden-pot.\\nThe clearest-headed fellow fullest of matter, with\\nleast verbosity. If there be any alloy in my fortune\\nto have met with such a man, it is that he com-\\nmonly divides his time between town and country,\\nhaving some foolish family ties at Christchurch, by\\nwhich means he can only gladden our London\\nhemisphere with returns of light. He is now going\\nfor six weeks.\\nXXXI.\\nTO MANNING.\\nNovember 28, 1800\\nDear Manning, I have received a very kind\\ninvitation from Lloyd and Sophia to go and spend\\na month with them at the Lakes. Now, it fortu-\\nnately happens (which is so seldom the case) that\\nI have spare cash by me enough to answer the\\nexpenses of so long a journey and I am deter-\\nmined to get away from the office by some means.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 133\\nThe purpose of this letter is to request of you (my\\ndear friend) that you will not take it unkind if I\\ndecline my proposed visit to Cambridge for the\\npresent. Perhaps I shall be able to take Cambridge\\nin my way, going or coming. I need not describe\\nto you the expectations which such an one as my-\\nself, pent up all my life in a dirty city, have formed\\nof a tour to the Lakes. Consider Grasmere Am-\\nbleside Wordsworth Coleridge Hills, woods,\\nlakes, and mountains, to the devil I will eat snipes\\nwith thee, Thomas Manning. Only confess, confess,\\na bite.\\nP. S. I think you named the i6th but was it\\nnot modest of Lloyd to send such an invitation\\nIt shows his knowledge of money and time. I\\nwould be loth to think he meant\\nIronic satire sidelong sklented\\nOn my poor pursie.\\nFor my part, with reference to my friends north-\\nward, I must confess that I am not romance-bit\\nabout Natttre, The earth and sea and sky (when\\nall is said) is but as a house to dwell in. If the\\ninmates be courteous, and good liquors flow like the\\nconduits at an old coronation, if they can talk sen-\\nsibly and feel properly, I have no need to stand\\nstaring upon the gilded looking-glass (that strained\\nmy friend s purse-strings in the purchase), nor his\\nfive-shilling print over the mantelpiece of old Nabbs\\nthe carrier (which only betrays his false taste).\\nJust as important to me (in a sense) is all the fur-\\nniture of my world, eye-pampering, but satisfies\\ni Burns.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "134 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nno heart. Streets, streets, streets, markets, the-\\natres, churches, Covent Gardens, shops sparkUng\\nwith pretty faces of industrious milUners, neat semp-\\nstresses, ladies cheapening, gentlemen behind coun-\\nters lying, authors in the street with spectacles,\\nGeorge Dyers (you may know them by their gait),\\nlamps lit at night, pastry-cooks and silversmiths\\nshops, beautiful Quakers of Pentonville, noise of\\ncoaches, drowsy cry of mechanic watchman at night,\\nwith bucks reeling home drunk if you happen to\\nwake at midnight, cries of Fire and Stop\\nthief! inns of court, with their learned air, and\\nhalls, and butteries, just like Cambridge colleges\\nold book-stalls, Jeremy Taylors, Burtons on Melan-\\ncholy, and Religio Medicis on every stall. These\\nare thy pleasures, O London with-the-many-sins\\nO City abounding in for these may Keswick\\nand her giant brood go hang\\nC. L.\\nXXXII.\\nTO MANNING.\\nDecember 27, 1800.\\nAt length George Dyer s phrenitis has come to\\na crisis he is raging and furiously mad. I waited\\nupon the Heathen, Thursday was a se nnight the\\nfirst symptom which struck my eye and gave me in-\\ncontrovertible proof of the fatal truth was a pair of\\nnankeen pantaloons four times too big for him,\\nwhich the said Heathen did pertinaciously affirm to\\nbe new.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 135\\nThey were absolutely ingrained with the accumu-\\nlated dirt of ages but he affirmed them to be\\nclean. He was going to visit a lady that was nice\\nabout those things, and that s the reason he wore\\nnankeen that day. And then he danced, and\\ncapered, and fidgeted, and pulled up his pantaloons,\\nand hugged his intolerable flannel vestment closer\\nabout his poetic loins anon he gave it loose to the\\nzephyrs which plentifully insinuate their tiny bodies\\nthrough every crevice, door, window, or wainscot,\\nexpressly formed for the exclusion of such imperti-\\nnents. Then he caught at a proof-sheet, and catched\\nup a laundress s bill instead made a dart at Bloom-\\nfield s Poems, and threw them in agony aside. I\\ncould not bring him to one direct reply he could\\nnot maintain his jumping mind in a right line for\\nthe tithe of a moment by Clifford s Inn clock. He\\nmust go to the printer s immediately, the most\\nunlucky accident he had struck off five hundred\\nimpressions of his Poems, which were ready for de-\\nlivery to subscribers, and the Preface must all be\\nexpunged. There were eighty pages of Preface,\\nand not till that morning had he discovered that in\\nthe very first page of said Preface he had set out\\nwith a principle of criticism fundamentally wrong,\\nwhich vitiated all his following reasoning. The Pre-\\nface must be expunged, although it cost him ;\u00c2\u00a3^30,\\nthe lowest calculation, taking in paper and print-\\ning In vain have his real friends remonstrated\\nagainst this Midsummer madness George is as\\nobstinate as a Primitive Christian, and wards and\\nparries off all our thrusts with one unanswerable", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "136 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nfence, Sir, it s of great consequence that the\\nworld is not misled!\\nMan of many snipes, I will sup with thee, Deo\\nvolente et diabolo nolente, on Monday night the\\n5 th of January, in the new year, and crush a cup to\\nthe infant century.\\nA word or two of my progress. Embark at six\\no clock in the morning, with a fresh gale, on a\\nCambridge one-decker; very cold till eight at\\nnight land at St. Mary s lighthouse, muffins and\\ncoffee upon table (or any other curious produc-\\ntion of Turkey or both Indies), snipes exactly at\\nnine, punch to commence at ten, with argumejit\\ndifference of opinion is expected to take place about\\neleven perfect unanimity, with some haziness and\\ndimness, before twelve. N. B. My single affec-\\ntion is not so singly wedded to snipes but the\\ncurious and epicurean eye would also take a pleasure\\nin beholding a delicate and well-chosen assortment\\nof teals, ortolans, the unctuous and palate-soothing\\nflesh of geese wild and tame, nightingales brains,\\nthe sensorium of a young sucking-pig, or any other\\nChristmas dish, which I leave to the judgment of\\nyou and the cook of Gonville.\\nC. Lamb.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 137\\nXXXIII.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\n(End of 1800\\nI SEND you, in this parcel, my play, which I beg\\nyou to present in my name, with my respect and\\nlove, to Wordsworth and his sister. You blame us\\nfor giving your direction to Miss Wesley; the\\nwoman has been ten times after us about it, and we\\ngave it her at last, under the idea that no further\\nharm would ensue, but she would once write to you,\\nand you would bite your lips and forget to answer\\nit, and so it would end. You read us a dismal\\nhomily upon Reahties. We know quite as well\\nas you do what are shadows and what are realities.\\nYou, for instance, when you are over your fourth or\\nfifth jorum, chirping about old school occurrences,\\nare the best of realities. Shadows are cold, thin\\nthings, that have no warmth or grasp in them.\\nMiss Wesley and her friend, and a tribe of author-\\nesses, that come after you here daily, and, in defect\\nof you, hive and cluster upon us, are the shadows.\\nYou encouraged that mopsey. Miss Wesley, to dance\\nafter you, in the hope of having her nonsense put\\ninto a nonsensical Anthology. We have pretty well\\nshaken her off, by that simple expedient of referring\\nher to you but there are more burrs in the wind.\\nI came home t other day from business, hungry as a\\nhunter, to dinner, with nothing, I am sure, of the\\nauthor but hunger about me, and whom found I", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "138 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ncloseted with Mary but a friend of this Miss Wesley,\\none Miss Benje, or Bengey/ I don t know how\\nshe spells her name. I just came in time enough, I\\nbelieve, luckily, to prevent them from exchanging\\nvows of eternal friendship. It seems she is one of\\nyour authoresses, that you first foster, and then\\nupbraid us with. But I forgive you. The rogue\\nhas given me potions to make me love him. Well\\ngo she would not, nor step a step over our threshold,\\ntill we had promised to come and drink tea with her\\nnext night. I had never seen her before, and could\\nnot tell who the devil it was that was so familiar. We\\nwent, however, not to be impolite. Her lodgings\\nare up two pairs of stairs in East Street. Tea and\\ncoffee and macaroons a kind of cake I much\\nlove. We sat down. Presently Miss Benje broke\\nthe silence by declaring herself quite of a different\\nopinion from DTsraeh, who supposes the differences\\nof human intellect to be the mere effect of organi-\\nzation. She begged to know my opinion. I at-\\ntempted to carry it off with a pun upon organ but\\nthat went off very flat. She immediately conceived\\na very low opinion of my metaphysics and turning\\nround to Mary, put some question to her in French,\\npossibly having heard that neither Mary nor I\\nunderstood French. The explanation that took\\nplace occasioned some embarrassment and much\\nwondering. She then fell into an insulting conver-\\nsation about the comparative genius and merits of\\nall modern languages, and concluded with asserting\\n1 Miss Elizabeth Benger See Dictionary of National\\nBiography, iv. 221.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 139\\nthat the Saxon was esteemed the purest dialect in\\nGermany. From thence she passed into the subject\\nof poetry, where I, who had hitherto sat mute and a\\nhearer only, humbly hoped I might now put in a\\nword to some advantage, seeing that it was my own\\ntrade in a manner. But I was stopped by a round\\nassertion that no good poetry had appeared since\\nDr. Johnson s time. It seems the Doctor had sup-\\npressed many hopeful geniuses that way by the\\nseverity of his critical strictures in his Lives of the\\nPoets. I here ventured to question the fact, and\\nwas beginning to appeal to names but I was assured\\nit was certainly the case. Then we discussed\\nMiss More s book on education, which I had never\\nread. It seems Dr. Gregory, another of Miss Ben-\\ngey s friends, has found fault with one of Miss\\nMore s metaphors. Miss More has been at some\\npains to vindicate herself, in the opinion of Miss\\nBengey, not without success. It seems the Doctor\\nis invariably against the use of broken or mixed\\nmetaphor, which he reprobates against the authority\\nof Shakspeare himself. We next discussed the\\nquestion whether Pope was a poet. I find Dr.\\nGregory is of opinion he was not, though Miss\\nSeward does not at all concur with him in this. We\\nthen sat upon the comparative merits of the ten\\ntranslations of Pizarro, and Miss Bengey, or\\nBenje, advised Mary to take two of them home she\\nthought it might afford her some pleasure to com-\\npare them verbatim which we declined. It being\\nnow nine o clock, wine and macaroons were again\\nserved round, and we parted, with a promise to go", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "I40 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nagain next week, and meet the Miss Porters, who, it\\nseems, have heard much of Mr. Coleridge, and wish\\nto meet us, because we are his friends. I have\\nbeen preparing for the occasion. I crowd cotton\\nin my ears. I read all the reviews and magazines of\\nthe past month against the dreadful meeting, and I\\nhope by these means to cut a tolerable second-rate\\nfigure.\\nPray let us have no more complaints about\\nshadows. We are in a fair way, through you, to\\nsurfeit sick upon them.\\nOur loves and respects to your host and hostess.\\nOur dearest love to Coleridge.\\nTake no thought about your proof-sheets; they\\nshall be done as if Woodfall himself did them. Pray\\nsend us word of Mrs. Coleridge and httle David\\nHartley, your little reality.\\nFarewell, dear Substance. Take no umbrage at\\nanything I have written.\\nC. Lamb, Umbra.\\nXXXIV.\\nTO WORDSWORTH.\\nJanuary, i8oi.\\nThanks for your letter and present. I had al-\\nready borrowed your second volume.-^ What pleases\\none most is The Song of Lucy. Simon s sickly\\nOf the Lyrical Ballads, then just published. For cer-\\ntain results of Lamb s strictures in this letter, see Letter\\nxxxvii.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 141\\nDaughter, in The Sexton, made me cry. Next\\nto these are the description of these continuous\\nechoes in the story of Joanna s Laugh, where the\\nmountains and all the scenery absolutely seem alive\\nand that fine Shakspearian character of the happy\\nman in the Brothers,\\nThat creeps about the fields,\\nFollowing his fancies by the hour, to bring\\nTears down his cheek, or solitary smiles\\nInto his face, until the setting sun\\nWrite Fool upon his forehead!\\nI will mention one more, the delicate and curi-\\nous feeling in the wish for the Cumberland Beg-\\ngar that he may have about him the melody of\\nbirds, although he hear them not. Here the mind\\nknowingly passes a fiction upon herself, first substi-\\ntuting her own feeling for the Beggar s, and in the\\nsame breath detecting the fallacy, will not part with\\nthe wish. The Poet s Epitaph is disfigured, to\\nmy taste, by the common satire upon parsons and\\nlawyers in the beginning, and the coarse epithet of\\npin-point, in the sixth stanza. All the rest is\\neminently good, and your own. I will just add that\\nit appears to me a fault in the Beggar that the\\ninstructions conveyed in it are too direct, and like\\na lecture they don t slide into the mind of the\\nreader while he is imagining no such matter. An\\nintelligent reader finds a sort of insult in being told,\\nI will teach you how to think upon this subject.\\nThis fault, if I am right, is in a ten-thousandth worse\\ndegree to be found in Sterne, and in many novelists\\nand modern poets, who continually put a sign-post", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "142 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nup to show where you are to feel. They set out\\nwith assuming their readers to be stupid, very dif-\\nferent from Robinson Crusoe, the Vicar of\\nWakefield, Roderick Random, and other beau-\\ntiful, bare narratives. There is implied an un-\\nwritten compact between author and reader I\\nwill tell you a story, and I suppose you will under-\\nstand it. Modern novels, St. Leons and the\\nlike, are full of such flowers as these, Let not\\nmy reader suppose Imagine, if you can, mod-\\nest, etc. I will here have done with praise and\\nblame. I have written so much only that you may\\nnot think I have passed over your book without\\nobservation. I am sorry that Coleridge has\\nchristened his Ancient Marinere, a Poet s Reve-\\nrie it is as bad as Bottom the Weaver s decla-\\nration that he is not a lion, but only the scenical\\nrepresentation of a lion. What new idea is gained\\nby this title but one subversive of all credit which\\nthe tale should force upon us of its truth\\nFor me, I was never so affected with any human\\ntale. After first reading it, I was totally possessed\\nwith it for many days. I dislike all the miraculous\\npart of it but the feelings of the man under the\\noperation of such scenery, dragged me along like\\nTom Pipe s magic whistle. I totally differ from\\nyour idea that the Marinere should have had a\\ncharacter and a profession. This is a beauty in\\nGulliver s Travels, where the mind is kept in a\\nplacid state of little wonderments but the An-\\ncient Marinere undergoes such trials as overwhelm\\nand bury all individuality or memory of what he", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 143\\nwas, like the state of a man in a bad dream, one\\nterrible peculiarity of which is, that all conscious-\\nness of personality is gone. Your other observation\\nis, I think as well, a little unfounded the Mari-\\nnere, from being conversant in supernatural events,\\nhas acquired a supernatural and strange cast of\\nphrase, eye, appearance, etc., which frighten the\\nwedding guest. You will excuse my remarks,\\nbecause I am hurt and vexed that you should think\\nit necessary, with a prose apology, to open the eyes\\nof dead men that cannot see.\\nTo sum up a general opinion of the second vol-\\nume, I do not feel any one poem in it so forcibly\\nas the Ancient Marinere and The Mad Mother,\\nand the Lines at Tintern Abbey in the first.\\nC. L.\\nXXXV.\\nTO WORDSWORTH.\\nJanuary 30, 180 1.\\nI OUGHT before this to have replied to your very\\nkind invitation into Cumberland. With you and\\nyour sister I could gang anywhere but I am afraid\\nwhether I shall ever be able to afford so desperate\\na journey. Separate from the pleasure of your com-\\npany, I don t much care if I never see a mountain\\nin my life. 1 have passed all my days in London,\\nuntil I have formed as many and intense local at-\\ntachments as any of you mountaineers can have\\ndone with dead nature. The lighted shops of the\\nStrand and Fleet Street the innumerable trades,", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "144 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ntradesmen, and customers coaches, wagons, play-\\nhouses all the bustle and wickedness round about\\nCovent Garden the very women of the town the\\nwatchmen, drunken scenes, rattles life awake, if\\nyou awake, at all hours of the night the impossi-\\nbihty of being dull in Fleet Street the crowds, the\\nvery dirt and mud, the sun shining upon houses and\\npavements the print-shops, the old-book stalls,\\nparsons cheapening books coffee-houses, steams\\nof soups from kitchens the pantomimes, London\\nitself a pantomime and a masquerade, all these\\nthings work themselves into my mind, and feed me\\nwithout a power of satiating me. The wonder of\\nthese sights impels me into night-walks about her\\ncrowded streets, and I often shed tears in the mot-\\nley Strand from fulness of joy at so much life. All\\nthese emotions must be strange to you so are\\nyour rural emotions to me. But consider what must\\nI have been doing all my life, not to have lent great\\nportions of my heart with usury to such scenes?\\nMy attachments are all local, purely local, I\\nhave no passion (or have had none since I was in\\nlove, and then it was the spurious engendering of\\npoetry and books) to groves and valleys. The\\nrooms where I was born, the furniture which has\\nbeen before my eyes all my life, a bookcase which\\nhas followed me about like a faithful dog (only\\nexceeding him in knowledge), wherever I have\\nmoved old chairs, old tables streets, squares,\\nwhere I have sunned myself; my old school,\\nthese are my mistresses. Have I not enough with-\\nout your mountains? I do not envy you. I should", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 145\\npity you, did I not know that the mind will make\\nfriends with anything. Your sun and moon, and\\nskies and hills and lakes, affect me no more or\\nscarcely come to be in more venerable characters,\\nthan as a gilded room with tapestry and tapers,\\nwhere I might live with handsome visible objects.\\nI consider the clouds above me but as a roof beau-\\ntifully painted, but unable to satisfy the mind, and\\nat last, like the pictures of the apartment of a con-\\nnoisseur, unable to afford him any longer a pleasure.\\nSo fading upon me, from disuse, have been the\\nbeauties of Nature, as they have been confidently\\ncalled j so ever fresh and green and warm are all\\nthe inventions of men and assemblies of men in\\nthis great city. I should certainly have kughed\\nwith dear Joanna.\\nGive my kindest love and my sister s to D. and\\nyourself. And a kiss from me to little Barbara\\nLewthwaite.-^ Thank you for liking my play\\nC.L.\\nXXXVI.\\nTO MANNING.\\nFebruary f 1801.\\nI AM going to change my lodgings, having re-\\nceived a hint that it would be agreeable, at our\\nLady s next feast. I have partly fixed upon most\\ndelectable rooms, which look out (when you stand\\na-tiptoe) over the Thames and Surrey Hills, at the\\n1. The child in Wordsworth s The Pet Lamb.\\n10", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "146 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nUpper end of King s Bench Walks, in the Temple.\\nThere I shall have all the privacy of a house without\\nthe encumbrance, and shall be able to lock my\\nfriends out as often as I desire to hold free converse\\nwith my immortal mind for my present lodgings\\nresemble a minister s levee, I have so increased my\\nacquaintance (as they call em), since I have re-\\nsided in town. Like the country mouse, that had\\ntasted a little of urban manners, I long to be nib-\\nbling my own cheese by my dear self without mouse-\\ntraps and time-traps. By my new plan, I shall be\\nas airy, up four pair of stairs, as in the country;\\nand in a garden, in the midst of enchanting, more\\nthan Mahometan paradise, London, whose dirtiest\\ndrab-frequented alley, and her lowest-bowing trades-\\nman, I would not exchange for Skiddaw, Helvellyn,\\nJames, Walter, and the parson into the bargain.\\nOh, her lamps of a night her rich goldsmiths, print-\\nshops, toy-shops, mercers, hardwaremen, pastry-\\ncooks St. Paul s Churchyard the Strand Exeter\\nChange Charing Cross, with a man upon a black\\nhorse These are thy gods, O London Ain t\\nyou mightily moped on the banks of the Cam?\\nHad not you better come and set up here You\\ncan t think what a difference. All the streets and\\npavements are pure gold, I warrant you, at least,\\nI know an alchemy that turns her mud into that\\nmetal a mind that loves to be at home in crowds.\\nT is half-past twelve o clock, and all sober people\\nought to be a-bed. Between you and me, the L.\\nBallads are but drowsy performances.\\nC. Lamb (as you may guess)", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 147\\nXXXVII.\\nTO MANNING.\\nFebruary 15, 1801.\\nI HAD need be cautious henceforward what opin-\\nion I give of the Lyrical Ballads. All the North\\nof England are in a turmoil. Cumberland and\\nWestmoreland have already declared a state of war.\\nI lately received from Wordsworth a copy of the\\nsecond volume, accompanied by an acknowledg-\\nment of having received from me many months\\nsince a copy of a certain tragedy, with excuses for not\\nhaving made any acknowledgment sooner, it being\\nowing to an almost insurmountable aversion from\\nletter-writing. This letter I answered in due form\\nand time, and enumerated several of the passages\\nwhich had most affected me, adding, unfortunately,\\nthat no single piece had moved me so forcibly\\nas the Ancient Mariner, The Mad Mother,\\nor the Lines at Tintern Abbey. The Post did\\nnot sleep a moment. I received almost instantane-\\nously a long letter of four sweating pages from my\\nReluctant Letter- Writer, the purport of which was\\nthat he was sorry his second volume had not given me\\nmore pleasure (Devil a hint did I give that it had\\nnot pleased me), and was compelled to wish that\\nmy range of sensibility was more extended, being\\nobliged to believe that I should receive large in-\\nfluxes of happiness and happy thoughts (I suppose", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "148 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nfrom the L. B.), with a deal of stuff about a cer-\\ntain Union of Tenderness and Imagination, which,\\nin the sense he used Imagination, was not the char-\\nacteristic of Shakspeare, but which Mihon pos-\\nsessed in a degree far exceeding other Poets which\\nunion, as the highest species of poetry, and chiefly\\ndeserving that name, he was most proud to aspire\\nto then illustrating the said union by two quota-\\ntions from his own second volume (which I had been\\nso unfortunate as to miss.) First specimen A father\\naddresses his son\\nWhen thou\\nFirst earnest into the World, as it befalls\\nTo new-born infants, thou didst sleep away\\nTwo days and blessings from thy father^ s tongue\\nThe ?i fell upon thee.\\nThe lines were thus undermarked, and then followed,\\nThis passage, as combining in an extraordinary\\ndegree that union of tenderness and imagination\\nwhich I am speaking of, I consider as one of the\\nbest I ever wrote.\\nSecond specimen A youth, after years of ab-\\nsence, revisits his native place, and thinks (as most\\npeople do) that there has been strange alteration in\\nhis absence,\\nAnd that the rocks\\nAnd everlasting hills themselves were changed.\\nYou see both these are good poetry but after\\none has been reading Shakspeare twenty of the\\nbest years of one s life, to have a fellow start up and\\nprate about some unknown quality which Shak-\\nspeare possessed in a degree inferior to Milton and", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 149\\nsomebody else I This was not to be all my castiga-\\ntion. Coleridge, who had not written to me for\\nsome months before, starts up from his bed of sick-\\nness to reprove me for my tardy presumption j four\\nlong pages, equally sweaty and more tedious, came\\nfrom him, assuring me that when the works of a\\nman of true genius, such as W. undoubtedly was,\\ndo not please me at first sight, I should expect the\\nfault to He in me, and not in them, etc. What\\nam I to do with such people? I certainly shall\\nwrite them a very merry letter. Writing to you, I\\nmay say that the second volume has no such pieces\\nas the three I enumerated. It is full of original\\nthinking and an observing mind but it does not\\noften make you laugh or cry. It too artfully aims\\nat simplicity of expression. And you sometimes\\ndoubt if simplicity be not a cover for poverty. The\\nbest piece in it I will send you, being short. I\\nhave grievously offended my friends in the North\\nby declaring my undue preference but I need\\nnot fear you.\\nShe dwelt among the untrodden ways\\nBeside the Springs of Dove,\\nA maid whom there were few {sic) to praise,\\nAnd very few to love.\\nA violet, by a mossy stone\\nHalf hidden from the eye,\\nFair as a star when only one\\nIs shining in the sky.\\nShe lived unknown and few could know\\nWhen Lucy ceased to be;\\nBut she is in the grave, and oh,\\nThe difference to me", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "150 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nThis is choice and genuine, and so are many,\\nmany more. But one does not Hke to have em\\nrammed down one s throat. Pray take it, it s\\nvery good let me help you, eat faster.\\nXXXVIII.\\nTO MANNING.\\nSeptember 24, 1802\\nMy dear Manning, Since the date of my last\\nletter, I have been a traveller. A strong desire\\nseized me of visiting remote regions. My first im-\\npulse was to go and see Paris. It was a trivial\\nobjection to my aspiring mind that I did not\\nunderstand a word of the language, since I cer-\\ntainly intend some time in my life to see Paris, and\\n.equally certainly never intend to learn the language\\ntherefore that could be no objection. However, I\\nam very glad I did not go, because you had left\\nParis (I see) before I could have set out. I be-\\nlieve Stoddart promising to go with me another year\\nprevented that plan. My next scheme (for to my\\nrestless, ambitious mind London was become a bed\\nof thorns) was to visit the far-famed peak in Der-\\nbyshire, where the Devil sits, they say, without\\nbreeches. This my purer mind rejected as indeli-\\ncate. And my final resolve was a tour to the Lakes.\\nI set out with Mary to Keswick, without giving Cole-\\nridge any notice for my time, being precious, did\\nnot admit of it. He received us with all the hospi-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 151\\ntality in the world, and gave up his time to show us\\nall the wonders of the country. He dwells upon a\\nsmall hill by the side of Keswick, in a comfortable\\nhouse, quite enveloped on all sides by a net of moun-\\ntains, great floundering bears and monsters they\\nseemed, all couchant and asleep. We got in in the\\nevening, travelling in a post-chaise from Penrith,\\nin the midst of a gorgeous sunshine, which trans-\\nmuted all the mountains into colors, purple, etc. We\\nthought we had got into fairy-land. But that went\\noff (as it never came again while we stayed, we had\\nno more fine sunsets) and we entered Coleridge s\\ncomfortable study just in the dusk, when the moun-\\ntains were all dark, with clouds upon their heads.\\nSuch an impression I never received from objects of\\nsight before, nor do I suppose that I can ever again.\\nGlorious creatures, fine old fellows, Skiddaw, etc.\\nI never shall forget ye, how ye lay about that night,\\nlike an intrenchment gone to bed, as it seemed\\nfor the night, but promising that ye were to be seen\\nin the morning. Coleridge had got a blazing fire\\nin his study, which is a large, antique, ill-shaped\\nroom, with an old-fashioned organ, never played\\nupon, big enough for a church, shelves of scattered\\nfolios, an ^olian harp, and an old sofa, half-bed,\\netc. and all looking out upon the last fading view\\nof Skiddaw and his broad-breasted brethren. What\\na night Here we stayed three full weeks, in which\\ntime I visited Wordsworth s cottage, where we stayed\\na day or two with the Clarksons (good people and\\nmost hospitable, at whose house we tarried one day\\nand night), and saw Lloyd. The Wordsworths were", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "152 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB,\\ngone to Calais. They have since been in London,\\nand passed much time with us he has now gone\\ninto Yorkshire to be married. So we have seen\\nKeswick, Grasmere, Ambleside, Ulswater (where\\nthe Clarksons live), and a place at the other end\\nof Ulswater, I forget the name,i to which we\\ntravelled on a very sultry day, over the middle of\\nHelvellyn. We have clambered up to the top of\\nSkiddaw, and I have waded up the bed of Lodore.\\nIn fine, I have satisfied myself that there is such a\\nthing as that which tourists call romantic, which I\\nvery much suspected before they make such a\\nspluttering about it, and toss their splendid epithets\\naround them, till they give as dim a light as at four\\no clock next morning the lamps do after an illumi-\\nnation. Mary was excessively tired when she got\\nabout half way up Skiddaw but we came to a cold\\nrill (than which nothing can be imagined more cold,\\nrunning over cold stones), and with the reinforce-\\nment of a draught of cold water she surmounted it\\nmost manfully. Oh, its fine black head, and the\\nbleak air atop of it, with a prospect of mountains all\\nabout and about, making you giddy and then Scot-\\nland afar off, and the border countries so famous in\\nsong and ballad It was a day that will stand out\\nlike a mountain, I am sure, in my life. But I am\\nreturned (I have now been come home near three\\nweeks; I was a month out), and you cannot con-\\nceive the degradation I felt at first, from being ac-\\ncustomed to wander free as air among mountains,\\nand bathe in rivers without being controlled by any\\n1 Patterdale.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 153\\none, to come home and work. I felt very little.\\nI had been dreaming I was a very great man. But\\nthat is going off, and I find I shall conform in time\\nto that state of life to which it has pleased God to\\ncall me. Besides, after all, Fleet Street and the\\nStrand are better places to live in for good and all\\nthan amidst Skiddaw. Still, I turn back to those\\ngreat places where I wandered about, participating\\nin their greatness. After all, I could not live in\\nSkiddaw. I could spend a year, two, three years\\namong them but I must have a prospect of seeing\\nFleet Street at the end of that time, or I should\\nmope and pine away, I know. Still, Skiddaw is a\\nfine creature.\\nMy habits are changing, I think, e., from\\ndrunk to sober. Whether I shall be happier or\\nnot, remains to be proved. I shall certainly be\\nmore happy in a morning; but whether I shall\\nnot sacrifice the fat and the marrow and the kid-\\nneys, the night, glorious, care-drowning\\nnight, that heals all our wrongs, pours wine into our\\nmortifications, changes the scene from indifferent\\nand fiat to bright and brilliant? O Manning, if I\\nshould have formed a diabolical resolution, by the\\ntime you come to England, of not admitting any\\nspirituous liquors into my house, will you be my guest\\non such shameworthy terms Is life, with such lim-\\nitations, worth trying The truth is, that my liquors\\nbring a nest of friendly harpies about my house, who\\nconsume me. This is a pitiful tale to be read at St.\\nGothard but it is just now nearest my heart.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "154 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nXXXIX.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nOctober 23, 1802.\\nI READ daily your political essays. I was particu-\\nlarly pleased with Once a Jacobin; though the\\nargument is obvious enough, the style was less swell-\\ning than your things sometimes are, and it was plaus-\\nible ad populum. A vessel has just arrived from\\nJamaica with the news of poor Sam Le Grice s death.\\nHe died at Jamaica of the yellow fever. His course\\nwas rapid, and he had been very foolish but I be-\\nlieve there was more of kindness and warmth in him\\nthan in almost any other of our schoolfellows. The\\nannual meeting of the Blues is to-morrow, at the\\nLondon Tavern, where poor Sammy dined with\\nthem two years ago, and attracted the notice of all\\nby the singular foppishness of his dress. When\\nmen go off the stage so early, it scarce seems a\\nnoticeable thing in their epitaphs, whether they had\\nbeen wise or silly in their lifetime.\\nI am glad the snuff and Pi-pos s books please.\\nGoody Two Shoes is almost out of print. Mrs.\\nBarbauld s stuff has banished all the old classics of\\nthe nursery and the shopman at Newberry s hardly\\ndeigned to reach them off an old exploded corner of\\na shelf, when Mary asked for them. Mrs. B. s and\\nMrs. Trimmer s nonsense lay in piles about. Knowl-\\nedge insignificant and vapid as Mrs. B. s books con-\\nvey, it seems, must come to the child in the shape", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 155\\nof knowledge, and his empty noddle must be turned\\nwith conceit of his own powers when he has learned\\nthat a horse is an animal, and Billy is better than a\\nhorse, and such like instead of that beautiful inter-\\nest in wild tales which made the child a man, while\\nall the time he suspected himself to be no bigger\\nthan a child. Science has succeeded to poetry no\\nless in the little walks of children than with men.\\nIs there no possibility of averting this sore evil?\\nThink what you would have been now, if instead of\\nbeing fed with tales and old wives fables in child-\\nhood, you had been crammed with geography and\\nnatural history\\nHang them I mean the cursed Barbauld crew,\\nthose blights and blasts of all that is human in man\\nand child.\\nAs to the translations, let me do two or three\\nhundred lines, and then do you try the nostrums\\nupon Stuart in any way you please. If they go\\ndown, I will bray more. In fact, if I got or could\\nbut get ^50 a year only, in addition to what I\\nhave, I should live in affluence.\\nHave you anticipated it, or could not you give\\na parallel of Bonaparte with Cromwell, particularly\\nas to the contrast in their deeds affecting foreign\\nStates? Cromwell s interference for the Albigenses,\\nB[onaparte] s against the Swiss. Then religion\\nwould come in and Milton and you could rant\\nabout our countrymen of that period. This is a\\nhasty suggestion, the more hasty because I want my\\nsupper. I have just finished Chapman s Homer.\\nDid you ever read it? It has most the continuous", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "156 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\npower of interesting you all along, like a rapid\\noriginal, of any, and in the uncommon excellence of\\nthe more finished parts goes beyond Fairfax or any\\nof em. The metre is fourteen syllables, and ca-\\npable of all sweetness and grandeur. Cowper s\\nponderous blank verse detains you every step with\\nsome heavy Miltonism Chapman gallops off with\\nyou his own free pace. Take a simile, for example.\\nThe council breaks up,\\nBeing abroad, the earth was overlaid\\nWith flockers to them, that came forth as when of frequent\\nbees\\nSwarms rise out of a hollow rock, repairing the degrees\\nOf their egression endlessly, with ever rising new\\nFrom forth their sweet nest as their store, still as it faded,\\ngrew,\\nAnd never would cease sending forth her clusters to the spring,\\nThey still crowd out so this flock here, that there, belaboring\\nThe loaded flowers. So, etc.\\nWhat endless egression of phrases the dog com-\\nmands\\nTake another, Agamemnon, wounded, bearing\\nhis wound heroically for the sake of the army (look\\nbelow) to a woman in labor\\nHe with his lance, sword, mighty stones, poured his heroic\\nwreak\\nOn other squadrons of the foe, whiles yet warm blood did\\nbreak\\nThro his cleft veins but when the wound was quite ex-\\nhaust and crude.\\nThe eager anguish did approve his princely fortitude.\\nAs when most sharp and bitter pangs distract a laboring\\ndame.\\nWhich the divine Ilithiae, that rule the painful frame", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 15 7\\nOf human childbirth, pour on her the Ilithiae that are\\nThe daughters of Saturnia with whose extreme repair\\nThe woman in her travail strives to take the worst it gives\\nWith thought, it must be, His love s fruit, the end for which\\nshe lives\\nThe mean to make herself new born, what comforts will re-\\ndound\\nSo, etc.\\nI will tell you more about Chapman and his pecu-\\nUarities in my next. I am much interested in him.\\nYours ever affectionately, and Pi-Pos s,\\nC. L.\\nXL.\\nTO MANNING.\\nNovember, 1802.\\nMy dear Manning, I must positively write, or\\nI shall miss you at Toulouse. I sit here like a\\ndecayed minute-hand (I lie that does not sit), and\\nbeing myself the exponent of no time, take no\\nheed how the clocks about me are going. You\\npossibly by this time may have explored all Italy,\\nand toppled, unawares, into Etna, while you went\\ntoo near those rotten-jawed, gap-toothed, old worn-\\nout chaps of hell, while I am meditating a quies-\\ncent letter to the honest postmaster at Toulouse.\\nBut in case you should not have been/^/(? de se, this\\nis to tell you that your letter was quite to my palate\\nin particular your just remarks upon Industry,\\ncursed Industry (though indeed you left me to\\nexplore the reason), were highly relishing.\\nI ve often wished I lived in the Golden Age,", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "158 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nbefore doubt, and propositions, and corollaries, got\\ninto the world. Now, as Joseph Cottle, a Bard of\\nNature, sings, going up Malvern Hills,\\nHow steep, how painful the ascent\\nIt needs the evidence of close deduction\\nTo know that ever I shall gain the top,\\nYou must know that Joe is lame, so that he had\\nsome reason for so singing. These two lines, I\\nassure you, are taken toiide^n Uteris from a very\\npopular poem. Joe is also an epic poet as well as\\na descriptive, and has written a tragedy, though\\nboth his drama and epopoiea are strictly descriptive,\\nand chiefly of the beauties of nature, for Joe thinks\\nman, with all his passions and frailties, not a proper\\nsubject of the drama. Joe s tragedy hath the fol-\\nlowing surpassing speech in it. Some king is told\\nthat his enemy has engaged twelve archers to come\\nover in a boat from an enemy s country and way-lay\\nhim he thereupon pathetically exclaims,\\nTwelve, dost thou say Curse on those dozen villains\\nCottle read two or three acts out to us, very gravely\\non both sides, till he came to this heroic touch,\\nand then he asked what we laughed at? I had no\\nmore muscles that day. A poet that chooses to\\nread out his own verses has but a limited power\\nover you. There is a bound where his authority\\nceases.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 159\\nXLI.\\nTO MANNING.\\nFebruary 19, 1803.\\nMy dear Manning, The general scope of your\\nletter afforded no indications of insanity, but some\\nparticular points raised a scruple. For God s sake,\\ndon t think any more of Independent Tartary.\\nWhat are you to do among such Ethiopians? Is\\nthere no lineal descendant of Prester John Is the\\nchair empty? Is the sword unswayed? Depend\\nupon it, they 11 never make you their king as long\\nas any branch of that great stock is remaining. I\\ntremble for your Christianity. They will certainly\\ncircumcise you. Read Sir John Mandeville s trav-\\nels to cure you, or come over to England. There\\nis a Tartar man now exhibiting at Exeter Change.\\nCome and talk with him, and hear what he says\\nfirst. Indeed, he is no very favorable specimen\\nof his countrymen But perhaps the best thing\\nyou can do is to try to get the idea out of your\\nhead. For this purpose repeat to yourself every\\nnight, after you have said your prayers, the words\\nIndependent Tartary, Independent Tartary, two\\nor three times, and associate with them the idea of\\noblivion tis Hartley s method with obstinate me-\\nmories) or say Independent, Independent, have\\nI not already got an independence That was\\n1 Manning had evidently written to Lamb as to his cher-\\nished project of exploring remoter China and Thibet.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "i6o LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\na clever way of the old Puritans, pun-divinity.\\nMy dear friend, think what a sad pity it would be\\nto bury such pai-ts in heathen countries, among\\nnasty, unconversable, horse-belching, Tartar people\\nSome say they are cannibals and then conceive\\na Tartar fellow eating my friend, and adding the\\ncool jiialignity of mustard and vinegar I am\\nafraid t is the reading of Chaucer has misled you\\nhis foolish stories about Cambuscan and the ring,\\nand the horse of brass. Believe me, there are no\\nsuch things, t is all the poet s invention but if\\nthere were such darling things as old Chaucer sings,\\nI would up behind you on the horse of brass, and\\nfrisk off for Prester John s country. But these are\\nall tales a horse of brass never flew, and a king s\\ndaughter never talked with birds The Tartars\\nreally are a cold, insipid, smouchy set. You 11 be\\nsadly moped (if you are not eaten) among them.\\nPray try and cure yourself. Take hellebore (the\\ncounsel is Horace s t was none of my thought\\noriginally Shave yourself oftener. Eat no saf-\\nfron, for saffron- eaters contract a terrible Tartar-\\nlike yellow. Pray to avoid the fiend. Eat nothing\\nthat gives the heartburn. Shave the upper lip. Go\\nabout like an European. Read no book of voyages\\n(they are nothing but lies) only now and then a\\nromance, to keep the fancy under. Above all,\\ndon t go to any sights of wild beasts. That has\\nbeen your ruin. Accustom yourself to write fa-\\nmiliar letters on common subjects to your friends in\\nEngland, such as are of a moderate understanding.\\nAnd think about common things more. I supped", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. i6i\\nlast night with Rickman, and met a merry natural\\ncaptain, who pleases himself vastly with once having\\nmade a pun at Otaheite in the O. language. T is\\nthe same man who said Shakspeare he liked, be-\\ncause he was so 7nuch of the gentleman. Rickman\\nis a man absolute in all numbers. I think I\\nmay one day bring you acquainted, if you do not\\ngo to Tartary first for you 11 never come back.\\nHave a care, my dear friend, of Anthropophagi\\ntheir stomachs are always craving. Tis terrible\\nto be weighed out at fivepence a pound. To sit at\\ntable (the reverse of fishes in Holland), not as a\\nguest, but as a meat\\nGod bless you do come to England. Air and\\nexercise may do great things. Talk with some\\nminister. Why not your father?\\nGod dispose all for the best I have discharged\\nmy duty.\\nYour sincere friend,\\nC. Lamb.\\nXLII.\\nTO MANNING.\\nFebruary, 1803.\\nNot a sentence, not a syllable, of Trismegistus\\nshall be lost through my neglect. I am his word-\\nbanker, his storekeeper of puns and syllogisms.\\nYou cannot conceive (and if Trismegistus cannot,\\nno man can) the strange joy which I felt at the\\nreceipt of a letter from Paris. It seemed to give\\nme a learned importance which placed me above\\nII", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "1 62 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nall who had not Parisian correspondents. Believe\\nthat I shall carefully husband every scrap, which\\nwill save you the trouble of memory when you\\ncome back. You cannot write things so trifling,\\nlet them only be about Paris, which I shall not\\ntreasure. In particular, I must have parallels of\\nactors and actresses. I must be told if any build-\\ning in Paris is at all comparable to St. Paul s, which,\\ncontrary to the usual mode of that part of our\\nnature called admiration, I have looked up to with\\nunfading wonder every morning at ten o clock, ever\\nsince it has lain in my way to business. At noon\\nI casually glance upon it, being hungry and hun-\\nger has not much taste for the fine arts. Is any\\nnight- walk comparable to a walk from St. Paul s\\nto Charing Cross, for lighting and paving, crowds\\ngoing and coming without respite, the rattle of\\ncoaches, and the cheerfulness of shops? Have you\\nseen a man guillotined yet is it as good as hang-\\ning? Are the women all painted, and the men all\\nmonkeys? or are there not a few that look like\\nrational of both sexes Are you and the First\\nConsul thick All this expense of ink I may fairly\\nput you to, as your letters will not be solely for my\\nproper pleasure, but are to serve as memoranda\\nand notices, helps for short memory, a kind of\\nRumfordizing recollection, for yourself on your re-\\nturn. Your letter was just what a letter should\\nbe, crammed and very funny. Every part of it\\npleased me, till you came to Paris, and your philo-\\nsophical indolence or indifference stung me. You\\ncannot stir from your rooms till you know the", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 163\\nlanguage What the devil are men nothing but\\nword-trumpets Are men all tongue and ear Have\\nthese creatures, that you and I profess to know\\nsomething about, no faces, gestures, gabble no\\nfolly, no absurdity, no induction of French educa-\\ntion upon the abstract idea of men and women\\nno similitude nor dissimilitude to Enghsh? Why,\\nthou cursed Smellfungus your account of your\\nlanding and reception, and Bullen (I forget how\\nyou spell it,, it was spelt my way in Harry the\\nEighth s time), was exactly in that minute style\\nwhich strong impressions inspire (writing to a\\nFrenchman, I write as a Frenchman would). It\\nappears to me as if I should die with joy at the\\nfirst landing in a foreign country. It is the nearest\\npleasure which a grown man can substitute for that\\nunknown one, which he can never know, the plea-\\nsure of the first entrance into life from the womb.\\nI daresay, in a short time, my habits would come\\nback like a stronger man armed, and drive out\\nthat new pleasure and I should soon sicken for\\nknown objects. Nothing has transpired here that\\nseems to me of sufficient importance to send dry-\\nshod over the water but I suppose you will want\\nto be told some news. The best and the worst\\nto me is, that I have given up two guineas a week\\nat the Post, and regained my health and spirits,\\nwhich were upon the wane. I grew sick, and\\nStuart unsatisfied. Ludisti satis, tempus abire est\\nI must cut closer, that s all. Mister Fell or as\\nyou, with your usual facetiousness and drollery, call\\nhim, Mr. F -f- has stopped short in the middle", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "1 64 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nof his play. Some friend has told him that it has\\nnot the least merit in it. Oh that I had the recti-\\nfying of the Litany I would put in a Libera nos\\n{Scriptores videlicet) ab amicis That s all the\\nnews. A propos (is it pedantry, writing to a\\nFrenchman, to express myself sometimes by a\\nFrench word, when an English one would not do\\nas well Methinks my thoughts fall naturally into\\nit)-\\nIn all this time I have done but one thing which I\\nreckon tolerable, and that I will transcribe, because\\nit may give you pleasure, being a picture of my\\nhumors. You will find it in my last page. It\\nabsurdly is a first number of a series, thus strangled\\nin its birth.\\nMore news The Professor s Rib has come out\\nto be a disagreeable woman, so much so as to drive\\nme and some more old cronies from his house.\\nHe must not wonder if people are shy of coming\\nto see him because of the Snakes.\\nC. L.\\nXLIII.\\nTO WILLIAM GODWIN.\\nNovember \\\\o, 1803.\\nDear Godwin, You never made a more unlucky\\nand perverse mistake than to suppose that the rea-\\nson of my not writing that cursed thing was to be\\nfound in your book. I assure you most sincerely\\n1 Mrs. Godwin.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 165\\nthat I have been greatly delighted with Chaucer.\\nI may be wrong, but I think there is one consider-\\nable error runs through it, which is a conjecturing\\nspirit, a fondness for filling out the picture by sup-\\nposing what Chaucer did and how he felt, where the\\nmaterials are scanty. So far from meaning to with-\\nhold from you (out of mistaken tenderness) this\\nopinion of mine, I plainly told Mrs. Godwin that I\\ndid find default, which I should reserve naming until\\nI should see you and talk it over. This she may\\nvery well remember, and also that I declined nam-\\ning this fault until she drew it from me by asking\\nme if there was not too much fancy in the work.\\nI then confessed generally what I felt, but refused to\\ngo into particulars until I had seen you. I am never\\nvery fond of saying things before third persons, be-\\ncause in the relation (such is human nature) some-\\nthing is sure to be dropped. If Mrs. Godwin has\\nbeen the cause of your misconstruction, I am very\\nangry, tell her yet it is not an anger unto death. I\\nremember also telling Mrs. G. (which she may have\\ndropi) that I was by turns considerably more de-\\nlighted than I expected. But I wished to reserve\\nall this until I saw you. I even had conceived an\\nexpression to meet you with, which was thanking\\nyou for some of the most exquisite pieces of criti-\\ncism I had ever read in my life. In particular, I\\nshould have brought forward that on Troilus and\\nCressida and Shakspeare, which, it is little to say,\\nGodwin s Life of Chaucer, a work, says Canon\\nAinger, consisting of four fifths ingenious guessing to one\\nfifth of material having any historic basis.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "1 66 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ndelighted me and instructed me (if not absolutely in-\\nstructed va^^ yet put vcilQ full- grown sense many con-\\nceptions which had arisen in me before in my most\\ndiscriminating moods) All these things I was pre-\\nparing to say, and bottling them up till I came,\\nthinking to please my friend and host the author,\\nwhen lo this deadly blight intervened.\\nI certainly ought to make great allowances for\\nyour misunderstanding me. You, by long habits of\\ncomposition and a greater command gained over\\nyour own powers, cannot conceive of the desultory\\nand uncertain way in which I (an author by fits)\\nsometimes cannot put the thoughts of a common let-\\nter into sane prose. Any work which I take upon\\nmyself as an engagement will act upon me to tor-\\nment e.g.. when I have undertaken, as three or\\nfour times I have, a school-boy copy of verses for\\nMerchant Taylors boys, at a guinea a copy, I have\\nfretted over them in perfect inability to do them, and\\nhave made my sister wretched with my wretchedness\\nfor a week together. The same, till by habit I have\\nacquired a mechanical command, I have felt in\\nmaking paragraphs. As to reviewing, in particular,\\nmy head is so whimsical a head that I cannot, after\\nreading another man s book, let it have been never\\nso pleasing, give any account of it in any methodical\\nway. I cannot follow his train. Something like this\\nyou must have perceived of me in conversation.\\nTen thousand times I have confessed to you, talking\\nof my talents, my utter inability to remember in any\\ncomprehensive way what I read. I can vehemently\\napplaud, or perversely stickle, at pai ts but I can-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 167\\nnot grasp at a whole. This infirmity (which is noth-\\ning to brag of) may be seen in my two Uttle composi-\\ntions, the tale and my play, in both which no reader,\\nhowever partial, can find any story. I wrote such\\nstuff about Chaucer, and got into such digressions,\\nquite irreducible into i column of a paper, that I\\nwas perfectly ashamed to show it you. However, it\\nis become a serious matter that I should convince\\nyou I neither slunk from the task through a wilful\\ndeserting neglect, or through any (most imaginary\\non your part) distaste of Chaucer and I will try\\nmy hand again, I hope with better luck. My health\\nis bad, and my time taken up but all I can spare\\nbetween this and Sunday shall be employed for you,\\nsince you desire it and if I bring you a crude,\\nwretched paper on Sunday, you must burn it, and\\nforgive me if it proves anything better than I pre-\\ndict, may it be a peace-oifering of sweet incense\\nbetween us\\nC. Lamb.\\nXLIV.\\nTO MANNING.\\nFebruary 24, 1805.\\nDear Manning, I have been very unwell since\\nI saw you. A sad depression of spirits, a most un-\\naccountable nervousness from which I have been\\npartially relieved by an odd accident. You knew\\nDick Hopkins, the swearing scullion of Caius?\\nThis fellow, by industry and agility, has thrust him-\\nself into the important situations (no sinecures, be-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "1 68 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB,\\nlieve me) of cook to Trinity Hall and Caius College\\nand the generous creature has contrived, with the\\ngreatest delicacy imaginable, to send me a present\\nof Cambridge brawn. What makes it the more\\nextraordinary is, that the man never saw me in his\\nlife that I know of. I suppose he has heard of me.\\nI did not immediately recognize the donor but one\\nof Richard s cards, which had accidentally fallen into\\nthe straw, detected him in a moment. Dick, you\\nknow, was always remarkable for flourishing. His\\ncard imports that orders [to wit, for brawn] from\\nany part of England, Scotland, or Ireland, will be\\nduly executed, etc. At first I thought of declin-\\ning the present but Richard knew my blind side\\nwhen he pitched upon brawn. T is of all my hob-\\nbies the supreme in the eating way. He might have\\nsent sops from the pan, skimmings, crumpets, chips,\\nhog s lard, the tender brown judiciously scalped\\nfrom a fillet of veal (dexterously replaced by a\\nsalamander), the tops of asparagus, fugitive livers,\\nrunaway gizzards of fowls, the eyes of martyred pigs,\\ntender effusions of laxative woodcocks, the red\\nspawn of lobsters, leverets ears, and such pretty\\nfilchings common to cooks but these had been\\nordinary presents, the everyday courtesies of dish-\\nwashers to their sweethearts. Brawn was a noble\\nthought. It is not every common gullet- fancier that\\ncan properly esteem it. It is like a picture of\\none of the choice old Italian masters. Its gusto is\\nof that hidden sort. As Wordsworth sings of a\\nmodest poet, you must love him, ere to you he\\nwill seem worthy of your love, so brawn, you must", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 169\\ntaste it, ere to you it will seem to have any taste at\\nall. But tis nuts to the adept, those that will send\\nout their tongues and feelers to find it out. It will\\nbe wooed, and not unsought be won. Now, ham-\\nessence, lobsters, turtle, such popular minions, abso-\\nlutely court you, lay themselves out to strike you at\\nfirst smack, like one of David s pictures (they call\\nhim Darveed), compared with the plain russet-\\ncoated wealth of a Titian or a Correggio, as I illus-\\ntrated above. Such are the obvious glaring heathen\\nvirtues of a corporation dinner, compared with the\\nreserved collegiate worth of brawn. Do me the\\nfavour to leave oif the business which you may be\\nat present upon, and go immediately to the kitchens\\nof Trinity and Caius, and make my most respectful\\ncompliments to Mr. Richard Hopkins, and assure\\nhim that his brawn is most excellent, and that I\\nam moreover obliged to him for his innuendo about\\nsalt water and bran, which I shall not fail to im-\\nprove. I leave it to you whether you shall choose\\nto pay him the civility of asking him to dinner while\\nyou stay in Cambridge, or in whatever other way you\\nmay best like to show your gratitude to my friend.\\nRichard Hopkins, considered in many points of\\nview, is a very extraordinary character. Adieu. I\\nhope to see you to supper in London soon, where\\nwe will taste Richard s brawn, and drink his health\\nin a cheerful but moderate cup. We have not many\\nsuch men in any rank of hfe as Mr. R. Hopkins.\\nCrisp the barber, of St. Mary s, was just such an-\\nother. I wonder he never sent me any little token,\\nsome chestnuts, or a puff, or two pound of hair just", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "170 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nto remember him by gifts are like nails. Prcesens\\nut absens, that is, your present makes amends for\\nyour absence.\\nYours,\\nC. Lamb.\\nXLV.\\nTO MISS WORDSWORTH.\\nJune 14, 1805.\\nMy dear Miss Wordsworth, I have every rea-\\nson to suppose that this illness, like all Mary s\\nformer ones, will be but temporary. But I cannot\\nalways feel so. Meantime she is dead to me, and\\nI miss a prop. All my strength is gone, and I am\\nlike a fool, bereft of her co-operation. I dare not\\nthink, lest I should think wrong so used am I to\\nlook up to her in the least and the biggest perplexity.\\nTo say all that I know of her, would be more than\\nI think anybody could believe or ever understand\\nand when I hope to have her well again with me,\\nit would be sinning against her feelings to go about\\nto praise her for I can conceal nothing that I do\\nfrom her. She is older and wiser and better than\\nI, and all my wretched imperfections I cover to my-\\nself by resolutely thinking on her goodness. She\\nwould share Hfe and death, heaven and hell, with me.\\nShe lives but for me and I know I have been\\nwasting and teasing her life for five years past in-\\ncessantly with my cursed ways of going on. But\\neven in this upbraiding of myself I am offending\\nagainst her, for I know that she has cleaved to me\\nfor better, for worse and if the balance has been", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB, 171\\nagainst her hitherto, it was a noble trade. I am\\nstupid, and lose myself in what I write. I write\\nrather what answers to my feelings (which are some-\\ntimes sharp enough) than express my present ones\\nfor I am only flat and stupid. I am sure you will\\nexcuse my writing any more, I am so very poorly.\\nI cannot resist transcribing three or four lines\\nwhich poor Mary made upon a picture (a Holy\\nFamily) which we saw at an auction only one week\\nbefore she left home. They are sweet lines, and\\nupon a sweet picture. But I send them only as the\\nlast memorial of her.\\nVIRGIN AND CHILD, L. DA VINCI.\\nMaternal Lady, with thy virgin-grace.\\nHeaven-born thy Jesus seemeth, sure,\\nAnd thou a virgin pure.\\nLady most perfect, when thy angel face\\nMen look upon, they wish to be\\nA Catholic, Madonna fair, to worship thee.\\nYou had her lines about the Lady Blanch.\\nYou have not had some which she wrote upon a copy\\nof a girl from Titian, which I had hung up where that\\nprint of Blanch and the Abbess (as she beautifully\\ninterpreted two female figures from L. da Vinci)\\nhad hung in our room. T is light and pretty.\\nWho art thou, fair one, who usurp st the place\\nOf Blanch, the lady of the matchless grace\\nCome, fair and pretty, tell to me\\nWho in thy lifetime thou mightst be\\nThou pretty art and fair.\\nBut with the Lady Blanch thou never must compare.\\nNo need for Blanch her history to tell,\\nWhoever saw her face, they there did read it well", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "172 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nBut when I look on thee, I only know\\nThere lived a pretty maid some hundred years ago.\\nThis is a little unfair, to tell so much about our-\\nselves, and to advert so little to your letter, so full\\nof comfortable tidings of you all. But my own cares\\npress pretty close upon me, and you can make allow-\\nance. That you may go on gathering strength and\\npeace is my next wish to Mary s recovery.\\nI had almost forgot your repeated invitation.\\nSupposing that Mary will be well and able, there is\\nanother ability which you may guess at, which I\\ncannot promise myself. In prudence we ought not\\nto come. This illness will make it still more pru-\\ndential to wait. It is not a balance of this way of\\nspending our money against another way, but an\\nabsolute question of whether we shall stop now, or\\ngo on wasting away the little we have got before-\\nhand, which my evil conduct has already encroached\\nupon one-half. My best love, however, to you all,\\nand to that most friendly creature, Mrs. Clarkson,\\nand better health to her, when you see or write\\nto her.\\nCharles Lamb.\\nXLVI.i\\nTO MANNING.\\nMay 10, 1806.\\nMy dear Manning, I did n t know what your\\ngoing was till I shook a last fist with you, and then\\n1 Addressed Mr. Manning, Passenger on Board the\\nThames, East Indiaman, Portsmouth. Manning had set\\nout for Canton.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 73\\ntwas just like having shaken hands with a wretch\\non the fatal scaffold, and when you are down .he\\nladder you can never stretch out to him again.\\nMary says you are dead, and there s nothing to do\\nbut To leave it to time to do for us in the end what\\nit always does for those who mourn for people m\\nsuch a case. But she 11 see by your letter you are\\nnot quite dead. A little kicking and agony, and\\nthen Martin Burney took me out a walkmg that\\nevening, and we talked of Manning and then i\\ncame home and smoked for you, and at twelve\\no clock came home Mary and Monkey Louisa from\\nthe play, and there was more talk and more smoking,\\nand they all seemed first-rate characters, because\\nthey knew a certain person. But what s the use of\\ntalking about em? By the time you 11 have made\\nvour escape from the Kalmuks, you 11 have stayed\\nso long I shall never be able to bring to your mind\\nwho Mary was, who will have died about a year be-\\nfore, nor who the Holcrofts were Me perhaps you\\nwill mistake for Phillips, or confound me with Mr.\\nDawe, because you saw us together. Mary (whom\\nyou seem to remember yet) is not quite easy that\\nshe had not a formal parting from you. I wish it\\nhad so happened. But you must bring her a token,\\na shawl or something, and remember a sprightly\\nlittle mandarin for our mantelpiece, as a compan-\\nion to the child I am going to purchase at the mu-\\nseum. She says you saw her writings about the\\nother day, and she wishes you should know what\\nthey are. She is doing for Godwin s bookseller\\ntwenty of Shakspeare s plays, to be made into chil-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "174 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ndren s tales. Six are already done by her to wit\\nThe Tempest, Winter s Tale, Midsummer\\nNight s Dream, Much Ado, Two Gentlemen\\nof Verona, and Cymbeline and The Mer-\\nchant of Venice is in forwardness. I have done\\nOthello and Macbeth, and mean to do all\\nthe tragedies. I think it will be popular among\\nthe little people, besides money. It s to bring in\\nsixty guineas. Mary has done them capitally, I\\nthink you d think.^ These are the humble amuse-\\nments we propose, while you are gone to plant the\\ncross of Christ among barbarous pagan anthro-\\npophagi. Quam ho7no homini p7 cestat but then,\\nperhaps, you 11 get murdered, and we shall die in\\nour beds, with a fair literary reputation. Be sure, if\\nyou see any of .those people whose heads do grow\\nbeneath their shoulders, that you make a draught of\\nthem. It will be very curious. Oh, Manning, I\\nam serious to sinking almost, when I think that all\\nthose evenings, which you have made so pleasant,\\nare gone perhaps forever. Four years you talk of,\\nmaybe ten and you may come back and find such\\nalterations Some circumstances may grow up to\\nyou or to me that may be a bar to the return of any\\n1 Miss Lamb has amusingly described the progress of\\ntheir labors on this volume; You would like to see us, as\\nwe often sit writing on one table (but not on one cushion\\nsitting), like Hermia and Helena, in the Midsummer\\nNight s Dream or rather like an old literary Darby and\\nJoan, I taking snuff, and he groaning all the while, and say-\\ning he can make nothing of it, which he always says till he\\nhas finished, and then he finds out that he has made some-\\nthing of it.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 175\\nsuch intimacy. I daresay all this is hum, and that\\nall will come back but indeed we die many deaths\\nbefore we die, and I am almost sick when I think\\nthat such a hold as I had of you is gone. I have\\nfriends, but some of em are changed. Marriage,\\nor some circumstance, rises up to make them not\\nthe same. But I felt sure of you. And that last\\ntoken you gave me of expressing a wish to have my\\nname joined with yours, you know not how it\\naffected me, like a legacy.\\nGod bless you in every way you can form a wish\\nMay He give you health, and safety, and the accom-\\nplishment of all your objects, and return you again to\\nus to gladden some fireside or other (I suppose we\\nshall be moved from the Temple) I will nurse the\\nremembrance of your steadiness and quiet, which\\nused to infuse something like itself into our nervous\\nminds. Mary called you our ventilator. Farewell\\nand take her best wishes and mine.\\nGood by.\\nC.L.\\nXLVII.\\nTO WORDSWORTH.\\nJujte, 1806.\\nDear Wordsworth, We are pleased, you may\\nbe sure, with the good news of Mrs. Wordsworth.^\\nHope all is well over by this time. A fine boy\\nHave you any more One more and a girl,\\npoor copies of me vide Mr. H., a farce which\\n1 Wordsworth s son Thomas was born June 16, 1806.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "176 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nthe proprietors have done me the honor But I\\nset down Mr. Wroughton s own words. N. B. The\\nensuing letter was sent in answer to one which I\\nwrote, begging to know if my piece had any chance,\\nas I might make alterations, etc. I writing on\\nMonday, there comes this letter on the Wednesday.\\nAttend\\n\\\\Copy of a letter from Mr. R. Wroughton.\\nSir, Your piece of Mr. H., I am desired to say,\\nis accepted at Drury Lane Theatre by the proprietors,\\nand if agreeable to you, will be brought forwards when\\nthe proper opportunity serves. The piece shall be sent\\nto you for your alterations in the course of a few days,\\nas the same is not in my hands, but with the proprietors.\\nI am, sir, your obedient servant,\\nRichard Wroughton.\\n[Dated]\\n66, Gowef Street,\\nWednesday, June nth, 1806.\\nOn the following Sunday Mr. Tobin comes. The\\nscent of a manager s letter brought him. He would\\nhave gone farther any day on such a business. I\\nread the letter to him. He deems it authentic and\\nperemptory. Our conversation naturally fell upon\\npieces, different sorts of pieces, what is the best\\nway of offering a piece how far the caprice of\\nmanagers is an obstacle in the way of a piece how\\nto judge of the merits of a piece how long a piece\\nmay remain in the hands of the managers before it\\nis acted and my piece, and your piece, and my\\npoor brother s piece, my poor brother was all his\\nlife endeavoring to get a piece accepted.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. i^^\\nI wrote that in mere wantonness of triumph.\\nHave nothing more to say about it. The managers,\\nI thank my stars, have decided its merits forever.\\nThey are the best judges of pieces, and it would be\\ninsensible in me to affect a false modesty, after the\\nvery flattering letter which I have received.\\nADMIT\\nTO\\nBOXES.\\nMr. H.\\nNinth Night.\\nCharles Lamb.\\nI think this will be as good a pattern for orders as\\nI can think on. A little thin flowery border, round,\\nneat, not gaudy, and the Drury Lane Apollo, with\\nthe harp at the top. Or shall I have no Apollo,\\nsimply nothing? Or perhaps the Comic Muse?\\nThe same form, only I think without the Apollo,\\nwill serve for the pit and galleries. I think it will\\nbe best to write my name at full length but then\\nif I give away a great many, that will be tedious.\\nPerhaps Ch. Lamb will do.\\nBOXES, now I think on it, I 11 have in capitals\\nthe rest, in a neat Italian hand. Or better, perhaps,\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2^OjCCfii in Old English characters, like Madoc or\\nThalaba?\\nA propos of Spenser (you will find him mentioned\\na page or two before, near enough for an a propos)\\nI was discoursing on poetry (as one s apt to deceive\\none s self, and when a person is willing to talk of\\n12", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "178 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nwhat one likes, to believe that he also likes the same,\\nas lovers do) with a young gentleman of my office,\\nwho is deep read in Anacreon Moore, Lord Strang-\\nford, and the principal modern poets, and I hap-\\npened to mention Epithalamiums, and that I could\\nshow him a very fine one of Spenser s. At the\\nmention of this my gentleman, who is a very fine\\ngentleman, pricked up his ears and expressed great\\npleasure, and begged that I would give him leave to\\ncopy it he did not care how long it was (for I\\nobjected the length), he should be very happy to\\nsee anything by him. Then pausing, and looking\\nsad, he ejaculated, Poor Spencer I begged to\\nknow the reason of his ejaculation, thinking that\\ntime had by this time softened down any calamities\\nwhich the bard might have endured. Why, poor\\nfellow, said he, he has lost his wife Lost\\nhis wife said I, who are you talking of? Why,\\nSpencer! said he; I ve read the Monody he\\nwrote on the occasion, and a very pj-etty thing it\\nis.^ This led to an explanation (it could be delayed\\nno longer) that the sound Spensef-, which, when\\npoetry is talked of, generally excites an image of an\\nold bard in a ruff, and sometimes with it dim notions\\nof Sir P. Sidney and perhaps Lord Burleigh, had\\nraised in my gentleman a quite contrary image of\\nthe Honorable William Spencer, who has translated\\nsome things from the German very prettily, which\\nare published with Lady Di Beauclerk s designs.\\nNothing like defining of terms when we talk. What\\nblunders might I have fallen into of quite inappli-\\ncable criticism, but for this timely explanation", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 179\\nN.B. At the beginning of Ed?n. Spenser (to pre-\\nvent mistakes) I have copied from my own copy,\\nand primarily from a book of Chalmers s on Shak-\\nspeare, a sonnet of Spenser s never printed among\\nhis poems. It is curious, as being manly, and rather\\nMiltonic, and as a sonnet of Spenser s with nothing\\nin it about love or knighthood. I have no room for\\nremembrances, but I hope our doing your commis-\\nsion will prove we do not quite forget you.\\nC. L.\\nXLVIII.\\nTO MANNING\\nDecember 5, 1806.\\nManning, your letter, dated Hottentots, August\\nthe what-was-it? came to hand. I can scarce hope\\nthat mine will have the same luck. China, Can-\\nton, bless us, how it strains the imagination and\\nmakes it ache I write under another uncertainty\\nwhether it can go to-morrow by a ship which I have\\njust learned is going off direct to your part of the\\nworld, or whether the despatches may not be sealed\\nup and this have to wait for if it is detained here,\\nit will grow staler in a fortnight than in a five\\nmonths voyage coming to you. It will be a point\\nof conscience to send you none but bran-new news\\n(the latest edition), which will but grow the better,\\nlike oranges, for a sea-voyage. Oh that you should\\nbe so many hemispheres off if I speak incorrectly,\\nyou can correct me. Why, the simplest death or\\nmarriage that takes place here must be important", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "l8o LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB:\\nto you as news in the old Bastile. There s your\\nfriend Tuthill has got away from France you re-\\nmember France and Tuthill ten to one but\\nhe writes by this post, if he don t get my note in\\ntime, apprising him of the vessel sailing. Know,\\nthen, that he has found means to obtain leave from\\nBonaparte, without making use of any incredible ro-\\nmantic pretences, as some have done, who never\\nmeant to fulfil them, to come home and I have\\nseen him here and at Holcroft s. An t you glad\\nabout Tuthill? Now then be sorry for Holcroft,\\nwhose new play, called The Vindictive Man,\\nwas damned about a fortnight since. It died in\\npart of its own weakness, and in part for being\\nchoked up with bad actors. The two principal\\nparts were destined to Mrs. Jordan and Mr. Ban-\\nnister but Mrs. J. has not come to terms with the\\nmanagers, they have had some squabble, and\\nBannister shot some of his fingers off by the going\\noff of a gun. So Miss Duncan had her part, and Mr.\\nDe Camp took his. His part, the principal comic\\nhope of the play, was most unluckily Goldfinch,\\ntaken out of the Road to Ruin, not only the\\nsame character, but the identical Goldfinch the\\nsame as Falstaff is in two plays of Shakspeare. As\\nthe devil of ill-luck would have it, half the audience\\ndid not know that H. had written it, but were dis-\\npleased at his stealing from the Road to Ruin\\nand those who might have borne a gentlemanly\\ncoxcomb with his That s your sort, Go it,\\nsuch as Lewis is, did not relish the intolerable\\nvulgarity and inanity of the idea stripped of his", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. l8i\\nmanner. De Camp was hooted, more than hissed,\\nhooted and bellowed off the stage before the second\\nact was finished so that the remainder of his part\\nwas forced to be, with some violence to the play,\\nomitted. In addition to this, a strumpet was an-\\nother principal character, a most mifortunate\\nchoice in this moral day. The audience were as\\nscandalized as if you were to introduce such a per-\\nsonage to their private tea-tables. Besides, her\\naction in the play was gross, wheedling an old\\nman into marriage. But the mortal blunder of the\\nplay was that which, oddly enough, H. took pride\\nin, and exultingly told me of the night before it\\ncame out, that there were no less than eleven princi-\\npal characters in it, and I believe he meant of the\\nmen only, for the play-bill expressed as much, not\\nreckoning one woman and one and true it\\nwas, for Mr. Powell, Mr. Raymond, Mr. Bartlett,\\nMr. H. Siddons, Mr. Barrymore, etc., to the num-\\nber of eleven, had all parts equally prominent, and\\nthere was as much of them in quantity and rank\\nas of the hero and heroine, and most of them\\ngentlemen who seldom appear but as the hero s\\nfriend in a farce, for a minute or two, and here\\nthey all had their ten-minute speeches, and one of\\nthem gave the audience a serious account how he\\nwas now a lawyer, but had been a poet and then a\\nlong enumeration of the inconveniences of author-\\nship, rascally booksellers, reviewers, etc. j which\\nfirst set the audience a-gaping. But I have said\\nenough; you will be so sorry that you will not\\nthink the best of me for my detail but news is", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "1 82 LETTERS OE CHARLES LAMB,\\nnews at Canton. Poor H. I fear will feel the dis-\\nappointment very seriously in a pecuniary light.\\nFrom what I can learn, he has saved nothing. You\\nand I were hoping one day that he had but I fear\\nhe has nothing but his pictures and books, and a\\nno very flourishing business, and to be obliged to\\npart with his long-necked Guido that hangs oppo-\\nsite as you enter, and the game-piece that hangs\\nin the back drawing-room, and all those Vandykes,\\netc. God should temper the wind to the shorn\\nconnoisseur. I hope I need not say to you that I\\nfeel for the weather-beaten author and for all his\\nhousehold. I assure you his fate has soured a good\\ndeal the pleasure I should have otherwise taken in\\nmy own little farce being accepted, and I hope\\nabout to be acted, it is in rehearsal actually, and\\nI expect it to come out next week. It is kept a\\nsort of secret, and the rehearsals have gone on pri-\\nvately, lest by many folks knowing it, the story\\nshould come out, which would infallibly damn it.\\nYou remember I had sent it before you went.\\nWroughton read it, and was much pleased with it.\\nI speedily got an answer. I took it to make altera-\\ntions, and lazily kept it some months, then took\\ncourage and furbished it up in a day or two and\\ntook it. In less than a fortnight I heard the princi-\\npal part was given to Elliston, who liked it, and\\nonly wanted a prologue, which I have since done\\nand sent and I had a note the day before yester-\\nday from the manager, Wroughton (bless his fat face,\\nhe is not a bad actor in some things), to say\\nthat I should be summoned to the rehearsal after", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 183\\nthe next, which next was to be yesterday. I had\\nno idea it was so forward. I have had no trouble,\\nattended no reading or rehearsal, made no interest\\nwhat a contrast to the usual parade of authors\\nBut it is peculiar to modesty to do all things with-\\nout noise or pomp I have some suspicion it will\\nappear in public on Wednesday next, for W. says\\nin his note, it is so forward that if wanted it may\\ncome out next week, and a new melodrama is an-\\nnounced for every day till then and a new farce\\nis in rehearsal, is put up in the bills. Now, you d\\nlike to know the subject. The title is Mr. H.,\\nno more how simple, how taking A great H.\\nsprawling over the play-bill and attracting eyes at\\nevery corner. The story is a coxcomb appearing at\\nBath, vastly rich, all the ladies dying for him, all\\nbursting to know who he is but he goes by no\\nother name than Mr. H., a curiosity like that of\\nthe dames of Strasburg about the man with the great\\nnose. But I won t tell you any more about it. Yes,\\nI will, but I can t give you an idea how I have done\\nit. I 11 just tell you that after much vehement ad-\\nmiration, when his true name comes out, Hogs-\\nflesh, all the women shun him, avoid him, and not\\none can be found to change their name for him,\\nthat s the idea, how flat it is here but how\\nwhimsical in the farce And only think how hard\\nupon me it is that the ship is despatched to-morrow,\\nand my triumph cannot be ascertained till the Wed-\\nnesday after but all China will ring of it by and\\nIt was precisely this flatness, this sHghtness of plot and\\ncatastrophe, that doomed Mr. H. to failure. See next\\nletter.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "1 84 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nby. N. B. (But this is a secret.) The Professor\\nhas got a tragedy coming out, with the young Ros-\\ncius in it, in January next, as we say, January last\\nit will be with you and though it is a profound\\nsecret now, as all his affairs are, it cannot be much\\nof one by the time you read this. However, don t\\nlet it go any farther. I understand there are dra-\\nmatic exhibitions in China. One would not like to\\nbe forestalled. Do you find in all this stuff 1 have\\nwritten anything like those feelings which one should\\nsend my old adventuring friend, that is gone to wan-\\nder among Tartars, and may never come again I\\ndon t but your going away, and all about you, is a\\nthreadbare topic. I have worn it out with thinking,\\nit has come to me when I have been dull with\\nanything, till my sadness has seemed more to have\\ncome from it than to have introduced it. I want\\nyou, you don t know how much but if I had you\\nhere in my European garret, we should but talk over\\nsuch stuff as I have written, so Those Tales from\\nShakspeare are near coming out, and Mary has\\nbegun a new work. Mr. Dawe is turned author;\\nhe has been in such a way lately, Dawe the painter,\\nI mean, he sits and stands about at Holcroft s and\\nsays nothing, then sighs, and leans his head on his\\nhand. I took him to be in love, but it seems he\\nwas only meditating a work, The Life of Mor-\\nland the young man is not used to composition.\\nRickman and Captain Burney are well they assem-\\nble at my house pretty regularly of a Wednesday,\\n1 Godwin. His tragedy of Faulkner was published\\nin iSo8.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 185\\na new institution. Like other great men, I have a\\npublic day, cribbage and pipes, with PhiUips and\\nnoisy Martin Burney.\\nGood Heaven, what a bit only I ve got left\\nHow shall I squeeze all I know into this morsel\\nColeridge is come home, and is going to turn\\nlecturer on taste at the Royal Institution. I shall\\nget ^200 from the theatre if Mr. H. has a good\\nrun, and I hope ;z^ioo for the copyright. Nothing\\nif it fails and there never was a more ticklish thing.\\nThe whole depends on the manner in which the\\nname is brought out, which I value myself on, as a\\nchef d^ceuvre. How the paper grows less and less\\nIn less than two minutes I shall cease to talk to\\nyou, and you may rave to the Great Wall of China.\\nN. B. Is there such a wall? Is it as big as Old\\nLondon Wall by Bedlam? Have you met with a\\nfriend of mine named Ball at Canton If you are\\nacquainted, remember me kindly to him. Maybe\\nyou 11 think I have not said enough of Tuthill and\\nthe Holcrofts. Tuthill is a noble fellow, as far as I\\ncan judge. The Holcrofts bear their disappoint-\\nment pretty well, but indeed they are sadly mor-\\ntified. Mrs. H. is cast down. It was well, if it\\nwere but on this account, that Tuthill is come home.\\nN. B. If my little thing don t succeed, I shall easily\\nsurvive, having, as it were, compared to H. s venture,\\nbut a sixteenth in the lottery. Mary and I are to\\nsit next the orchestra in the pit, next the tweedle-\\ndees. She remembers you. You are more to us\\nthan five hundred farces, clappings, etc.\\nCome back one day. C. Lamb.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "1 86 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nXLIX.\\nTO WORDSWORTH.\\nDecember ii, 1806.\\nMary s love to all of you; I wouldn t let her\\nwrite.\\nDear Wordsworth, Mr. H. came out last\\nnight, and failed. I had many fears the subject\\nwas not substantial enough. John Bull must have\\nsolider fare than a letter. We are pretty stout about\\nit have had plenty of condoling friends but, after\\nall, we had rather it should have succeeded. You\\nwill see the prologue in most of the morning papers.\\nIt was received with such shouts as I never witnessed\\nto a prologue. It was attempted to be encored.\\nHow hard a thing I did merely as a task, be-\\ncause it was wanted, and set no great store by and\\nMr. H. The quantity of friends we had in the\\nhouse my brother and I being in public offices,\\netc. was astonishing but they yielded at last\\nto a few hisses.\\nA hundred hisses (Damn the word, I write it\\nlike kisses, how different!) a hundred hisses\\noutweigh a thousand claps.^ The former come more\\ndirectly from the heart. Well, t is withdrawn, and\\nthere is an end.\\nBetter luck to us,\\nC. Lamb.\\n1 Lamb was himself in the audience, and is said to have\\ntaken a conspicuous share in the storm of hisses that fol-\\nlowed the dropping of the curtain.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 187\\nL.\\nTO MANNING.\\nJanuary 2, 1 810.\\nDear Manning, When I last wrote to you, I\\nwas in lodgings. I am now in chambers. No. 4,\\nInner Temple Lane, where I should be happy to see\\nyou any evening. Bring any of your friends the\\nMandarins with you. I have two sitting-rooms. I\\ncall them so par excellence, for you may stand, or\\nloll, or lean, or try any posture in them but they are\\nbest for sitting, not squatting down Japanese fash-\\nion, but in the more decorous way which European\\nusage has consecrated. I have two of these rooms\\non the third floor, and five sleeping, cooking, etc.,\\nrooms, on the fourth floor. In my best room is a\\nchoice collection of the works of Hogarth, an Eng-\\nlish painter of some humor. In my next best are\\nshelves containing a small, but well-chosen library.\\nMy best room commands a court, in which there\\nare trees and a pump, the water of which is excellent,\\ncold with brandy, and not very insipid without.\\nHere I hope to set up my rest, and not quit till Mr.\\nPowell, the undertaker, gives me notice that I may\\nhave possession of my last lodging. He lets lodgings\\nfor single gentlemen. I sent you a parcel of books\\nby my last, to give you some idea of the state of\\nEuropean literature. There comes with this two\\nvolumes, done up as letters, of minor poetry, a\\nsequel to Mrs. Leicester; the best you may sup-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "1 88 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\npose mine the next best are my coadjutor s. You\\nmay amuse yourself in guessing them out but I\\nmust tell you mine are but one third in quantity of\\nthe whole. So much for a very delicate subject.\\nIt is hard to speak of one s self, etc. Holcroft had\\nfinished his life when I wrote to you, and Hazhtt has\\nsince finished his life, I do not mean his own life,\\nbut he has finished a life of Holcroft, which is going\\nto press. Tuthill is Dr. Tuthill. I continue Mr.\\nLamb. I have published a little book for children\\non titles of honor and to give them some idea of\\nthe difference of rank and gradual rising, I have\\nmade a little scale, supposing myself to receive the\\nfollowing various accessions of dignity from the king,\\nwho is the fountain of honor, as at first, i, Mr.\\nC. Lamb; 2, C. Lamb, Esq.; 3, SirC. Lamb, Bart.;\\n4, Baron Lamb, of Stamford; 5, Viscount Lamb;\\n6, Earl Lamb 7, Marquis Lamb 8, Duke Lamb.\\nIt would look like quibbling to carry it on farther,\\nand especially as it is not necessary for children to\\ngo beyond the ordinary titles of sub-regal dignity in\\nour own country, otherwise I have sometimes in my\\ndreams imagined myself still advancing, as 9th, King\\nLamb; loth. Emperor Lamb; nth. Pope Innocent,\\nhigher than which is nothing. Puns I have not\\nmade many (nor punch much) since the date of\\nmy last one I cannot help relating. A constable\\nin Salisbury Cathedral was telling me that eight\\npeople dined at the top of the spire of the cathedral\\nupon which I remarked that they must be very\\nsharp-set. But in general I cultivate the reasoning\\npart of my mind more than the imaginative. I", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 189\\nam stuffed out so with eating turkey for dinner,\\nand another turkey for supper yesterday (turkey in\\nEurope and turkey in Asia), that I can t jog on. It\\nis New Year here. That is, it was New Year half a\\nyear back, when I was writing this. Nothing puzzles\\nme more than time and space, and yet nothing\\npuzzles me less, for I never think about them. The\\nPersian ambassador is the principal thing talked of\\nnow. I sent some people to see him worship the\\nsun on Primrose Hill at half-past six in the morning,\\n28th November; but he did not come, which\\nmakes me think the old fire-worshippers are a sect\\nalmost extinct in Persia. The Persian ambassador s\\nname is Shaw Ali Mirza. The common people call\\nhim Shaw Nonsense. While I think of it, I have\\nput three letters besides my own three into the\\nIndia post for you, from your brother, sister, and\\nsome gentleman whose name I forget. Will they,\\nhave they, did they come safe? The distance you\\nare at, cuts up tenses by the root. I think you said\\nyou did not know Kate I express her\\nby nine stars, though she is but one. You must\\nhave seen her at her father s. Try and remember\\nher. Coleridge is bringing out a paper in weekly\\nnumbers, called the Friend, which I would send,\\nif I could but the difficulty I had in getting the\\npackets of books out to you before deters me and\\nyou 11 want something new to read when you come\\nhome. Except Kate, I have had no vision of excel-\\nlence this year, and she passed by like the queen\\non her coronation day; you don t know whether\\nyou saw her or not. Kate is fifteen; I go about", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "190 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nmoping, and sing the old, pathetic ballad I used to\\nlike in my youth,\\nShe s sweet fifteen,\\nI m ojie year more.\\nMrs. Bland sang it in boy s clothes the first time\\nI heard it. I sometimes think the lower notes in\\nmy voice are like Mrs. Bland s. That glorious singer,\\nBraham, one of my lights, is fled. He was for a\\nseason. He was a rare composition of the Jew, the\\ngentleman, and the angel, yet all these elements\\nmixed up so kindly in him that you could not tell\\nwhich predominated; but he is gone, and one Phil-\\nlips is engaged instead. Kate is vanished, but Miss\\nBurrell is always to be met with\\nQueens drop away, while blue-legged Maukin thrives,\\nAnd courtly Mildred dies, while country Madge survives.\\nThat is not my poetry, but Quarles s but have n t\\nyou observed that the rarest things are the least\\nobvious? Don t show anybody the names in this\\nletter. I write confidentially, and wish this letter\\nto be considered as private. Hazlitt has written a\\ngrammar for Godwin; Godwin sells it bound up\\nwith a treatise of his own on language but the\\n^7 av 7nare is the better horse. I don t allude to Mrs.\\nGodwin, but to the word grammar, which comes\\nnear to gray mare, if you observe, in sound. That\\nfigure is called paranomasia in Greek. I am some-\\ntimes happy in it. An old woman begged of me for\\ncharity. Ah, sir, said she, I have seen better\\ndays So have I, good woman, I replied but", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 191\\nI meant literally, days not so rainy and overcast as\\nthat on which begged, she meant more prosper-\\nous days.\\nLI.\\nTO MISS WORDSWORTH.\\nAugust, 1 8 10.\\nMary has left a little space for me to fill up with\\nnonsense, as the geographers used to cram monsters\\nin the voids of the maps, and call it Terra Incognita.\\nShe has told you how she has taken to water like a\\nhungry otter. I too limp after her in lame imita-\\ntion,^ but it goes against me a little at first. I have\\nbeen acquaintance with it now for full four days,\\nand it seems a moon. I am full of cramps and rheu-\\nmatisms, and cold internally, so that fire won t warm\\nme yet I bear all for virtue s sake. Must I then\\nleave you, gin, rum, brandy, aqua-vitce, pleasant, jolly\\nfellows? Damn temperance and he that first in-\\nvented it! some Anti-Noahite. Coleridge has\\npowdered his head, and looks like Bacchus,\\nBacchus ever sleek and young. He is going to turn\\nsober, but his clock has not struck yet meantime\\nhe pours down goblet after goblet, the second to see\\nwhere the first is gone, the third to see no harm\\nhappens to the second, a fourth to say there is an-\\nother coming, and a fifth to say he is not sure he is\\nthe last. C. L.\\n1 An experiment in total abstinence it did not last long.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "192 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nLII.\\nTO WORDSWORTH.\\nOctober 19, 18 10.\\nDear W., Mary has been very ill, which you\\nhave heard, I suppose, from the Montagues. She\\nis very weak and low-spirited now. I was much\\npleased with your continuation of the Essay on\\nEpitaphs. It is the only sensible thing which has\\nbeen written on that subject, and it goes to the\\nbottom. In particular I was pleased with your\\ntranslation of that turgid epitaph into the plain\\nfeeling under it. It is perfectly a test. But what\\nis the reason we have no good epitaphs after all?\\nA very striking instance of your position might be\\nfound in the churchyard of Ditton-upon-Thames, if\\nyou know such a place. Ditton-upon-Thames has\\nbeen blessed by the residence of a poet who, for love\\nor money, I do not well know which, has dignified\\nevery gravestone for the last few years with bran-\\nnew verses, all different and all ingenious, with the\\nauthor s name at the bottom of each. This sweet\\nSwan of Thames has so artfully diversified his strains\\nand his rhymes that the same thought never occurs\\ntwice, more justly, perhaps, as no thought ever\\noccurs at all, there was a physical impossibility that\\nthe same thought should recur. It is long since I\\nsaw and read these inscriptions but I remember the\\nI Published in Coleridge s Friend, Feb. 22, 1810.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 1 93\\nimpression was of a smug usher at his desk in the\\nintervals of instruction, levelling his pen. Of death,\\nas it consists of dust and worms, and mourners and\\nuncertainty, he had never thought; but the word\\ndeath he had often seen separate and conjunct\\nwith other words, till he had learned to speak of all\\nits attributes as glibly as Unitarian Belsham will dis-\\ncuss you the attributes of the word God in a\\npulpit, and will talk of infinity with a tongue that\\ndangles from a skull that never reached in thought\\nand thorough imagination two inches, or farther than\\nfrom his hand to his mouth, or from the vestry to\\nthe sounding-board of the pulpit.\\nBut the epitaphs were trim and sprag, and patent,\\nand pleased the survivors of Thames Ditton above\\nthe old mumpsimus of Afflictions sore. To\\ndo justice, though, it must be owned that even the\\nexcellent feeling which dictated this dirge when new,\\nmust have suffered something in passing through so\\nmany thousand applications, many of them no doubt\\nquite misplaced, as I have seen in Islington church-\\nyard (I think) an Epitaph to an Infant who died\\n/Etatis four months, with this seasonable inscrip-\\ntion appended, Honor thy father and thy mother,\\nthat thy days may be long in the land, etc. Sin-\\ncerely wishing your children long hfe to honor, etc.,\\nI remain,\\nC. Lamb.\\n13", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "194 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nLIII.\\nTO WORDSWORTH.\\nAugust 14, 18 14.\\nDear Wordsworth, I cannot tell you how\\npleased I was at the receipt of the great armful of\\npoetry which you have sent me and to get it\\nbefore the rest of the world, too I have gone\\nquite through with it, and was thinking to have ac-\\ncomplished that pleasure a second time before I\\nwrote to thank you but Martin Burney came in the\\nnight (while we were out) and made holy theft of it\\nbut we expect restitution in a day or two. It is the\\nnoblest conversational poem I ever read, a day in\\nheaven. The part (or rather main body) which\\nhas left the sweetest odor on my memory (a bad\\nterm for the remains of an impression so recent) is\\nthe Tales of the Churchyard, the only girl\\namong seven brethren, born out of due time, and\\nnot duly taken away again the deaf man and the\\nblind man the Jacobite and the Hanoverian, whom\\nantipathies reconcile the Scarron- entry of the\\nrusticating parson upon his solitude, these were\\nall new to me too. My having known the story of\\nMargaret (at the beginning), a very old acquaint-\\nance, even as long back as when I saw you first at\\nStowey, did not make her reappearance less fresh.\\nI don t know what to pick out of this best of books\\nupon the best subjects for partial naming. That\\n1 The Excursion.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 195\\ngorgeous sunset is famous; I think it must have\\nbeen the identical one we saw on SaUsbury Plain\\nfive years ago, that drew PhiUips from the card-\\ntable, where he had sat from rise of that luminary to\\nits unequalled setting. But neither he nor I had\\ngifted eyes to see those symbols of common things\\nglorified, such as the prophets saw them in that sun-\\nset,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the wheel, the potter s clay, the washpot, the\\nwine-press, the almond-tree rod, the baskets of figs,\\nthe four-fold-visaged head, the throne, and Him\\nthat sat thereon.\\nOne feeling I was particularly struck with, as\\nwhat I recognized so very lately at Harrow Church\\non entering in it after a hot and secular day s pleasure,\\nthe instantaneous coolness and calming, almost\\ntransforming, properties of a country church just\\nentered a certain fragrance which it has, either\\nfrom its holiness, or being kept shut all the week, or\\nthe air that is let in being pure country, exactly\\nwhat you have reduced into words but I am feel-\\ning that which I cannot express. The reading\\nyour lines about it fixed me for a time a monument\\nin Harrow Church, do you know it with its fine\\nlong spire, white as washed marble, to be seen, by\\nvantage of its high site, as far as SaUsbury spire\\nitself almost.\\nI shall select a day or two very shortly, when I am\\ncoolest in brain, to have a steady second reading,\\nwhich I feel will lead to many more for it will be\\na stock book with me while eyes or spectacles shall\\nbe lent me. There is a great deal of noble matter\\nabout mountain scenery, yet not so much as to over-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "196 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\npower and discountenance a poor Londoner, or\\nsouth- countryman entirely, though Mary seems\\nto have felt it occasionally a little too powerfully for\\nit was her remark, during reading it, that by your\\nsystem it was doubtful whether a liver in towns had\\na soul to be saved. She almost trembled for that\\ninvisible part of us in her.\\nSave for a late excursion to Harrow, and a day or\\ntwo on the banks of the Thames this summer, rural\\nimages were fast fading from my mind, and by the\\nwise provision of the Regent all that was countri-\\nfied in the parks is all but obliterated. The very\\ncolour of green is vanished the whole surface of\\nHyde Park is dry, crumbling sand {^Arabia Are-\\nnosa), not a vestige or hint of grass ever having\\ngrown there booths and drinking-places go all\\nround it, for a mile and a half, I am confident,\\nI might say two miles in circuit the stench of\\nliquors, bad tobacco, dirty people and provisions,\\nconquers the air, and we are all stifled and suffo-\\ncated in Hyde Park.^ Order after order has been\\nissued by Lord Sidmouth in the name of the Regent\\n(acting in behalf of his royal father) for the dis-\\npersion of the varlets but in vain. The vis unita\\nof all the publicans in London, Westminster, Mary-\\nlebone, and miles round, is too powerful a force\\nto put down. The Regent has raised a phantom\\nwhich he cannot lay. There they 11 stay probably\\n1 Early in i8i4the London parks were thrown open to the\\npublic, with fireworks, booths, illuminations, etc., in celebra-\\ntion of the peace between France and England. It was two\\nor three years before they recovered their usual verdure.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 197\\nforever. The whole beauty of the place is gone,\\nthat lake-look of the Serpentine (it has got foolish\\nships upon it) but something whispers to have\\nconfidence in Nature and its revival,\\nAt the coming of the milder day.\\nThese monuments shall all be overgrown.\\nMeantime I confess to have smoked one delicious\\npipe in one of the cleanliest and goodliest of the\\nbooths, a tent rather,\\nOh, call it not a booth\\nerected by the public spirit of Watson, who keeps\\nthe Adam and Eve at Pancras (the ale-houses\\nhave all emigrated, with their train of botdes, mugs,\\ncork-screws, waiters, into Hyde Park, whole ale-\\nhouses, with all their ale in company with some of\\nthe Guards that had been in France, and a fine\\nFrench girl, habited like a princess of banditti,\\nwhich one of the dogs had transported from the\\nGaronne to the Serpentine. The unusual scene in\\nHyde Park, by candle-light, in open air, good\\ntobacca, bottled stout, made it look like an inter-\\nval in a campaign, a repose after battle. I almost\\nfancied scars smarting, and was ready to club a story\\nwith my comrades of some of my lying deeds.\\nAfter all, the fireworks were splendid the rockets\\nin clusters, in trees, and all shapes, spreading about\\nlike young stars in the making, floundering about in\\nspace (like unbroke horses), till some of Newton s\\ncalculations should fix them; but then they went\\nout. Any one who could see em, and the still finer", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "198 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nshowers of gloomy rain-fire that fell sulkily and\\nangrily from em, and could go to bed without\\ndreaming of the last day, must be as hardened an\\natheist as\\nThe conclusion of this epistle getting gloomy, I\\nhave chosen this part to desire our kindest loves to\\nMrs. Wordsworth and to Dorothea. Will none of\\nyou ever be in London again?\\nAgain let me thank you for your present, and\\nassure you that fireworks and triumphs have not dis-\\ntracted me from receiving a calm and noble enjoy-\\nment from it (which I trust I shall often), and I\\nsincerely congratulate you on its appearance.\\nWith kindest remembrances to you and household,\\nwe remain, yours sincerely,\\nC. Lamb and Sister.\\nLIV.\\nTO WORDSWORTH.\\n(1815.)\\nDear Wordsworth, You have made me very\\nproud with your successive book presents.-^ I have\\n1 In 18 1 5 Wordsworth published a new edition of his\\npoems, with the following title Poems by William Words-\\nworth including Lyrical Ballads, and the Miscellaneous\\nPieces of the Author. With Additional Poems, a new\\nPreface, and a Supplementary Essay. In two Volumes.\\nThe new poems were Yarrow Visited, The Force of\\nPrayer, The Farmer of Tilsbury Vale, Laodamia,\\nYew-Trees, A Night Piece, etc., and it was chiefly on\\nthese that Lamb made his comments.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 199\\nbeen carefully through the two volumes to see that\\nnothing was omitted which used to be there. I think\\nI miss nothing but a character in the antithetic man-\\nner, which I do not know why you left out, the\\nmoral to the boys building the giant, the omission\\nwhereof leaves it, in my mind, less complete, and\\none admirable line gone (or something come instead\\nof it), the stone-chat, and the glancing sand-\\npiper, which was a line quite alive. I demand\\nthese at your hand. I am glad that you have not\\nsacrificed a verse to those scoundrels. I would not\\nhave had you offer up the poorest rag that lingered\\nupon the stripped shoulders of little Alice Fell, to\\nhave atoned all their malice I would not have\\ngiven em a red cloak to save their souls. I am\\nafraid lest that substitution of a shell (a flat falsifi-\\ncation of the history) for the household implement,\\nas it stood at first, was a kind of tub thrown out\\nto the beast, or rather thrown out for him. The\\ntub was a good honest tub in its place, and nothing\\ncould fairly be said against it. You say you made\\nthe alteration for the friendly reader; but the\\nmalicious will take it to himself. Damn em\\nif you give em an inch, etc. The Preface is noble,\\nand such as you should write. I wish I could set\\nmy name to it. Imprimatur but you have set it\\nthere yourself, and I thank you. I had rather be\\na doorkeeper in your margin than have their proud-\\nest text swelling with my eulogies. The poems in\\nthe volumes which are new to me are so much in\\nthe old tone that I hardly received them as novel-\\nties. Of those of which I had no previous knowl-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "200 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nedge, the Four Yew-Trees and the mj^sterious\\ncompany which you have assembled there most\\nstruck me, Death the Skeleton, and Time the\\nShadow. It is a sight not for every youthful poet\\nto dream of; it is one of the last results he must\\nhave gone thinking on for years for. Laodamia\\nis a very original poem, I mean original with\\nreference to your own manner. You have noth-\\ning like it. I should have seen it in a strange\\nplace, and greatly admired it, but not suspected its\\nderivation.\\nLet me in this place, for I have writ you several\\nletters naming it, mention that my brother, who is\\na picture-collector, has picked up an undoubtable\\npicture of Milton.^ He gave a few shillings for it,\\nand could get no history with it, but that some old\\nlady had had it for a great many years. Its age is\\nascertainable from the state of the canvas, and you\\nneed only see it to be sure that it is the original\\nof the heads in the Tonson editions, with which we\\nare all so well familiar. Since I saw you, I have\\nhad a treat in the reading way which comes not\\nevery day, the Latin poems of V. Bourne, which\\nwere quite new to me. What a heart that man\\nhad, all laid out upon town scenes a proper\\ncounterpoise to some people s rural extravaganzas.\\nWhy I mention him is, that your Power of Music\\nreminded me of his poem of The Ballad-singer\\nin the Seven Dials. Do you remember his epi-\\n1 John Lamb afterwards gave the picture to Charles, who\\nmade it a wedding present to Mrs. Moxon (Emma Isola),\\nIt is now in the National Portrait Gallery.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 20i\\ngram on the old woman who taught Newton the\\nABC, which, after all, he says, he hesitates not to\\ncall Newton s Principia I was lately fatiguing\\nmyself with going through a volume of fine words\\nby Lord Thurlow, excellent words and if the\\nheart could live by words alone, it could desire no\\nbetter regales. But what an aching vacuum of mat-\\nter I don t stick at the madness of it, for that is\\nonly a consequence of shutting his eyes and think-\\ning he is in the age of the old Elizabeth poets.\\nFrom thence I turned to Bourne. What a sweet,\\nunpretending, pretty-mannered, matter fill creature,\\nsucking from every flower, making a flower of every-\\nthing, his diction all Latin, and his thoughts all\\nEnglish Bless him Latin was n t good enough\\nfor him. Why wasn t he content with the lan-\\nguage which Gay and Prior wrote in?\\nI am almost sorry that you printed extracts from\\nthose first poems, or that you did not print them\\nat length. They do not read to me as they do\\naltogether. Besides, they have diminished the\\nvalue of the original (which I possess) as a curi-\\nosity. I have hitherto kept them distinct in my\\nmind, as referring to a particular period of your life.\\nAll the rest of your poems are so much of a piece\\nthey might have been written in the same week\\nthese decidedly speak of an earlier period. They\\ntell more of what you had been reading. We were\\nglad to see the poems by a female friend. The\\none on the Wind is masterly, but not new to us.\\nBeing only three, perhaps you might have clapped\\n1 Dorothy Wordsworth.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "202 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\na D. at the corner, and let it have past as a printer s\\nmark to the uninitiated, as a delightful hint to the\\nbetter instructed. As it is, expect a formal criti-\\ncism on the poems of your female friend, and she\\nmust expect it. I should have written before but\\nI am cruelly engaged, and like to be. On Friday\\nI was at office from ten in the morning (two hours\\ndinner excepted) to eleven at night, last night till\\nnine my business and office business in general\\nhave increased so I don t mean I am there every\\nnight, but I must expect a great deal of it. I never\\nleave till four, and do not keep a holiday now once\\nin ten times, where I used to keep all red-letter\\ndays, and some few days besides, which I used to\\ndub Nature s holidays. I have had my day. I had\\nformerly little to do. So of the little that is left\\nof life I may reckon two thirds as dead, for time\\nthat a man may call his own is his life and hard\\nwork and thinking about it taint even the leisure\\nhours, stain Sunday with work-day contempla-\\ntions. This is Sunday; and the headache I have\\nis part late hours at work the two preceding nights,\\nand part later hours over a consoling pipe after-\\nwards. But I find stupid acquiescence coming over\\nme. I bend to the yoke, and it is almost with\\nme and my household as with the man and his\\nconsort,\\nTo them each evening had its glittering star,\\nAnd every sabbath-day its golden sun\\nto such Straits am I driven for the life of life. Time\\nOh that from that superfluity of holiday-leisure my\\n1 Excursion, book v.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 203\\nyouth wasted, Age might but take some hours youth\\nwanted not N. B. I have left off spirituous\\nHquors for four or more months, with a moral cer-\\ntainty of its lasting. Farewell, dear Wordsworth\\nO happy Paris, seat of idleness and pleasure\\nFrom some returned English I hear that not such\\na thing as a counting-house is to be seen in her\\nstreets, scarce a desk. Earthquakes swallow up\\nthis mercantile city and its gripple merchants,\\nas Drayton hath it, born to be the curse of this\\nbrave isle 1 I invoke this, not on account of any\\nparsimonious habits the mercantile interest may\\nhave, but, to confess truth, because I am not fit for\\nan office.\\nFarewell, in haste, from a head that is too ill\\nto methodize, a stomach to digest, and all out\\nof tune. Better harmonies await you\\nC. Lamb.\\nLV.\\nTO WORDSWORTH.\\nExcuse this maddish letter; I am too tired to\\nwrite in formd.\\n1815.\\nDear Wordsworth, The more I read of your\\ntwo last volumes, the more I feel it necessary to\\nmake my acknowledgments for them in more than\\none short letter. The Night Piece, to which you\\nrefer me, I meant fully to have noticed; but the\\nfact is, I come so fluttering and languid from busi-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "204 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nness, tired with thoughts of it, frightened with fears\\nof it, that when I get a few minutes to sit down and\\nscribble (an action of the hand now seldom natural\\nto me, I mean voluntary pen-work), I lose all\\npresential memory of what I had intended to say,\\nand say what I can, talk about Vincent Bourne or\\nany casual image, instead of that which I had medi-\\ntated (by the way, I must look out V. B. for you).\\nSo I had meant to have mentioned Yarrow\\nVisited, with that stanza, But thou that didst\\nappear so fair; than which I think no lovelier\\nstanza can be found in the wide world of poetry.\\nYet the poem, on the whole, seems condemned to\\nleave behind it a melancholy of imperfect satisfac-\\ntion, as if you had wronged the feeling with which,\\nin what preceded it, you had resolved never to visit\\nit, and as if the Muse had determined, in the most\\ndelicate manner, to make you, and scarce make y on,\\nfeel it. Else, it is far superior to the other, which\\nhas but one exquisite verse in it, the last but one,\\nor the last two this is all fine, except, perhaps, that\\nthat of studious ease and generous cares has a\\nlittle tinge of the less roma?itic about it. The Far-\\nmer of Tilsbury Vale is a charming counterpart to\\nPoor Susan, with the addition of that delicacy\\ntowards aberrations from the strict path which is so.\\nfine in the Old Thief and the Boy by his side,\\nwhich always brings water into my eyes. Perhaps it\\n1 But thou, that didst appear so fair\\nTo fond imagination,\\nDost rival in the light of day\\nHer delicate creation.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 205\\nis the worse for being a repetition Susan stood\\nfor the representative of poor Rus in Urbe. There\\nwas quite enough to stamp the moral of the thing\\nnever to be forgotten, bright volumes of vapor,\\netc. The last verse of Susan was to be got rid of, at\\nall events. It threw a kind of dubiety upon Susan s\\nmoral conduct. Susan is a servant-maid. I see her\\ntrundling her mop, and contemplating the whirling\\nphenomenon through blurred optics but to term\\nher a poor outcast seems as much as to say that\\npoor Susan was no better than she should be, which\\nI trust was not what you meant to express. Robin\\nGoodfellow supports himself without that stick of a\\nmoral which you have thrown away j but how I can\\nbe brought in felo de omitiendo for that ending to\\nthe Boy- builders is a mystery. I can t say posi-\\ntively now, I only know that no line oftener or\\nreadier occurs than that Light-hearted boys, I will\\nbuild up a Giant with you. It comes naturally\\nwith a warm holiday and the freshness of the blood.\\nIt is a perfect summer amulet, that I tie round my\\nlegs to quicken their motion when I go out a-may-\\ning. (N. B.) I don t often go out amaying;\\nmust is the tense with me now. Do you take the\\npun Young Romilly is divine, the reasons of his\\nmother s grief being remediless, I never saw\\nparental love carried up so high, towering above the\\nother loves, Shakspeare had done something for\\nthe filial in Cordelia, and, by implication, for the\\nfatherly too in Lear s resentment he left it for you\\nto explore the depths of the maternal heart. I get\\n1 Better known as Rural Architecture.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "2o6 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nstupid and flat, and flattering what s the use of\\ntelhng you what good things you have written, or\\nI hope I may add that I know them to be good?\\nApropos,wh n I first opened upon the just-mentioned\\npoem, m a careless tone I said to Mary, as if putting\\na riddle, What is good for a bootless bene? To\\nwhich, with infinite presence of mind (as the jest-\\nbook has it) she answered, K shoeless pea. It\\nwas the first joke she ever made. Joke the second\\nI make. You distinguish well, in your old preface,\\nbetween the verses of Dr. Johnson, of the Man in\\nthe Strand, and that from The Babes in the\\nWood. I was thinking whether, taking your own\\nglorious lines,\\nAnd from the love which was in her soul\\nFor her youthful Roinilly,\\nwhich, by the love I bear my own soul, I think have\\nno parallel in any of the best old ballads, and just\\naltering it to,\\nAnd from the great respect she felt\\nFor Sir Samuel Romilly,\\nwould not have explained the boundaries of prose\\nexpression and poetic feeling nearly as well. Ex-\\ncuse my levity on such an occasion. I never felt\\ndeeply in my life if that poem did not make me,\\nboth lately and when I read it in MS. No alderman\\n1 The first line of the poem on Bolton Abbey\\nWhat is good for a bootless bene\\nWith these dark words begins my tale\\nAnd their meaning is, whence can comfort spring\\nWhen Prayer is of no avail", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 207\\never longed after a haunch of buck venison more\\nthan I for a spiritual taste of that White Doe you\\npromise. I am sure it is superlative, or will be when\\ndressed, i. e., printed. All things read raw to me in\\nMS. to compare magna parvis, I cannot endure my\\nown writings in that state. The only one which I\\nthink would not very much win upon me in print is\\nPeter Bell but I am not certain. You ask me\\nabout your preface. I like both that and the\\nsupplement, without an exception. The account of\\nwhat you mean by imagination is very valuable to\\nme. It will help me to like some things in poetry\\nbetter, which is a little humiliating in me to confess.\\nI thought I could not be instructed in that science\\n(I mean the critical), as I once heard old ob-\\nscene, beastly Peter Pindar, in a dispute on Milton,\\nsay he thought that if he had reason to value him-\\nself upon one thing more than another, it was in\\nknowing what good verse was. Who looked over\\nyour proof-sheets and left ordebo in that line of\\nVirgil?\\nMy brother s picture of Milton is very finely\\npainted, that is, it might have been done by a hand\\nnext to Vandyke s. It is the genuine Milton, and\\nan object of quiet gaze for the half-hour at a time.\\nYet though I am confident there is no better one of\\nhim, the face does not quite answer to Milton.\\nThere is a tinge oi petit {ox petite, how do you spell\\nit querulousness about it yet, hang it now I re-\\nmember better, there is not, it is calm, melancholy,\\nand poetical. One of the copies of the poems you\\nsent has precisely the same pleasant blending of a", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "2o8 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nsheet of second volume with a sheet of first. I think\\nit was page 245 but I sent it and had it rectified.\\nIt gave me, in the first impetus of cutting the leaves,\\njust such a cold squelch as going down a plausible\\nturning and suddenly reading No thoroughfare.\\nRobinson s is entire I wish you would write more\\ncriticism about Spencer, etc. I think I could say\\nsomething about him myself; but. Lord bless me\\nthese merchants and their spicy drugs, which are\\nso harmonious to sing of, they lime-twig up my poor\\nsoul and body till I shall forget I ever thought my-\\nself a bit of a genius I can t even put a few\\nthoughts on paper for a newspaper. I engross when\\nI should pen a paragraph. Confusion blast all mer-\\ncantile transactions, all traffic, exchange of commod-\\nities, intercourse between nations, all the consequent\\ncivilization, and wealth, and amity, and link of soci-\\nety, and getting rid of prejudices, and knowledge of\\nthe face of the globe and rot the very firs of the\\nforest that look so romantic alive, and die into\\ndesks Vale.\\nYours, dear W., and all yours,\\nC. Lamb.\\nLVI.\\nTO SOUTHEY.\\nMay 6, 1815.\\nDear Southey, I have received from Longman\\na copy of Roderick, with the author s compli-\\nments, for which I much thank you. I don t know\\nwhere I shall put all the noble presents I have lately\\nreceived in that way the Excursion, Wordsworth s", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0214.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 209\\ntwo last volumes, and now Roderick, have come\\npouring in upon me like some irruption from Heli-\\ncon. The story of the brave Maccabee was already,\\nyou may be sure, familiar to me in all its parts. I\\nhave, since the receipt of your present, read it quite\\nthrough again, and with no diminished pleasure. I\\ndon t know whether I ought to say that it has given\\nme more pleasure than any of your long poems.\\nKehama is doubtless more powerful, but I don t\\nfeel that firm footing in it that I do in Roderick\\nmy imagination goes sinking and floundering in the\\nvast spaces of unopened-before systems and faiths\\nI am put out of the pale of my old sympathies my\\nmoral sense is almost outraged j I can t beUeve, or\\nwith horror am made to beheve, such desperate\\nchances against omnipotences, such disturbances of\\nfaith to the centre. The more potent, the more\\npainful the spell. Jove and his brotherhood of\\ngods, tottering with the giant assailings, I can bear,\\nfor the soul s hopes are not struck at in such con-\\ntests but your Oriental almighties are too much\\ntypes of the intangible prototype to be meddled with\\nwithout shuddering. One never connects what are\\ncalled the attributes with Jupiter. I mention only\\nwhat diminishes my delight at the wonder-workings\\nof Kehama, not what impeaches its power, which\\nI confess with trembling.\\nBut Roderick is a comfortable poem. It re-\\nminds me of the delight I took in the first reading\\nof the Joan of Arc. It is maturer and better\\nthan that, though not better to me now than that\\nwas then. It suits me better than Madoc. I am\\n14", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0215.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "2IO LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nat home in Spain and Christendom. I have a timid\\nimagination, I am afraid I do not wilHngly admit\\nof strange behefs or out-of-the-way creeds or places.\\nI never read books of travel, at least not farther\\nthan Paris or Rome. I can just endure Moors,\\nbecause of their connection as foes with Christians\\nbut Abyssinians, Ethiops, Esquimaux, Dervises, and\\nall that tribe, I hate I believe I fear them in some\\nmanner. A Mahometan turban on the stage, though\\nenveloping some well-known face (Mr. Cook or Mr.\\nMaddox, whom I see another day good Christian\\nand English waiters, innkeepers, etc.), does not give\\nme pleasure unalloyed. I am a Christian, English-\\nman, Londoner, Templar. God help me when I\\ncome to put off these snug relations, and to get\\nabroad into the world to come I shall be like\\nthe crow on the sand, as Wordsworth has it but I\\nwon t think on it, no need, I hope, yet.\\nThe parts I have been most pleased with, both on\\nfirst and second readings, perhaps, are Florinda s\\npalliation of Roderick s crime, confessed to him in\\nhis disguise the retreat of Pelayo s family first dis-\\ncovered his being made king, For acclamation\\none form must serve, moi -e solemn for the breach of\\nold observances.^ Roderick s vow is extremely fine,\\nand his blessing on the vow of Alphonso,\\nTowards the troop he spread his arms,\\nAs if the expanded soul diffused itself,\\nAnd carried to all spirits, with the act,\\nIts affluent inspiration.\\nIt Struck me forcibly that the feeling of these last\\nlines might have been suggested to you by the Car-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0216.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 21 1\\ntoon of Paul at Athens. Certain it is that a better\\nmotto or guide to that famous attitude can nowhere\\nbe found. I shall adopt it as explanatory of that\\nviolent but dignified motion.\\nI must read again Landor s Julian; I have\\nnot read it some time. I think he must have failed\\nin Roderick, for I remember nothing of him, nor of\\nany distinct character as a character, only fine-\\nsounding passages. I remember thinking also he\\nhad chosen a point of time after the event, as it\\nwere, for Roderick survives to no use but my\\nmemory is weak, and I will not wrong a fine poem\\nby trusting to it.\\nThe notes to your poem I have not read again\\nbut it will be a take-downable book on my shelf, and\\nthey will serve sometimes at breakfast, or times too\\nlight for the text to be duly appreciated, though\\nsome of em, one of the serpent Penance, is serious\\nenough, now I think on t.\\nOf Coleridge I hear nothing, nor of the Morgans.\\nI hope to have him like a reappearing star, stand-\\ning up before me some time when least expected in\\nLondon, as has been the case whilere.\\nI am doing no\\\\\\\\\\\\v[\\\\g (as the phrase is) but reading\\npresents, and walk away what of the day-hours I can\\nget from hard occupation. Pray accept once more\\nmy hearty thanks and expression of pleasure for\\nyour remembrance of me. My sister desires her\\nkind respects to Mrs. S. and to all at Keswick.\\nYours truly,\\nC. Lamb.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0217.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "212 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nLVII.\\nTO MISS HUTCHINSON.i\\nOctober 19, 181 5.\\nDear Miss H., I am forced to be the replier to\\nyour letter, for Mary has been ill, and gone from\\nhome these five weeks yesterday. She has left me\\nvery lonely and very miserable. I stroll about, but\\nthere is no rest but at one s own fireside and there\\nis no rest for me there now. I look forward to the\\nworse half being past, and keep up as well as I can.\\nShe has begun to show some favorable symptoms.\\nThe return of her disorder has been frightfully soon\\nthis time, with scarce a six-months interval. I am\\nalmost afraid my worry of spirits about the E. I.\\nHouse was partly the cause of her illness but one\\nalways imputes it to the cause next at hand, more\\nprobably it comes from some cause we have no con-\\ntrol over or conjecture of. It cuts sad great sHces\\nout of the time, the little time, we shall have to live\\ntogether. I don t know but the recurrence of these\\nillnesses might help me to sustain her death better\\nthan if we had had no partial separations. But I\\nwon t talk of death. I will imagine us immortal, or\\nforget that we are otherwise. By God s blessing, in\\na few weeks we may be making our meal together, or\\nsitting in the front row of the pit at Drury Lane, or\\ntaking our evening walk past the theatres, to look at\\nthe outside of them, at least, if not to be tempted\\n1 Mrs. Wordsworth s sister.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0218.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 213\\nin. Then we forget we are assailable we are\\nstrong for the time as rocks, the wind is tem-\\npered to the shorn Lambs. Poor C. Lloyd and\\npoor Priscilla I feel I hardly feel enough for him\\nmy own calamities press about me, and involve me\\nin a thick integument not to be reached at by other\\nfolks misfortunes. But I feel all I can, all the\\nkindness I can, towards you all. God bless you\\nI hear nothing from Coleridge.\\nYours truly,\\nC. Lamb.\\nLVIII.\\nTO MANNING.\\nDecember 25, 181 5.\\nDear old Friend and Absentee, This is Christ-\\nmas Day, 1 815, with us what it may be with you I\\ndon t know, the 1 2th of June next year, perhaps j\\nand if it should be the consecrated season with you,\\nI don t see how you can keep it. You have no\\nturkeys you would not desecrate the festival by\\noffering up a withered Chinese bantam, instead of\\nthe savoury grand Norfolcian holocaust, that smokes\\nall around my nostrils at this moment from a thou-\\nsand firesides. Then what puddings have you?\\nWhere will you get holly to stick in your churches,\\nor churches to stick your dried tea-leaves (that\\nmust be the substitute) in? What memorials you\\ncan have of the holy time, I see not. A chopped\\nmissionary or two may keep up the thin idea of\\nLent and the wilderness but what standing evi-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0219.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "214 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ndence have you of the Nativity T is our rosy-\\ncheeked, homestalled divines, whose faces shine to\\nthe tune of tuito us a child was born, faces fragrant\\nwith the mince-pies of half a century, that alone can\\nauthenticate the cheerful mystery. I feel, I feel my\\nbowels refreshed with the holy tide; my zeal is\\ngreat against the unedified heathen. Down with the\\nPagodas down with the idols, Ching-chong-fo\\nand his foolish priesthood Come out of Babylon,\\noh my friend, for her time is come, and the child\\nthat is native, and the Proselyte of her gates, shall\\nkindle and smoke together And in sober sense\\nwhat makes you so long from among us. Manning?\\nYou must not expect to see the same England again\\nwhich you left.\\nEmpires have been overturned, crowns trodden\\ninto dust, the face of the Western world quite\\nchanged your friends have all got old, those you\\nleft blooming, myself (who am one of the few that\\nremember you) those golden hairs which you rec-\\nollect my taking a pride in, turned to silvery and\\ngray. Mary has been dead and buried many years\\nshe desired to be buried in the silk gown you\\nsent her. Rickman, that you remember active and\\nstrong, now walks out supported by a servant-maid\\nand a stick. Martin Burney is a very old man.\\nThe other day an aged woman knocked at my door\\nand pretended to my acquaintance. It was long be-\\nfore I had the most distant cognition of her but at\\nlast together we made her out to be Louisa, the\\ndaughter of Mrs. Topham, formerly Mrs. Morton,\\nwho had been Mrs. Reynolds, formerly Mrs. Kenney,", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0220.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 215\\nwhose first husband was Holcroft, the dramatic\\nwriter of the last century. St. Paul s church is a\\nheap of ruins the Monument is n t half so high as\\nyou knew it, divers parts being successively taken\\ndown which the ravages of time had rendered dan-\\ngerous the horse at Charing Cross is gone, no one\\nknows whither, and all this has taken place while\\nyou have been settling whether Ho-hing-tong should\\nbe spelled with a or a For aught I see,\\nyou had almost as well remain where you are, and\\nnot come, like a Struldbrug, into a world where few\\nwere born when you went away. Scarce here and\\nthere one will be able to make out your face all\\nyour opinions will be out of date, your jokes obso-\\nlete, your puns rejected with fastidiousness as wit of\\nthe last age. Your way of mathematics has already\\ngiven way to a new method which, after all, is, I be-\\nlieve, the old doctrine of Maclaurin new-vamped up\\nwith what he borrowed of the negative quantity of\\nfluxions from Euler.\\nPoor Godwin I was passing his tomb the other\\nday in Cripplegate churchyard. There are some\\nverses upon it, written by Miss which if I\\nthought good enough I would send you. He was\\none of those who would have hailed your return, not\\nwith boisterous shouts and clamors, but with the\\ncomplacent gratulations of a philosopher anxious to\\npromote knowledge, as leading to happiness but\\nhis systems and his theories are ten feet deep in\\nCripplegate mould. Coleridge is just dead, having\\nlived just long enough to close the eyes of Words-\\nworth, who paid the debt to nature but a week or", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0221.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "2l6 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ntwo before. Poor Col., but two days before he\\ndied he wrote to a bookseller proposing an epic\\npoem on the Wandering of Cain/ in twenty-four\\nbooks. It is said he has left behind him more than\\nforty thousand treatises in criticism, metaphysics,\\nand divinity but few of them in a state of comple-\\ntion. They are now destined, perhaps, to wrap up\\nspices. You see what mutation the busy hand of\\nTime has produced, while you have consumed in\\nfoolish, voluntary exile that time which might have\\ngladdened your friends, benefited your country\\nBut reproaches are useless. Gather up the wretched\\nrelics, my friend, as fast as you can, and come to\\nyour old home. I will rub my eyes and try to\\nrecognize you. We will shake withered hands to-\\ngether, and talk of old things, of St. Mary s church\\nand the barber s opposite, where the young students\\nin mathematics used to assemble. Poor Crisp, that\\nkept it afterwards, set up a fruiterer s shop in\\nTrumpington Street, and for aught I know resides\\nthere still for I saw the name up in the last journey\\nI took there with my sister just before she died. I\\nsuppose you heard that I had left the India House\\nand gone into the Fishmongers Almshouses over the\\nbridge. I have a little cabin there, small and\\nhomely but you shall be welcome to it. You like\\noysters, and to open them yourself; I 11 get you\\nsome if you come in oyster time. Marshall, God-\\nwin s old friend, is still alive, and talks of the faces\\nyou used to make.^\\nCome as soon as you can. C. Lamb.\\n1 The reversal of this serio-humorous mingling of fiction\\nand forecast will be found in the next letter.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0222.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 217\\nLIX.\\nTO MANNING.\\nDecember 26, 181 5.\\nDear Manning, Following your brother s exam-\\nple, I have just ventured one letter to Canton, and am\\nnow hazarding another (not exactly a duplicate) to\\nSt. Helena. The first was full of unprobable roman-\\ntic fictions, fitting the remoteness of the mission it\\ngoes upon in the present I mean to confine myself\\nnearer to truth as you come nearer home. A cor-\\nrespondence with the uttermost parts of the earth\\nnecessarily involves in it some heat of fancy it sets\\nthe brain agoing but I can think on the half-way\\nhouse tranquillyo Your friends, then, are not all\\ndead or grown forgetful of you through old age,\\nas that lying letter asserted, anticipating rather what\\nmust happen if you keep tarrying on forever on the\\nskirts of creation, as there seemed a danger of your\\ndoing, but they are all tolerably well, and in full\\nand perfect comprehension of what is meant by\\nManning s coming home again. Mrs. Kenney never\\nlet her tongue run riot more than in remembrances\\nof you. Fanny expends herself in phrases that can\\nonly be justified by her romantic nature. Mary re-\\nserves a portion of your silk, not to be buried in (as\\nthe false nuncio asserts), but to make up spick and\\nspan into a bran-new gown to wear when you come.\\nI am the same as when you knew me, almost to a\\nsurfeiting identity. This very night I am going to", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0223.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "2l8 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nleave off tobacco Surely there must be some other\\nworld in which this unconquerable purpose shall be\\nrealized. The soul hath not her generous aspirings\\nimplanted in her in vain. One that you knew, and\\nI think the only one of those friends we knew much\\nof in common, has died in earnest. Poor Priscilla\\nHer brother Robert is also dead, and several of the\\ngrown-up brothers and sisters, in the compass of a\\nvery few years. Death has not otherwise meddled\\nmuch in families that I know. Not but he has\\nhis horrid eye upon us, and is whetting his infernal\\nfeathered dart every instant, as you see him truly\\npictured in that impressive moral picture, The\\ngood man at the hour of death. I have in trust\\nto put in the post four letters from Diss, and one\\nfrom Lynn, to St. Helena, which I hope will accom-\\npany this safe, and one from Lynn, and the one be-\\nfore spoken of from me, to Canton. But we all hope\\nthat these letters may be waste paper. I don t know\\nwhy I have foreborne writing so long but it is such\\na forlorn hope to send a scrap of paper straggling\\nover wide oceans. And yet I know when you come\\nhome, I shall have you sitting before me at our fire-\\nside just as if you had never been away. In such an\\ninstant does the return of a person dissipate all the\\nweight of imaginary perplexity from distance of time\\nand space I 11 promise you good oysters. Cory\\nis dead, that kept the shop opposite St. Dunstan s,\\nbut the tougher materials of the shop survive the\\nperishing frame of its keeper. Oysters continue to\\nflourish there under as good auspices. Poor Cory\\nBut if you will absent yourself twenty years together,", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0224.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 219\\nyou must not expect numerically the same population\\nto congratulate your return which wetted the sea-\\nbeach with their tears when you went away. Have\\nyou recovered the breathless stone-staring astonish-\\nment into which you must have been thrown upon\\nlearning at landing that an Emperor of France was\\nliving at St. Helena? What an event in the solitude\\nof the seas, like finding a fish s bone at the top\\nof Plinlimmon; but these things are nothing in\\nour Western world. Novelties cease to affect.\\nCome and try what your presence can.\\nGod bless you Your old friend,\\nC. Lamb*\\nLX.\\nTO WORDSWORTH\\nApril 9, 1816.\\nDear Wordsworth, Thanks for the books you\\nhave given me, and for all the books you mean to\\ngive me. I will bind up the Political Sonnets\\nand Ode according to your suggestion. I have\\nnot bound the poems yet I wait till people have\\ndone borrowing them. I think I shall get a chain\\nand chain them to my shelves, more Bodleiano, and\\npeople may come and read them at chain s length.\\nFor of those who borrow, some read slow; some\\nmean to read but don t read and some neither\\nread nor meant to read, but borrow to leave you an\\nopinion of their sagacity. I must do my money-\\nborrowing friends the justice to say that there is\\nnothing of this caprice or wantonness of alienation in", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0225.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "220 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nthem when they borrow my money they never fail\\nto make use of it. Coleridge has been here about a\\nfortnight. His health is tolerable at present, though\\nbeset with temptations. In the first place, the Cov-\\nent Garden Manager has declined accepting his\\nTragedy/ though (having read it) I see no reason\\nupon earth why it might not have run a very fair\\nchance, though it certainly wants a prominent part\\nfor a Miss O Neil or a Mr. Kean. However, he is\\ngoing to write to-day to Lord Byron to get it to\\nDrury. Should you see Mrs. C, who has just writ-\\nten to C. a letter, which I have given him, it will be\\nas well to say nothing about its fate till some answer\\nis shaped from Drury. He has two volumes printing\\ntogether at Bristol, both finished as far as the com-\\nposition goes the latter containing his fugitive\\npoems, the former his Literary Life. Nature, who\\nconducts every creature by instinct to its best end,\\nhas skilfully directed C. to take up his abode at a\\nChemist s Laboratory in Norfolk Street. She might\\nas well have sent a Helliio Librorum for cure to the\\nVatican. God keep him inviolate among the traps\\nand pitfalls He has done pretty well as yet.^\\nTell Miss Hutchinson my sister is every day wish-\\ning to be quietly sitting down to answer her very kind\\nletter but while C. stays she can hardly find a quiet\\ntime. God bless him\\nTell Mrs. Wordsworth her postscripts are always\\nagreeable. They are legible too. Your manual-\\ngraphy is terrible, dark as Lycophron. Likeli-\\n1 Zapolya.\\n2 Lamb alludes, of course, to Coleridge s opium habit.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0226.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 221\\nhood, for instance, is thus typified. 1 should\\nnot wonder if the constant making out of such para-\\ngraphs is the cause of that weakness in Mrs. W. s\\neyes, as she is tenderly pleased to express it. Dor-\\nothy, I hear, has mounted spectacles so you have\\ndeoculated two of your dearest relations in Ufe.\\nWell, God bless you, and continue to give you\\npower to write with a finger of power upon our\\nhearts what you fail to impress, in corresponding\\nlucidness, upon our outward eyesight\\nMary s love to all she is quite well.\\nI am called off to do the deposits on Cotton\\nWool. But why do I relate this to you, who want\\nfaculties to comprehend the great mystery of de-\\nposits, of interest, of warehouse rent, and contingent\\nfund? Adieu!\\nC. Lamb.\\nLXI.\\nTO WORDSWORTH.\\nApril 26, 18 16.\\nDear W., I have just finished the pleasing task\\nof correcting the revise of the poems and letter.^ I\\nhope they will come out faultless. One blunder I\\nsaw and shuddered at. The hallucinating rascal had\\n1 Wordsworth s Letter to a Friend of Burns (London,\\n1816).\\nWordsworth had been consulted by a friend of Burns as\\nto the best mode of vindicating the reputation of the poet,\\nwhich, it was alleged, had been much injured by the publica-\\ntion of Dr. Currie s Life and Correspondence of Burns.\\nAiNGER.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0227.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "222 LETTEBS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nprinted battered for battened, this last not conveying\\nany distinct sense to his gaping soul. The Reader\\n(as they call em) had discovered it, and given it the\\nmarginal brand but the substitutory n had not yet\\nappeared. I accompanied his notice with a most\\npathetic address to the printer not to neglect the\\ncorrection. I know how such a blunder would\\nbatter at your peace. With regard to the works,\\nthe Letter I read with unabated satisfaction. Such\\na thing was wanted, called for. The parallel of\\nCotton with Burns I heartily approve. Iz. Walton\\nhallows any page in which his reverend name ap-\\npears. Duty archly bending to purposes of general\\nbenevolence is exquisite. The poems I endeav-\\nored not to understand, but to read them with my\\neye alone and I think I succeeded. (Some people\\nwill do that when they come out, you 11 say.) As if I\\nwere to luxuriate to-morrow at some picture-gallery\\nI was never at before, and, going by to-day by\\nchance, found the door open, and having but five\\nminutes to look about me, peeped in, just such a\\nchastised peep I took with my mind at the lines my\\nluxuriating eye was coursing over unrestrained, not\\nto anticipate another day s fuller satisfaction. Cole-\\nridge is printing Christabel, by Lord Byron s\\nrecommendation to Murray, with what he calls a\\nvision, Kubla Khan, which said vision he repeats\\nso enchantingly that it irradiates and brings heaven\\nand elysian bowers into my parlor while he sings or\\nsays it but there is an observation, Never tell thy\\ndreams, and I am almost afraid that Kubla\\nKhan is an owl that won t bear daylight. I fear", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0228.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 223\\nlest it should be discovered, by the lantern of typog-\\nraphy and clear reducting to letters, no better than\\nnonsense or no sense. When I was young, I used\\nto chant with ecstasy Mild Arcadians ever bloom-\\ning, till somebody told me it was meant to be non-\\nsense. Even yet I have a lingering attachment to\\nit, and I think it better than Windsor Forest,\\nDying Christian s Address, etc. Coleridge has\\nsent his tragedy to D. L. T. it cannot be acted this\\nseason, and by their manner of receiving I hope he\\nwill be able to alter it to make them accept it for\\nnext. He is at present under the medical care of\\na Mr. Oilman (Killman?) at Highgate, where he\\nplays at leaving off laud m. I think his essentials\\nnot touched he is very bad, but then he wonder-\\nfully picks up another day, and his face, when he\\nrepeats his verses, hath its ancient glory, an arch-\\nangel a little damaged. Will Miss H. pardon our\\nnot replying at length to her kind letter? We are\\nnot quiet enough; Morgan is with us every day,\\ngoing betwixt Highgate and the Temple. Coleridge\\nis absent but four miles and the neighborhood of\\nsuch a man is as exciting as the presence of fifty\\nordinary persons. Tis enough to be within the\\nwhiff and wind of his genius for us not to possess\\nour souls in quiet. If I lived with him or the Au-\\nthor of the Excursion, I should, in a very little time,\\nlose my own identity, and be dragged along in the\\ncurrent of other people s thoughts, hampered in a\\nnet. How cool I sit in this office, with no possible\\ninterruption further than what I may term matei^alf\\nThere is not as much metaphysics in thirty-six of", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0229.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "224 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nthe people here as there is in the first page of\\nLocke s Treatise on the Human Understanding, or\\nas much poetry as in any ten Hnes of the Pleasures\\nof Hope, or more natural Beggar s Petition. I\\nnever entangle myself in any of their speculations.\\nInterruptions, if I try to write a letter even, I have\\ndreadful. Just now, within four lines, I was called\\noff for ten minutes to consult dusty old books for the\\nsettlement of obsolete errors. I hold you a guinea\\nyou don t find the chasm where I left off, so excel-\\nlently the wounded sense closed again and was\\nhealed.\\nN. B. Nothing said above to the contrary, but\\nthat I hold the personal presence of the two men-\\ntioned potent spirits at a rate as high as any but I\\npay dearer what amuses others robs me of myself\\nmy mind is positively discharged into their greater\\ncurrents, but flows with a willing violence. As to\\nyour question about work, it is far less oppressive to\\nme than it was, from circumstances it takes all the\\ngolden part of the day away, a solid lump, from ten\\nto four but it does not kill my peace, as before.\\nSome day or other I shall be in a taking again. My\\nhead aches, and you have had enough. God bless\\nyou\\nC. Lamb.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0230.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 225\\nLXII.\\nTO H. DODWELL.1\\nJuly, 1 81 6.\\nMy dear Fellow, I have been in a lethargy\\nthis long while, and forgotten London, Westminster,\\nMarybone, Paddington, they all went clean out of\\nmy head, till happening to go to a neighbor s in this\\ngood borough of Calne, for want of whist-players we\\nfell upon Commerce: the word awoke me to a re-\\nmembrance of my professional avocations and the\\nlong-continued strife which I have been these twenty-\\nfour years endeavoring to compose between those\\ngrand Irreconcilables, Cash and Commerce I in-\\nstantly called for an almanac, which with some diffi-\\nculty was procured at a fortune-teller s in the vicinity\\n(for happy hohday people here, having nothing to\\ndo, keep no account of time), and found that by dint\\nof duty I must attend in Leadenhall on Wednesy.\\nmorning next and shall attend accordingly. Does\\nMaster Hannah give maccaroons still, and does he\\nfetch the Cobbetts from my attic? Perhaps it\\nwould n t be too much trouble for him to drop the\\nenclosed up at my aforesaid chamber, and any let-\\nters, etc., with it but the enclosed should go with-\\nout delay. N. B. He isn t to fetch Monday s\\nCobbett, but it is to wait my reading when I come\\n1 A fellow-clerk in the India House. This charming\\nletter, written evidently during a vacation trip, was first pub-\\nlished entire in Canon Ainger s edition (1887) of Lamb s\\nLetters.\\n15", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0231.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "226 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nback. Heigh-ho Lord have mercy upon me,\\nhow many does two and two make I am afraid I\\nshall make a poor clerk in future, I am spoiled with\\nrambling among haycocks and cows and pigs. Bless\\nme I had like to have forgot (the air is so tem-\\nperate and oblivious here) to say I have seen your\\nbrother, and hope he is doing well in the finest spot\\nof the world. More of these things when I return.\\nRemember me to the gentlemen, I forget names.\\nShall I find all my letters at my rooms on Tuesday?\\nIf you forget to send em never mind, for I don t\\nmuch care for reading and writing now; I shall\\ncome back again by degrees, I suppose, into my\\nformer habits. How is Bruce de Ponthieu, and\\nPorcher and Co.? the tears come into my eyes\\nwhen I think how long I have neglected\\nAdieu ye fields, ye shepherds and herdesses,\\nand dairies and cream-pots, and fairies and dances\\nupon the green.\\nI come, I come. Don t drag me so hard by the\\nhair of my head, Genius of British India I know\\nmy hour is come, Faustus must give up his soul, O\\nLucifer, O Mephistopheles Can you make out\\nwhat all this letter is about? I am afraid to look\\nit over.\\nCh. Lamb.\\nLXIII.\\nTO MRS. WORDSWORTH.\\nFebruary i? i8i8.\\nMy dear Mrs. Wordsworth, I have repeat-\\nedly taken pen in hand to answer your kind", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0232.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 227\\nletter. My sister should more properly have done\\nit but she having failed, I consider myself answer-\\nable for her debts. I am now trying to do it in the\\nmidst of commercial noises, and with a quill which\\nseems more ready to ghde into arithmetical figures\\nand names of gourds, cassia, cardamoms, aloes, gin-\\nger, or tea, than into kindly responses and friendly\\nrecollections. The reason why I cannot write letters\\nat home is that I am never alone. Plato s (I\\nwrite to W. W. now) Plato s double-animal parted\\nnever longed more to be reciprocally re-united in\\nthe system of its first creation than I sometimes do\\nto be but for a moment single and separate. Except\\nmy morning s walk to the office, which is like tread-\\ning on sands of gold for that reason, I am never so.\\nI cannot walk home from office, but some officious\\nfriend offers his unwelcome courtesies to accompany\\nme. All the morning I am pestered. I could sit\\nand gravely cast up sums in great books, or compare\\nsum with sum, and write paid against this, and\\nunpaid against t other, and yet reserve in some\\ncorner of my mind some darling thoughts all my\\nown, faint memory of some passage in a book,\\nor the tone of an absent friend s voice, a snatch\\nof Miss Burrell s singing, or a gleam of Fanny Kelly s\\ndivine plain face. The two operations might be\\ngoing on at the same time without thwarting, as the\\nsun s two motions (earth s I mean) or as I some-\\ntimes turn round till I am giddy, in my back parlor,\\nwhile my sister is walking longitudinally in the front\\nor as the shoulder of veal twists round with the spit,\\nwhile the smoke wreathes up the chimney. But", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0233.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "2 28 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nthere are a set of amateurs of the Belles Lettres,\\nthe gay science, who come to me as a sort of\\nrendezvous, putting questions of criticism, of British\\nInstitutions, Lalla Rookhs, etc., what Coleridge\\nsaid at the lecture last night, who have the form\\nof reading men, but, for any possible use reading\\ncan be to them but to talk of, might as well have\\nbeen Ante-Cadmeans born, or have lain sucking out\\nthe sense of an Egyptian hieroglyph as long as the\\npyramids will last, before they should find it. These\\npests worrit me at business and in all its intervals,\\nperplexing my accounts, poisoning my little salutary\\nwarming-time at the fire, puzzling my paragraphs if\\nI take a newspaper, cramming in between my own\\nfree thoughts and a column of figures, which had\\ncome to an amicable compromise but for them.\\nTheir noise ended, one of them, as I said, accom-\\npanies me home, lest I should be solitary for a\\nmoment. He at length takes his welcome leave at\\nthe door up I go, mutton on table, hungry as hun-\\nter, hope to forget my cares and bury them in the\\nagreeable abstraction of mastication knock at the\\ndoor In comes Mr. Hazlitt, or Martin Burney, or\\nMorgan Demi-gorgon,^ or my brother, or somebody,\\nto prevent my eating alone, a process absolutely\\nnecessary to my poor wretched digestion. Oh, the\\npleasure of eating alone Eating my dinner alone,\\nlet me think of it But in they come, and make\\nit absolutely necessary that I should open a bottle\\nof orange for my meat turns into stone when any\\none dines with me, if I have not wine. Wine can\\nJohn Morgan.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0234.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 229\\nmollify stones then that wine turns into acidity,\\nacerbity, misanthropy, a hatred of my interrupters\\n(God bless em I love some of em dearly) j and\\nwith the hatred, a still greater aversion to their going\\naway. Bad is the dead sea they bring upon me,\\nchoking and deadening; but worse is the deader\\ndry sand they leave me on, if they go before bed-\\ntime. Come never, I would say to these spoilers of\\nmy dinner but if you come, never go The fact\\nis, this interruption does not happen very often;\\nbut every time it comes by surprise, that present\\nbane of my life, orange wine, with all its dreary\\nstifling consequences, follows. Evening company\\nI should always like, had I any mornings but I am\\nsaturated with human faces {divine forsooth and\\nvoices all the golden morning and five evenings in\\na week would be as much as I should covet to be\\nin company; but I assure you that is a wonderful\\nweek in which I can get two, or one, to myself. I\\nam never C. L., but always C. L. Co. He who\\nthought it not good for man to be alone, preserve\\nme from the more prodigious monstrosity of being\\nnever by myself! I forget bed-time; but even\\nthere these sociable frogs clamber up to annoy me.\\nOnce a week, generally some singular evening that,\\nbeing alone, I go to bed at the hour I ought always\\nto be a-bed, just close to my bed-room window is\\nthe club-room of a public-house, where a set of\\nsingers I take them to be chorus-singers of the two\\ntheatres (it must be both of them) begin their\\norgies. They are a set of fellows (as I conceive)\\nwho, being limited by their talents to the burden", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0235.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "230 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nof the song at the playhouses, in revenge have got\\nthe common popular airs by Bishop or some cheap\\ncomposer, arranged for choruses, that is, to be sung\\nall in chorus, at least, I never can catch any of the\\ntext of the plain song, nothing but the Babylonish\\nchoral howl at the tail on t. That fiiry being\\nquenched, the howl I mean, a burden suc-\\nceeds of shouts and clapping and knocking of the\\ntable. At length over-tasked nature drops under it,\\nand escapes for a few hours into the society of the\\nsweet silent creatures of dreams, which go away with\\nmocks and mows at cockcrow. And then I think\\nof the words Christabel s father used (bless me I\\nhave dipt in the wrong ink) to say every morning\\nby way of variety when he awoke,\\nEvery knell, the Baron saith.\\nWakes us up to a world of death,\\nor something like it. All I mean by this senseless\\ninterrupted tale is, that by my central situation I am\\na little over-companied. Not that I have any ani-\\nmosity against the good creatures that are so anxious\\nto drive away the harpy Solitude from me. I like em,\\nand cards, and a cheerful glass but I mean merely\\nto give you an idea, between office confinement and\\nafter- office society, how little time I can call my own.\\nI mean only to draw a picture, not to make an in-\\nference. I would not, that I know of, have it other-\\nwise. I only wish sometimes I could exchange some\\nof my faces and voices for the faces and voices\\nwhich a late visitation brought most welcome, and car-\\nried away, leaving regret, but more pleasure, even", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0236.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 231\\na kind of gratitude, at being so often favored with\\nthat kind northern visitation. My London faces and\\nnoises don t hear me, I mean no disrespect, or I\\nshould explain myself, that instead of their return\\n220 times a year, and the return of W. W., etc.,\\nseven times in 104 weeks, some more equal distri-\\nbution might be found. I have scarce room to put\\nin Mary s kind love and my poor name.\\nC. Lamb.\\nW. H[aziitt]. goes on lecturing against W. W.,\\nand making copious use of quotations from said W.\\nW. to give a zest to said lectures. S. T. C. is lectur-\\ning with success. I have not heard either him or\\nH. but I dined with S. T. C. at Oilman s a Sunday\\nor two since and he was well and in good spirits.\\nI mean to hear some of the course but lectures are\\nnot much to my taste, whatever the lecturer may be.\\nIf read, they are dismal flat, and you can t think\\nwhy you are brought together to hear a man read\\nhis works, which you could read so much better at\\nleisure yourself if delivered extempore, I am always\\nin pain lest the gift of utterance should suddenly\\nfail the orator in the middle, as it. did me at the\\ndinner given in honor of me at the London Tavern.\\nGentlemen, said I, and there I stopped; the rest\\nmy feelings were under the necessity of supplying.\\nMrs. Wordsworth will go on, kindly haunting us with\\nvisions of seeing the lakes once more, which never\\ncan be reahzed. Between us there is a great gulf,\\nnot of inexplicable moral antipathies and distances,\\nI hope, as there seemed to be between me and that", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0237.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "232 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ngentleman concerned in the stamp-office that I so\\nstrangely recoiled from at Haydon s. I think I had\\nan instinct that he v/as the head of an office. I hate\\nall such people, accountants deputy accountants.\\nThe mere abstract notion of the East India Com-\\npany, as long as she is unseen, is pretty, rather\\npoetical but as she makes herself manifest by the\\npersons of such beasts, I loathe and detest her as\\nthe scarlet what-do-you-call-her of Babylon. I\\nthought, after abridging us of all our red-letter days,\\nthey had done their worst but I was deceived in\\nthe length to which heads of offices, those true\\nliberty-haters, can go, they are the tyrants, not\\nFerdinand, nor Nero. By a decree passed this\\nweek, they have abridged us of the immemorially\\nobserved custom of going at one o clock of a Satur-\\nday, the little shadow of a holiday left us. Dear\\nW. W,, be thankful for liberty.\\nLXIV.\\nTO WORDSWORTH.\\nMay, 18 19.\\nDear Wordsworth, I received a copy of Peter\\nBell 1 a week ago, and I hope the author will not\\n1 Lamb alludes to a parody, ridiculing Wordsworth, by\\nJ. Hamilton Reynolds. The verses were entitled Peter\\nBell A Lyrical Ballad and their drift and spirit may be\\ninferred from the following lines from the preface It is\\nnow a period of one-and-twenty years since I first wrote\\nsome of tlie most perfect compositions (except certain pieces\\nI have written in my later days) that ever dropped from", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0238.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 233\\nbe offended if I say I do not much relish it. The\\nhumor, if it is meant for humor, is forced and then\\nthe price, sixpence would have been dear for it.\\nMind, I do not m ^x\\\\your Peter Bell, but a Peter\\nBell, which preceded it about a week, and is in\\nevery bookseller s shop-window in London, the type\\nand paper nothing differing from the true one, the\\npreface signed W. W., and the supplementary pre-\\nface quoting as the author s words an extract from\\nthe supplementary preface to the Lyrical Ballads.\\nIs there no law against these rascals I would have\\nthis Lambert Simnel whipped at the cart s tail. Who\\nstarted the spurious P. B. I have not heard. I\\nshould guess, one of the sneering brothers, the vile\\nSmiths; but I have heard no name mentioned.\\nPeter Bell (not the mock one) is excellent,\\nfor its matter, I mean. I cannot say the style of it\\nquite satisfies me. It is too lyrical. The auditors,\\nto whom it is feigned to be told, do not arride me.\\nI had rather it had been told me, the reader, at once.\\nHart-leap Well is the tale for me in matter as\\ngood as this, in manner infinitely before it, in my\\npoor judgment. Why did you not add The Wag-\\noner Have I thanked you, though, yet for\\nPeter Bell I would not not have it for a good\\ndeal of money. Coleridge is very foolish to scribble\\nabout books. Neither his tongue nor fingers are very\\npoetical pen. My heart hath been right and powerful all\\nits years. I never thought an evil or a weak thought in my\\nlife. It has been my aim and my achievement to deduce\\nmoral thunder from buttercups, daisies, celandines, and (as a\\npoet scarcely inferior to myself hath it) such small deer,\\netc.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0239.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "234 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nretentive. But I shall not say anything to him about\\nit. He would only begin a very long story with a\\nvery long face, and I see him far too seldom to tease\\nhim with affairs of business or conscience when I do\\nsee him. He never comes near our house, and when\\nwe go to see him he is generally writing or thinking\\nhe is writing in his study till the dinner comes, and\\nthat is scarce over before the stage summons us\\naway. The mock P. B. had only this effect on\\nme, that after twice reading it over in hopes to find\\nsomething diverting in it, I reached your two books\\noff the shelf, and set into a steady reading of them,\\ntill I had nearly finished both before I went to bed,\\nthe two of your last edition, of course, I mean.\\nAnd in the morning I awoke determined to take\\ndown the Excursion. I wish the scoundrel imi-\\ntator could know this. But why waste a wish on\\nhim I do not believe that paddling about with a\\nstick in a pond, and fishing up a dead author, whom\\nhis intolerable wrongs had driven to that deed of\\ndesperation, would turn the heart of one of these\\nobtuse literary Bells. There is no Cock for such\\nPeters, damn em I am glad this aspiration came\\nupon the red-ink line.^ It is more of a bloody\\ncurse. I have delivered over your other presents\\nto Alsager and G. Dyer. A., I am sure, will value\\nit, and be proud of the hand from which it came.\\nTo G. D. a poem is a poem, his own as good as\\nanybody s, and, God bless him anybody s as good\\nas his own for I do not think h? has the most dis-\\n1 The original letter is actually written in two inks,\\nalternate black and red.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0240.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 235\\ntant guess of the possibility of one poem being better\\nthan another. The gods, by denying him the very\\nfaculty itself of discrimination, have effectually cut\\noff every seed of envy in his bosom. But with envy\\nthey excited curiosity also and if you wish the copy\\nagain, which you destined for him, I think I shall be\\nable to find it again for you on his third shelf, where\\nhe stuffs his presentation copies, uncut, in shape and\\nmatter resembling a lump of dry dust but on care-\\nfully removing that stratum, a thing like a pamphlet\\nwill emerge. I have tried this with fifty different\\npoetical works that have been given G. D. in return\\nfor as many of his own performances and I confess\\nI never had any scruple in taking my own again,\\nwherever I found it, shaking the adherences off;\\nand by this means one copy of my works served\\nfor G. D., and, with a little dusting, was made over\\nto my good friend Dr. Geddes, who little thought\\nwhose leavings he was taking when he made me\\nthat graceful bow. By the way, the Doctor is the\\nonly one of my acquaintance who bows gracefully,\\nmy town acquaintance, I mean. How do you\\nlike my way of writing with two inks I think it is\\npretty and motley. Suppose Mrs. W. adopts it, the\\nnext time she holds the pen for you. My dinner\\nwaits. I have no time to indulge any longer in these\\nlaborious curiosities. God bless you, and cause to\\nthrive and burgeon whatsoever you write, and fear\\nno inks of miserable poetasters.\\nYours truly,\\nCharles Lamb.\\nMary s love.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0241.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "236 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nLXV.\\nTO MANNING.\\nMay 28, 18 1 9.\\nMy dear M., I want to know how your brother\\nis, if you have heard lately. I want to know about\\nyou. I wish you were nearer. How are my cousins,\\nthe Gladmans of Wheathampstead, and Farmer\\nBruton? Mrs. Bruton is a glorious woman.\\nHail, Mackery End 1\\nThis is a fragment of a blank-verse poem which I\\nonce meditated, but got no farther. The E. I. H.\\nhas been thrown into a quandary by the strange\\nphenomenon of poor Tommy Bye, whom I have\\nknown, man and madman, twenty-seven years, he\\nbeing elder here than myself by nine years and\\nmore. He was always a pleasant, gossiping, half-\\nheaded, muzzy, dozing, dreaming, walk-about, in-\\noffensive chap, a little too fond of the creature,\\nwho isn t at times? But Tommy had not brains to\\nwork off an overnight s surfeit by ten o clock next\\nmorning, and unfortunately, in he wandered the\\nother morning drunk with last night and with a\\nsuperfoetation of drink taken in since he set out\\nfrom bed. He came staggering under his double\\nburden, like trees in Java, bearing at once blossom,\\nfruit, and falling fruit, as I have heard you or some\\nother traveller tell, with his face literally as blue as\\nthe bluest firmament. Some wretched calico that he\\nSee the Elia essay, Mackery End, in H shire.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0242.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 237\\nhad mopped his poor oozy front with, had rendered up\\nits native dye, and the devil a bit would he consent\\nto wash it, but swore it was characteristic, for he\\nwas going to the sale of indigo and set up a laugh\\nwhich I did not think the lungs of mortal man were\\ncompetent to. It was like a thousand people laugh-\\ning, or the Goblin Page. He imagined afterwards\\nthat the whole office had been laughing at him, so\\nstrange did his own sounds strike upon his /^^;/sen-\\nsorium. But Tommy has laughed his last laugh,\\nand awoke the next day to find himself reduced\\nfrom an abused income of ;\u00c2\u00a36oo per annum to one\\nsixth of the sum, after thirty-six years tolerably\\ngood service. The quahty of mercy was not strained\\nin his behalf; the gentle dews dropped not on him\\nfrom heaven. It just came across me that I was\\nwriting to Canton. Will you drop in to-morrow\\nnight? Fanny Kelly is coming, if she does not\\ncheat us. Mrs. Gold is well, but proves un-\\ncoined, as the lovers about Wheathampstead\\nwould say.\\nI have not had such a quiet half hour to sit down\\nto a quiet letter for many years. I have not been\\ninterrupted above four times. I wrote a letter the\\nother day in alternate lines, black ink and red, and\\nyou cannot think how it chilled the flow of ideas.\\nNext Monday is Whit-Monday. What a reflection\\nTwelve years ago, and I should have kept that and\\nthe following holiday in the fields a-maying. All of\\nthose pretty pastoral delights are over. This dead,\\neverlasting dead desk, how it weighs the spirit of\\na gentleman down This dead wood of the desk in-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0243.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": "238 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nStead of your living trees But then, again, I hate the\\nJoskins, a name for Hertfordshire biDnpkins. Each\\nstate of hfe has its inconvenience but then, again,\\nmine has more than one. Not that I repine, or\\ngrudge, or murmur at my destiny. I have meat and\\ndrink, and decent apparel, I shall, at least, when I\\nget a new hat.\\nA red-haired man just interrupted me. He has\\nbroke the current of my thoughts. I have n t a\\nword to add. I don t know why I send this letter,\\nbut I have had a hankering to hear about you some\\ndays. Perhaps it will go off before your reply\\ncomes. If it don t, I assure you no letter was ever\\nwelcomer from you, from Paris or Macao.\\nC. Lamb.\\nLXVI.\\nTO MISS WORDSWORTH.\\nNovember 25, 18 19.\\nDear Miss Wordsworth, You will think me\\nnegligent, but I wanted to see more of Willy be-\\nfore I ventured to express a prediction. Till yester-\\nday I had barely seen him, Virgilium tantum\\nvidi but yesterday he gave us his small company to\\na bullock s heart, and I can pronounce him a lad of\\npromise. He is no pedant nor bookworm so far\\nI can answer. Perhaps he has hitherto paid too\\nlittle attention to other men s inventions, preferring,\\n1 Wordsworth s third son. He was at the Charter-house\\nSchool in London, and the Lambs had invited him to spend\\na half holiday with them.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0244.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 239\\nlike Lord Foppington, the natural sprouts of his\\nown. But he has observation, and seems thoroughly\\nawak^ I am ill at remembering other people s bon\\nmots, but the following are a few. Being taken over\\nWaterloo Bridge, he remarked that if we had no\\nmountains, we had a fine river, at least, which was\\na touch of the comparative but then he added in\\na strain which augured less for his future abilities as\\na political economist, that he supposed they must\\ntake at least a pound a week toll. Like a curious\\nnaturalist, he inquired if the tide did not come up\\na httle salty. This being satisfactorily answered,\\nhe put another question, as to the flux and reflux\\nwhich being rather cunningly evaded than artfully\\nsolved by that she-Aristotle Mary, who muttered\\nsomething about its getting up an hour sooner and\\nsooner every day, he sagely replied, Then it must\\ncome to the same thing at last, which was a\\nspeech worthy of an infant HaUey The lion in the\\nChange by no means came up to his ideal standard,\\nso impossible is it for Nature, in any of her works,\\nto come up to the standard of a child s imagination\\nThe whelps (lionets) he was sorry to find were\\ndead and on particular inquiry, his old friend the\\norang-outang had gone the way of all flesh also.\\nThe grand tiger was also sick, and expected in no\\nshort time to exchange this transitory world for an-\\nother or none. But, again, there was a golden eagle\\n(I do not mean that of Charing) which did much\\narride and console him. William s genius, I take\\nit, leans a little to the figurative for being at play\\nat tricktrack (a kind of minor billiard-table which", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0245.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "240 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nwe keep for smaller wights, and sometimes refresh\\nour own mature fatigues with taking a hand at) not\\nbeing able to hit a ball he had iterate aimed ^t, he\\ncried out, I cannot hit that beast. Now, the\\nballs are usually called men, but he felicitously hit\\nupon a middle term, a term of approximation and\\nimaginative reconciliation a something where the\\ntwo ends of the brute matter (ivory) and their\\nhuman and rather violent personification into men\\nmight meet, as I take it, illustrative of that excel-\\nlent remark in a certain preface about imagination,\\nexplaining Like a sea-beast that had crawled forth\\nto sun himself! Not that I accuse William Minor\\nof hereditary plagiary, or conceive the image to have\\ncome ex t7 aduce. Rather he seemeth to keep aloof\\nfrom any source of imitation, and purposely to\\nremain ignorant of what mighty poets have done in\\nthis kind before him for being asked if his father\\nhad ever been on Westminster Bridge,^ he answered\\nthat he did not know\\nIt is hard to discern the oak in the acorn, or\\na temple like St. Paul s in the first stone which\\nis laid nor can I quite prefigure what destination\\nthe genius of William Minor hath to take. Some\\nfew hints I have set down, to guide my future\\nobservations. He hath the power of calculation\\nin no ordinary degree for a chit. He combineth\\nfigures, after the first boggle, rapidly; as in the\\ntricktrack board, where the hits are figured, at first\\nhe did not perceive that 15 and 7 made 22 but by\\n1 William Minor was evidently forgetful of the exqui-\\nsite sonnet, Composed Upon Westminster Bridge.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0246.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 241\\na little use he could combine 8 with 25, and ^iZ\\nagain with 16, which approacheth something in\\nkind (far let me be from flattering him by saying\\nin degree) to that of the famous American boy. I\\nam sometimes inclined to think I perceive the\\nfuture satirist in him, for he hath a sub-sardonic\\nsmile which bursteth out upon occasion, as when\\nhe was asked if London were as big as Ambleside\\nand indeed no other answer was given, or proper\\nto be given, to so ensnaring and provoking a ques-\\ntion. In the contour of skull certainly I discern\\nsomething paternal but whether in all respects\\nthe future man shall transcend his father s fame,\\nTime, the trier of Geniuses, must decide. Be it\\npronounced peremptorily at present that Willy is\\na well-mannered child, and though no great student,\\nhath yet a lively eye for things that lie before him.\\nGiven in haste from my desk at Leadenhall.\\nYours, and yours most sincerely,\\nC. Lamb.\\nLXVII.\\nTO COLERIDGE.\\nMarch 9, 1822.\\nDear C., It gives me great satisfaction to hear\\nthat the pig turned out so well,^ they are inter-\\nesting creatures at a certain age what a pity such\\nbuds should blow out into the maturity of rank\\n1 Some one had sent Coleridge a pig, and the gift was\\nerroneously credited to Lamb.\\n16", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0247.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "242 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nbacon You had all some of the crackling and\\nbrain sauce did you remember to rub it with\\nbutter, and gently dredge it a little, just before\\nthe crisis? Did the eyes come away kindly, with\\nno CEdipean avulsion? Was the crackling the\\ncolor of the ripe pomegranate? Had you no\\ncursed complement of boiled neck of mutton be-\\nfore it, to blunt the edge of delicate desire? Did\\nyou flesh maiden teeth in it? Not that I sent the\\npig, or can form the remotest guess what part Owen\\ncould play in the business. I never knew him give\\nanything away in my life. He would not begin\\nwith strangers. I suspect the pig, after all, was\\nmeant for me but at the unlucky juncture of time\\nbeing absent, the present somehow went round to\\nHighgate. To confess an honest truth, a pig is one\\nof those things I could never think of sending away.\\nTeals, widgeons, snipes, barn-door fowl, ducks,\\ngeese, your tame villatic things, Welsh mutton,\\ncollars of brawn, sturgeon, fresh or pickled, your\\npotted char, Swiss cheeses, French pies, early\\ngrapes, muscadines, I impart as freely unto my\\nfriends as to myself. They are but self-extended\\nbut pardon me if I stop somewhere. Where the\\nfine feeling of benevolence giveth a higher smack\\nthan the sensual rarity, there my friends (or any\\ngood man) may command me but pigs are pigs,\\nand I myself therein am nearest to myself. Nay,\\nI should think it an affront, an undervaluing done\\nto Nature, who bestowed such a boon upon me, if\\nin a churlish mood I parted with the precious gift.\\nOne of the bitterest pangs I ever felt of remorse", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0248.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 243\\nwas when a child. My kind old aunt had strained\\nher pocket- strings to bestow a sixpenny whole plum-\\ncake upon me. In my way home through the\\nBorough, I met a venerable old man, not a mendi-\\ncant, but thereabouts, a look -beggar, not a verbal\\npetitionist and in the coxcombry of taught-charity,\\nI gave away the cake to him. I walked on a little\\nin all the pride of an Evangelical peacock, when\\nof a sudden my old aunt s kindness crossed me,\\nthe sum it was to her the pleasure she had a right\\nto expect that I not the old impostor should\\ntake in eating her cake the cursed ingratitude by\\nwhich, under the color of a Christian virtue, 1 had\\nfrustrated her cherished purpose. I sobbed, wept,\\nand took it to heart so grievously that I think I\\nnever suffered the like and I was right. It was a\\npiece of unfeeling hypocrisy, and proved a lesson\\nto me ever after. The cake has long been masti-\\ncated, consigned to dunghill with the ashes of that\\nunseasonable pauper.\\nBut when Providence, who is better to us all than\\nour aunts, gives me a pig, remembering my tempta-\\ntion and my fall, I shall endeavor to act towards\\nit more in the spirit of the donor s purpose.\\nYours (short of pig) to command in everything,\\nC. L.\\n1 Elia: Christ s Hospital Five-and-Thirty Years Ago.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0249.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "244 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nLXVIIL\\nTO WORDSWORTH.\\nMarch 20, 1822.\\nMy dear Wordsworth, A letter from you is\\nvery grateful I have not seen a Kendal postmark\\nso long. We are pretty well, save colds and rheu-\\nmatics, and a certain deadness to everything, which\\nI think I may date from poor John s loss, and an-\\nother accident or two at the same time, that has\\nmade me almost bury m.yself at Dalston, where yet\\nI see more faces than I could wish. Deaths over-\\nset one and put one out long after the recent grief.\\nTwo or three have died within this last two twelve-\\nmonths, and so many parts of me have been numbed.\\nOne sees a picture, reads an anecdote, starts a cas-\\nual fancy, and thinks to tell of it to this person in\\npreference to every other the person is gone whom\\nit would have peculiarly ^ited. It won t do for\\nanother. Every departure destroys a class of sym-\\npathies. There s Captain Burney gone What fun\\nhas whist now What matters it what you lead, if you\\ncan no longer fancy him looking over you One\\nnever hears anything, but the image of the particular\\nperson occurs with whom alone almost you would\\ncare to share the intelligence, thus one distributes\\noneself about; and now for so many parts of me\\nI have lost the market. Common natures do not\\nMartin Burney was the grimy-fisted whist-player to whom\\nLamb once observed, Martin, if dirt was trumps, what hands\\nyou would hold", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0250.jp2"}, "251": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 245\\nsuffice me. Good people, as they are called, won t\\nserve I want individuals. I am made up of queer\\npoints, and I want so many answering needles.\\nThe going-away of friends does not make the re-\\nmainder more precious. It takes so much from\\nthem, as there was a common link. A, B, and C\\nmake a party. A dies. B not only loses A, but\\nall A s part in C. C loses A s part in B, and so\\nthe alphabet sickens by subtraction of interchange-\\nables. I express myself muddily, capite dolente. I\\nhave a dulling cold. My theory is to enjoy life\\nbut my practice is against it. I grow ominously\\ntired of official confinement. Thirty years have I\\nserved the Phihstines, and my neck is not subdued\\nto the yoke. You don t know how wearisome it is\\nto breathe the air of four pent walls without relief,\\nday after day, all the golden hours of the day be-\\ntween ten and four, without ease or interposition.\\nTcBdet me haruni qiioiidianarum formartun, these\\npestilential clerk-faces always in one s dish. Oh for\\na few years between the grave and the desk they\\nare the same, save that at the latter you are the\\noutside machine. The foul enchanter [Nick?],\\nletters four do form his name, Busirane^ is his\\nname in hell, that has curtailed you of some do-\\nmestic comforts, hath laid a heavier hand on me,\\nnot in present infliction, but in the taking away the\\nhope of enfranchisement. I dare not whisper to\\nmyself a pension on this side of absolute incapacita-\\ntion and infirmity, till years have sucked me dry,\\nOtium cum indignitate. I had thought in a green old\\nThe enchanter in The Faerie Queene", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0251.jp2"}, "252": {"fulltext": "246 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nage (oh, green thought to have retired to Ponder s\\nEnd, emblematic name, how beautiful in\\nthe Ware Road, there to have made up my accounts\\nwith Heaven and the Company, toddling about be-\\ntween it and Cheshunt, anon stretching, on some\\nfine Izaak Walton morning, to Hoddesdon or Am-\\nwell, careless as a beggar but walking, walking ever,\\ntill I fairly walked myself off my legs, dying walk-\\ning The hope is gone. I sit like Philomel all\\nday (but not singing), with my breast against this\\nthorn of a desk, with the only hope that some pul-\\nmonary affliction may relieve me. Vide Lord Pal-\\nmerston s report of the clerks in the War-office\\n(Debates in this morning s Times by which it\\nappears, in twenty years as many clerks have been\\ncoughed and catarrhed out of it into their freer\\ngraves. Thank you for asking about the pictures.\\nMilton hangs over my fire-side in Covent Garden\\n(when I am there) the rest have been sold for an\\nold song, wanting the eloquent tongue that should\\nhave set them off! You have gratified me with\\nliking my meeting with Dodd. For the Malvolio\\nstory, the thing is become in verity a sad task, and\\nI eke it out with anything. If I could slip out of it\\nI should be happy but our chief- reputed assistants\\nhave forsaken us. The Opium- Eater crossed us\\nonce with a dazzling path, and hath as suddenly\\nleft us darkling and, in short, I shall go on from\\ndull to worse, because I cannot resist the book-\\nsellers importunity, the old plea, you know, of\\nauthors but I beheve on my part sincere. Hartley\\nI do not so often see, but I never see him in unwel-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0252.jp2"}, "253": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 247\\ncome hour. I thoroughly love and honor him. I\\nsend you a frozen epistle but it is winter and dead\\ntime of the year with me. May Heaven keep\\nsomething like spring and summer up with you,\\nstrengthen your eyes, and make mine a little lighter\\nto encounter with them, as I hope they shall yet and\\nagain, before all are closed\\nYours, with every kind remembrance,\\nC. L.\\nLXIX.\\nTO JOHN CLARE.i\\nAugust 31, 1822.\\nDear Clare, I thank you heartily for your\\npresent. I am an inveterate old Londoner, but\\nwhile I am among your choice collections I seem to\\nbe native to them and free of the country. The\\nquality of your observation has astonished me.\\nWhat have most pleased me have been Recollec-\\ntions after a Ramble, and those Grongar Hill\\nkind of pieces in eight- syllable lines, my favourite\\nmeasure, such as Cooper Hill and SoUtude.\\nIn some of your story-telUng Ballads the provincial\\nphrases sometimes startle me. I think you are too\\nprofuse with them. In poetry slang of every kind\\nis to be avoided. There is a rustic Cockneyism, as\\nlittle pleasing as ours of London. Transplant Arca-\\ndia to Helpstone. The true rustic style I think is\\n1 The Northamptonshire peasant poet. He had sent\\nLamb his The Village Minstrel, and other Poems", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0253.jp2"}, "254": {"fulltext": "248 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nto be found in Shenstone. Would his School-mis-\\ntress, the prettiest of poems, have been better if he\\nhad used quite the Goody s own language? Now\\nand then a home rusticism is fresh and startling\\nbut when nothing is gained in expression, it is out of\\ntenor. It may make folks smile and stare but the\\nungenial coaHtion of barbarous with refined phrases\\nwill prevent you in the end from being so generally\\ntasted as you desire to be. Excuse my freedom,\\nand take the same hberty with my puns.\\nI send you two little volumes of my spare hours.\\nThey are of all sorts there is a Methodist hymn for\\nSundays, and a farce for Saturday night. Pray give\\nthem a place on your shelf. Pray accept a little\\nvolume, of which I have a duplicate, that I may\\nreturn in equal number to your welcome presents.\\nI think I am indebted to you for a sonnet in the\\nLondon for August.\\nSince I saw you I have been in France, and have\\neaten frogs. The nicest little rabbity things you\\never tasted. Do look about for them. Make Mrs.\\nClare pick oif the hind-quarters, boil them plain,\\nwith parsley and butter. The fore-quarters are not\\nso good. She may let them hop off by them.selves.\\nYours sincerely,\\nChas. Lamb.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0254.jp2"}, "255": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 249\\nLXX.\\nTO MR. BARRON FIELD.\\nSeptember 22, 1822.\\nMy dear F.,- I scribble hastily at office. Frank\\nwants my letter presently. I and sister are just re-\\nturned from Paris We have eaten frogs. It\\nhas been such a treat You know our monotonous\\ngeneral tenor. Frogs are the nicest little delicate\\nthings, rabbity flavored. Imagine a Lilliputian\\nrabbit They fricassee them but in my mind,\\ndressed seethed, plain, with parsley and butter, would\\nhave been the decision of Apicius. Paris is a\\nglorious, picturesque old city. London looks mean\\nand new to it, as the town of Washington would,\\nseen after But they have no St. Paul s or West-\\nminster Abbey. The Seine, so much despised by\\nCockneys, is exactly the size to run through a mag-\\nnificent street palaces a mile long on one side, lofty\\nEdinburgh stone (oh, the glorious antiques houses\\non the other. The Thames disunites London and\\nSouthwark. I had Talma to supper with me. He\\nhas picked up, as I believe, an authentic portrait of\\nShakspeare. He paid a broker about ^40 Eng-\\nlish for it. It is painted on the one half of a pair of\\nbellows, a lovely picture, corresponding with the\\nFolio head. The bellows has old carved wings\\n1 The Lambs had visited Paris on the invitation of James\\nKenney, the dramatist, who had married a Frenchwoman,\\nand was living at Versailles.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0255.jp2"}, "256": {"fulltext": "250 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nround it, and round the visnomy is inscribed, as\\nnear as I remember, not divided into rhyme, I\\nfound out the rhyme,\\nWhom have we here\\nStuck on this bellows,\\nBut the Prince of good fellows,\\nWilly Shakspere\\nAt top,\\nO base and coward luck,\\nTo be here stuck\\nPOINS.\\nAt bottom,\\nNay rather a glorious lot is to him assign d,\\nWho, like the Almighty, rides upon the wind.\\nPistol.\\nThis is all in old carved wooden letters. The\\ncountenance smiling, sweet, and intellectual beyond\\nmeasure, even as he was immeasurable. It may be\\na forgery. They laugh at me, and tell me Ireland\\nis in Paris, and has been putting oif a portrait of\\nthe Black Prince. How far old wood may be imi-\\ntated I cannot say. Ireland was not found out by\\nhis parchments, but by his poetry. I am confident\\nno painter on either side the Channel could have\\npainted anything near like the face I saw. Again,\\nwould such a painter and forger have taken \u00c2\u00a3,^0\\nfor a thing, if authentic, worth ;^4000 Talma is\\nnot in the secret, for he had not even found out the\\nrhymes in the first inscription. He is coming over\\nwith it, and my life to Southey s Thalaba, it will\\ngain universal faith.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0256.jp2"}, "257": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 251\\nThe letter is wanted, and I am wanted. Imagine\\nthe blank filled up with all kind things.\\nOur joint, hearty remembrances to both of you.\\nYours as ever,\\nC. Lamb.\\nLXXI.\\nTO WALTER WILSON.\\nDecember 16, 1822.\\nDear Wilson, Lightning I was going to call\\nyou. You must have thought me negligent in not\\nanswering your letter sooner. But I have a habit of\\nnever writing letters but at the office t is so much\\ntime cribbed out of the Company and I am but\\njust got out of the thick of a tea-sale, in which most\\nof the entry of notes, deposits, etc., usually falls to\\nmy share.\\nI have nothing of De Foe s but two or three nov-\\nels and the Plague History. I can give you no\\ninformation about him. As a slight general charac-\\nter of what I remember of them (for I have not\\nlooked into them latterly) I would say that in the\\nappearance oi truth, in all the incidents and conver-\\nsations that occur in them, they exceed any works\\nof fiction I am acquainted with. It is perfect illu-\\nsion: The author W-tY^x appears in these self-narra-\\ntives (for so they ought to be called, or rather\\nauto-biographies) but the naj^i^ator chains us down\\nto an implicit belief in everything he says. There\\n1 Wilson was preparing a Life of De Foe, and had writ-\\nten to Lamb for guidance.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0257.jp2"}, "258": {"fulltext": "252 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nis all the minute detail of a log-book in it. Dates\\nare painfully pressed upon the memory. Facts are\\nrepeated over and over in varying phrases, till you\\ncannot choose but believe them. It is like reading\\nevidence given in a court of justice. So anxious\\nthe story-teller seems that the truth should be clear-\\nly comprehended that when he has told us a matter\\nof fact or a motive, in a line or two farther down\\nhe repeats it with his favorite figure of speech, I\\nsay so and so, though he had made it abundantly\\nplain before. This is in imitation of the common\\npeople s way of speaking, or rather of the way in\\nwhich they are addressed by a master or mistress\\nwho wishes to impress something upon their memo-\\nries, and has a wonderful effect upon matter-of-fact\\nreaders. Indeed, it is to such principally that he\\nwrites. His style is everywhere beautiful, but plain\\nand homely. Robinson Crusoe is delightful to all\\nranks and classes but it is easy to see that it is writ-\\nten in phraseology peculiarly adapted to the lower\\nconditions of readers, hence it is an especial favor-\\nite with seafaring men, poor boys, servant-maids, etc.\\nHis novels are capital kitchen- reading, while they\\nare worthy, from their deep interest, to find a shelf\\nin the libraries of the wealthiest and the most\\nlearned. His passion for matter-of-fact 7iar7 ative\\nsometimes betrayed him into a long relation of com-\\nmon incidents, which might happen to any man,\\nand have no interest but the intense appearance of\\ntruth in them, to recommend them. The whole\\nlatter half or two -thirds of Colonel Jack is of\\nthis description. The beginning of Colonel Jack", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0258.jp2"}, "259": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 253\\nis the most affecting natural pic ^ure of a young thief\\nthat was ever drawn. His losing the stolen money\\nin the hollow of a tree, and finding it again when\\nhe was in despair, and then being in equal distress\\nat not knowing how to dispose of it, and several\\nsimilar touches in the early history of the Colonel,\\nevince a deep knowledge of human nature, and\\nputting out of question the superior romantic inter-\\nest of the latter, in my mind very much exceed\\nCrusoe. Roxana (first edition) is the next in\\ninterest, though he left out the best part of it in\\nsubsequent editions from a foolish hypercriticism of\\nhis friend Southerne. But Moll Flanders, the\\nAccount of the Plague, etc., are all of one family,\\nand have the same stamp of character. Believe\\nme, with friendly recollections Brother (as I used\\nto call you), Yours,\\nC. Lamb.\\nLXXII.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nDecember 2-^, 1822.\\nDear Sir, I have been so distracted with busi-\\nness and one thing or other, I have not had a quiet\\nquarter of an hour for epistolary purposes. Christ-\\nmas, too, is come, which always puts a rattle into\\nmy morning skull. It is a visiting, unquiet, un-\\nquakerish season. I get more and more in love\\nwith solitude, and proportionately hampered with\\ncompany. I hope you have some holidays at this\\nperiod. I have one day, Christmas Day; alas!", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0259.jp2"}, "260": {"fulltext": "254 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ntoo few to commemorate the season. All work and\\nno play dulls me. Company is not play, but many\\ntimes hard work. To play, is for a man to do what\\nhe pleases, or to do nothing, to go about soothing\\nhis particular fancies. I have lived to a time of life\\nto have outlived the good hours, the nine-o clock\\nsuppers, with a bright hour or two to clear up in\\nafterwards. Now you cannot get tea before that\\nhour, and then sit gaping, music-bothered perhaps,\\ntill half- past twelve brings up the tray and what\\nyou steal of convivial enjoyment after, is heavily\\npaid for in the disquiet of to-morrow s head.\\nI am pleased with your liking John Woodvil,\\nand amused with your knowledge of our drama\\nbeing confined to Shakspeare and Miss Baillie.\\nWhat a world of fine territory between Land s End\\nand Johnny Groat s have you missed traversing 1 I\\ncould almost envy you to have so much to read. I\\nfeel as if I had read all the books I want to read.\\nOh, to forget Fielding, Steele, etc., and read em\\nnew\\nCan you tell me a likely place where I could pick\\nup cheap Fox s Journal? There are no Quaker\\ncirculating libraries Elwood, too, I must have. I\\nrather grudge that Southey has taken up the history\\nof your people I am afraid he will put in some\\nlevity. I am afraid I am not quite exempt from\\nthat fault in certain magazine articles, where I have\\nintroduced mention of them. Were they to do\\nagain, I would reform them. Why should not you\\nwrite a poetical account of your old worthies, de-\\nducing them from Fox to Woolman? But I remem-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0260.jp2"}, "261": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 255\\nber you did talk of something of that kind, as a\\ncounterpart to the Ecclesiastical Sketches. But\\nwould not a poem be more consecutive than a\\nstring of sonnets? You have no martyrs quite to the\\nfire, I think, among you, but plenty of heroic con-\\nfessors, spirit-martyrs, lamb-Hons. Think of it it\\nwould be better than a series of sonnets on Emi-\\nnent Bankers. I like a hit at our way of hfe,\\nthough it does well for me, better than anything\\nshort of all one s time to one s self; for which alone\\nI rankle with envy at the rich. Books are good,\\nand pictures are good, and money to buy them\\ntherefore good but to buy time, in other words,\\nlife\\nThe compliments of the time to you, should\\nend my letter to a Friend, I suppose, I must say\\nthe sincerity of the season: I hope they both\\nmean the same. With excuses for this hastily\\npenned note, beheve me, with great respect,\\nC. Lamb.\\nLXXIII.\\nTO MISS WORDSWORTH.\\nMary perfectly approves of the appropriation of\\nthe feathers, and wishes them peacock s for your\\nfair niece s sake.\\nChristmas, 1822.\\nDear Miss Wordsworth, I had just written the\\nabove endearing words when Monkhouse tapped me\\non the shoulder with an invitation to cold goose pie,\\nwhich I was not bird of that sort enough to decline.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0261.jp2"}, "262": {"fulltext": "256 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nMrs. Monkhouse, I am most happy to say, is better.\\nMary has been tormented with a rheumatism, which\\nis leaving her. I am suffering from the festivities\\nof the season. I wonder how my misused carcase\\nholds it out. I have played the experimental phi-\\nlosopher on it, that s certain. Willy shall be wel-\\ncome to a mince-pie and a bout at commerce\\nwhenever he comes. He was in our eye. I am\\nglad you liked my new year s speculations every-\\nbody likes them, except the author of the Pleas-\\nures of Hope. Disappointment attend him How\\nI like to be liked, and ivhat I do to be liked They\\nflatter me in magazines, newspapers, and all the\\nminor reviews the Quarterlies hold aloof. But\\nthey must come into it in time, or their leaves be\\nwaste paper. Salute Trinity Library in my name.\\nTwo special things are worth seeing at Cambridge,\\na portrait of Cromwell at Sidney, and a better of\\nDr. Harvey (who found out that blood was red) at\\nDr. Davy s you should see them. Coleridge is\\npretty well I have not seen him, but hear often\\nof him from Allsop, who sends me hares and pheas-\\nants twice a week I can hardly take so fast as he\\ngives. I have almost forgotten butcher s meat as\\nplebeian. Are you not glad the cold is gone? I\\nfind winters not so agreeable as they used to be\\nwhen winter bleak had charms for me. I cannot\\nconjure up a kind similitude for those snowy flakes.\\nLet them keep to twelfth-cakes\\nMrs. Paris, our Cambridge friend, has been in\\ntown. You do not know the Watfords in Trumping-\\nton Street. They are capital people. Ask anybody", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0262.jp2"}, "263": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 257\\nyou meet, who is the biggest woman in Cambridge,\\nand I 11 hold you a wager they 11 say Mrs. Smith\\nshe broke down two benches in Trinity Gardens,\\none on the confines of St. John s, which occasioned a\\nlitigation between the Societies as to repairing it.\\nIn warm weather, she retires into an ice-cellar (Hte-\\nrally and dates the returns of the years from a hot\\nThursday some twenty years back. She sits in a\\nroom with opposite doors and windows, to let in\\na thorough draught, which gives her slenderer\\nfriends tooth-aches. She is to be seen in the mar-\\nket every morning at ten cheapening fowls, which\\nI observe the Cambridge poulterers are not suffi-\\nciently careful to stump.\\nHaving now answered most of the points con-\\ntained in your letter, let me end with assuring you\\nof our very best kindness, and excuse Mary for not\\nhandhng the pen on this occasion, especially as it\\nhas fallen into so much better hands Will Dr. W.\\naccept of my respects at the end of a fooUsh letter\\ne. L.\\nLXXIV.\\nTO MR. AND MRS. BRUTON.i\\nJanuary 6, 1823.\\nThe pig was above my feeble praise. It was a\\ndear pigmy. There was some contention as to who\\nshould have the ears but in spite of his obstinacy\\n1 Hertfordshire connections of the Lambs.\\n17", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0263.jp2"}, "264": {"fulltext": "258 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\n(deaf as these little creatures are to advice), I con-\\ntrived to get at one of them.\\nIt came in boots, too, which I took as a favor.\\nGenerally these petty-toes, pretty toes are missing\\nbut I suppose he wore them to look taller.\\nHe must have been the least of his race. His\\nlittle foots would have gone into the silver slipper.\\nI take him to have been a Chinese and a female.\\nIf Evelyn could have seen him, he would never\\nhave farrowed two such prodigious volumes, seeing\\nhow much good can be contained in how small a\\ncompass\\nHe crackled delicately.\\nI left a blank at the top of my letter, not being\\ndetermined which to address it to so farmer and\\nfarmer s wife will please to divide our thanks. May\\nyour granaries be full, and your rats empty, and\\nyour chickens plump, and your envious neighbors\\nlean, and your laborers busy, and you as idle and\\nas happy as the day is long\\nVIVE l agriculture\\nHow do you make your pigs so little\\nThey are vastly engaging at the age\\nI was so myself.\\nNow I am a disagreeable old hog,\\nA middle-aged gentleman-and-a-half\\nMy faculties (thank God are not much impaired.\\nI have my sight, hearing, taste, pretty perfect, and\\ncan read the Lord s Prayer in common type, by the\\nhelp of a candle, without making many mistakes.\\nMany happy returns, not of the pig, but of the", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0264.jp2"}, "265": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 259\\nNew Year, to both. Mary, for her share of the pig\\nand the memoirs, desires to send the same.\\nYours truly,\\nC. Lamb.\\nLXXV.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.i\\nJafjuary 9, 1823.\\nThrow yourself on the world without any rational\\nplan of support beyond what the chance employ of\\nbooksellers would afford you\\nThrow yourself, rather, my dear sir, from the\\nsteep Tarpeian rock slap-dash headlong upon iron\\nspikes. If you had but five consolatory minutes\\nbetween the desk and the bed, make much of them,\\nand live a century in them, rather than turn slave to\\nthe booksellers. They are Turks and Tartars when\\nthey have poor authors at their beck. Hitherto\\nyou have been at arm s length from them. Come\\nnot within their grasp. I have known many authors\\nwant for bread, some repining, others envying the\\nblessed security of a counting-house,, all agreeing\\nthey had rather have been tailors, weavers, what\\nnot, rather than the things they were. I have\\nknown some starved, some to go mad, one dear\\nfriend literally dying in a workhouse. You know\\nnot what a rapacious, dishonest set these book-\\n1 The Quaker poet. Mr. Barton was a clerk in the bank\\nof the Messrs. Alexander, of Woodbridge, in Suffolk. En-\\ncouraged by his literary success, he thought of throwing up\\nhis clerkship and trusting to his pen for a livelihood, a\\ndesign from which he was happily diverted by his friends.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0265.jp2"}, "266": {"fulltext": "26o LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nsellers are. Ask even Southey, who (a single case\\nalmost) has made a fortune by book-drudgery, what\\nhe has found them. Oh, you know not may you\\nnever know the miseries of subsisting by author-\\nship. T is a pretty appendage to a situation like\\nyours or mine, but a slavery, worse than all slavery,\\nto be a bookseller s dependant, to drudge your\\nbrains for pots of ale and breasts of mutton, to\\nchange your free thoughts and voluntary numbers\\nfor ungracious task-work. Those fellows hate us.\\nThe reason I take to be that, contrary to other\\ntrades, in which the master gets all the credit (a\\njeweller or silversmith for instance), and the jour-\\nneyman, who really does the fine work, is in the\\nbackground, in our work the world gives all the\\ncredit to us, whom they consider as their journeymen,\\nand therefore do they hate us, and cheat us, and\\noppress us, and would wring the blood of us out,\\nto put another sixpence in their mechanic pouches\\nI contend that a bookseller has a relative hofiesty\\ntowards authors, not like his honesty to the rest of\\nthe world. Baldwin, who first engaged me as Elia,\\nhas not paid me up yet (nor any of us without re-\\npeated mortifying appeals). Yet how the knave\\nfawned when I was of service to him Yet I daresay\\nthe fellow is punctual in settling his railk-score, etc.\\nKeep to your bank, and the bank will keep you.\\nTrust not to the public you may hang, starve,\\ndrown yourself, for anything that worthy personage\\ncares. I bless every star that Providence, not see-\\ning good to make me independent, has seen it next\\ngood to settle me upon the stable foundation of", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0266.jp2"}, "267": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\n261\\nLeadenhall. Sit down, good B. B., in the banking-\\noffice what is there not from six to e even p. m\\nsix days in the week, and is there not all Sunday?\\nFie what a superfluity of man s time, if you could\\nthink so, -enough for relaxation, mirth converse,\\npoetry, good thoughts, quiet thoughts. Oh, the cor-\\nroding, torturing, tormenting thoughts that disturb\\nthe brain of the unlucky wight who must draw upon\\nit for daily sustenance Henceforth I retract a 1\\nmy foul complaints of mercantile employment; look\\nupon them as lovers quarrels. I was but half m\\nearnest. Welcome, dead timber of a desk, that\\nmakes me live A little grumbling is a wholesome\\nmedicine for the spleen, but in my inner heart do 1\\napprove and embrace this our close, but unharass-\\ning, way of life. I am quite serious. If you can\\nsend me Fox, I will not keep it six weeks, and will\\nreturn it, with warm thanks to yourself and friend,\\nwithout blot or dog s-ear. You will much obhge\\nme by this kindness.\\nYours truly,\\nC. Lamb.\\nLXXVI.\\nTO MISS HUTCHINSON.\\nApril 25, 1823.\\nDear Miss H., Mary has such an invincible re-\\nluctance to any epistolary exertion that I am spar-\\ning her a mortification by taking the pen from her.\\nThe plain truth is, she writes such a mean, detest-\\nable hand that she is ashamed of the formation of", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0267.jp2"}, "268": {"fulltext": "262 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nher letters. There is an essential poverty and ab-\\njectness in the frame of them. They look like beg-\\nging letters. And then she is sure to omit a most\\nsubstantial word in the second draught (for she\\nnever ventures an epistle without a foul copy first),\\nwhich is obliged to be interlined, which spoils the\\nneatest epistle, you know. Her figures, i, 2, 3, 4,\\netc., where she has occasion to express numerals, as\\nin the date (25th April, 1823), are not figures, but\\nfigurantes and the combined posse go staggering\\nup and down shameless, as drunkards in the day-\\ntime. It is no better when she rules her paper.\\nHer lines are not less erring than her words\\na sort of unnatural parallel lines, that are perpetu-\\nally threatening to meet, which, you know, is quite\\ncontrary to Euclid. Her very blots are not bold,\\nlike this \\\\he7 e a large blot is inserted^ but poor\\nsmears, half left in and half scratched out, with\\nanother smear left in their place. I like a clear\\nletter; a bold, free hand and a fearless flourish.\\nThen she has always to go through them (a second\\noperation) to dot her z s and cross her /s. I don t\\nthink she could make a corkscrew if she tried,\\nwhich has such a fine effect at the end or middle\\nof an epistle, and fills up.\\nThere is a corkscrew One of the best I ever\\ndrew.-^ By the way, what incomparable whiskey\\nthat was of Monkhouse s But if I am to write a\\nletter, let me begin, and not stand flourishing like\\na fencer at a fair.\\n1 Lamb was fond of this flourish, and it is frequently found\\nin his letters.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0268.jp2"}, "269": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 263\\nApril 25, 1823.\\nDear Miss H., It gives me great pleasure [the\\nletter now begins] to hear that you got down so\\nsmoothly, and that Mrs. Monkhouse s spirits are so\\ngood and enterprising.^ It shows, whatever her pos-\\nture may be, that her mind at least is not supine. I\\nhope the excursion will enable the former to keep\\npace with its outstripping neighbor. Pray present\\nour kindest wishes to her and all (that sentence\\nshould properly have come into the postscript but\\nwe airy, mercurial spirits, there is no keeping us in).\\nTime (as was said of one of us) toils after\\nus in vain. I am afraid our co-visit with Cole-\\nridge was a dream. I shall not get away before the\\nend or middle of June, and then you will be frog-\\nhopping at Boulogne. And besides, I think the\\nGilmans would scarce trust him with us; I have\\na malicious knack at cutting of apron-strings. The\\nsaints days you speak of have long since fled to\\nheaven with Astraea, and the cold piety of the age\\nlacks fervor to recall them only Peter left his key,\\nthe iron one of the two that shuts amain,\\nand that is the reason I am locked up. Meanwhile,\\nof afternoons we pick up primroses at Dalston, and\\nMary corrects me when I call em cowslips. God\\nbless you all, and pray remember me euphoniously\\nto Mr. Gruvellegan. That Lee Priory must be a\\ndainty bower. Is it built of flints? and does it\\nstand at Kingsgate?\\n1 Miss Hutchinson s invalid relative.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0269.jp2"}, "270": {"fulltext": "264 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nLXXVII.\\nTO BERNARD Bj^RTON.\\nSeptember 2, 1823.\\nDear B. B., What will you not say to my not\\nwriting You cannot say I do not write now. Hes-\\nsey has not used your kind sonnet, nor have I seen\\nit. Pray send me a copy. Neither have I heard any\\nmore of your friend s MS., which I will reclaim\\nwhenever you please. When you come London-\\nward, you will find me no longer in Covent Garden\\nI have a cottage in Colebrook Row, Islington,\\na cottage, for it is detached a white house, with\\nsix good rooms. The New River (rather elderly\\nby this time) runs (if a moderate walking pace can\\nbe so termed) close to the foot of the house and\\nbehind is a spacious garden with vines (I assure\\nyou), pears, strawberries, parsnips, leeks, carrots,\\ncabbages, to delight the heart of old Alcinous.\\nYou enter without passage into a cheerful dining-\\nroom, all studded over and rough with old books\\nand above is a lightsome drawing-room, three win-\\ndows, full of choice prints. I feel like a great lord,\\nnever having had a house before.\\nThe London, I fear, falls off. I linger among\\nits creaking rafters, like the last rat it will topple\\ndown if they don t get some buttresses. They\\nhave pulled down three, Hazlitt, Procter, and\\ntheir best stay, kind, light-hearted Wainewright, their", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0270.jp2"}, "271": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 265\\nJanus.^ The best is, neither of our fortunes is con-\\ncerned in it.\\nI heard of you from Mr. Pulham this morning,\\nand that gave a filHp to my laziness, which has been\\nintolerable but I am so taken up with pruning and\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0gardening, quite a new sort of occupation to me.\\nI have gathered my jargonels but my Windsor\\npears are backward. The former were of exquisite\\nraciness. I do now sit under my own vine, and\\ncontemplate the growth of vegetable nature. I can\\nnow understand in what sense they speak of father\\nAdam. I recognize the paternity while I watch my\\ntuhps. I almost fell with him, for the first day I\\nturned a drunken gardener (as he let in the ser-\\npent) into my Eden and he laid about him, lop-\\nping off some choice boughs, etc., which hung over\\nfrom a neighbor s garden, and in his blind zeal laid\\nwaste a shade which had sheltered their window\\nfrom the gaze of passers-by. The old gentlewoman\\n(fury made her not handsome) could scarcely be\\nreconciled by all my fine words. There was no\\nbuttering her parsnips. She talked of the law.\\nWhat a lapse to commit on the first day of my\\nhappy garden state\\nI hope you transmitted the Fox- Journal to its\\nowner, with suitable thanks. Mr. Gary, the Dante\\nman, dines with me to-day. He is a mode of a\\ncountry parson, lean (as a curate ought to be),\\nmodest, sensible, no obtruder of church dogmas,\\n1 Wainewright, the notorious poisoner, who, under the\\nname of Janus Weathercock, contributed various frothy\\npapers on art and literature to the London Magazine.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0271.jp2"}, "272": {"fulltext": "266 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nquite a different man from Southey. You would\\nlike him. Pray accept this for a letter, and believe\\nme, with sincere regards, yours,\\nC. L.\\nLXXVIII.\\nTO MRS. HAZLITT.\\nNovember, 1823.\\nDear Mrs. H., Sitting down to write a let-\\nter is such a painful operation to Mary that you\\nmust accept me as her proxy. You have seen our\\nhouse. What I now tell you is literally true. Yes-\\nterday week, George Dyer called upon us, at one\\no clock {bright noonday^, on his way to dine with\\nMrs. Barbauld at Newington. He sat with Mary\\nabout half an hour, and took leave. The maid saw\\nhim go out from her kitchen window, but suddenly\\nlosing sight of him, ran up in a fright to Mary.\\nG. D., instead of keeping the slip that leads to the\\ngate, had deliberately, staff in hand, in broad, open\\nday, marched into the New River.^ He had not\\nhis spectacles on, and you know his absence. Who\\nhelped him out, they can hardly tell but between\\nem they got him out, drenched thro and thro\\nA mob collected by that time, and accompanied\\nhim in. Send for the doctor they said and\\na one-eyed fellow, dirty and drunk, was fetched\\nfrom the public-house at the end, where it seem\\nhe lurks for the sake of picking up water-practice,\\n1 See Elia-essay, Amicus Redivivus.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0272.jp2"}, "273": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 267\\nhaving formerly had a medal from the Humane\\nSociety for some rescue. By his advice the patient\\nwas put between blankets and when I came\\nhome at four to dinner, I found G. D. a-bed, and\\nraving, light-headed with the brandy- and- water\\nwhich the doctor had administered. He sang,\\nlaughed, whimpered, screamed, babbled of guardian\\nangels, would get up and go home but we kept\\nhim there by force and by next morning he\\ndeparted sobered, and seems to have received no\\ninjury.^ All my friends are open-mouthed about\\nhaving paling before the river but I cannot see\\nthat because a lunatic chooses to walk into\\na river, with his eyes open, at mid-day, I am any\\nthe more likely to be drowned in it, coming home\\nat midnight.\\n1 In the Athenaeum for 1835 Procter says: I hap-\\npened to call at Lamb s house about ten mhiutes after this\\naccident I saw before me a train of water running from\\nthe door to the river. Lamb had gone for a surgeon the\\nmaid was running about distraught, with dry clothes on one\\narm, and the dripping habiliments of the involuntary bather\\nin the other. Miss Lamb, agitated, and whimpering forth\\nPoor Mr. Dyer! in the most forlorn voice, stood plunging\\nher hands into the wet pockets of his trousers, to fish up the\\nwet coin. Dyer himself, an amiable little old man, who took\\nwater zVzternally and eschewed strong liquors, lay on his\\nhost s bed, hidden by blankets his head, on which was his\\nshort gray hair, alone peered out and this, having been\\nrubbed dry by a resolute hand, by the maid s, I believe,\\nwho assisted at the rescue, looked as if bristling with a\\nthousand needles. Lamb, moreover, in his anxiety, had\\nadministered a formidable dose of cognac and water to the\\nsufferer, and he (used only to the simple element) babbled\\nwithout cessation.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0273.jp2"}, "274": {"fulltext": "268 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nLXXIX.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nyanuary 9, 1824.\\nDear B. B., Do you know what it is to suc-\\ncumb under an insurmountable day- mare, a\\nwhoreson lethargy, Falstaff calls it, an indispo-\\nsition to do anything or to be anything a total\\ndeadness and distaste j a suspension of vitality\\nan indifference to locality; a numb, soporifical\\ngood-for-nothingness an ossification all over an\\noyster-like insensibility to the passing events a\\nmind-stupor a brawny defiance to the needles\\nof a thrusting-in conscience? Did you ever have\\na very bad cold, with a total irresolution to sub-\\nmit to water-gruel processes? This has been for\\nmany weeks my lot and my excuse. JMy fingers\\ndrag heavily over this paper, and to my thinking\\nit is three-and-twenty furlongs from here to the end\\nof this demi-sheet. I have not a thing to say;\\nnothing is of more importance than another. I am\\nflatter than a denial or a pancake emptier than\\nJudge Parke s wig when the head is in it; duller\\nthan a country stage when the actors are off it,\\na cipher, an o I acknowledge life at all only by\\nan occasional convulsional cough and a permanent\\nphlegmatic pain in the chest. I am weary of the\\nworld life is weary of me. My day is gone into\\ntwilight, and I don t think it worth the expense\\nof candles. My wick hath a thief in it, but I can t", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0274.jp2"}, "275": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 269\\nmuster courage to snuff it. I inhale suffocation\\nI can t distinguish veal from mutton nothing inter-\\nests me. T is twelve o clock, and Thurtell is just\\nnow coming out upon the new drop, Jack Ketch\\nalertly tucking up his greasy sleeves to do the last\\noffice of mortality yet cannot I elicit a groan or\\na moral reflection. If you told me the world will\\nbe at an end to-morrow, I should just say, Will\\nit? I have not volition enough left to dot my s,\\nmuch less to comb my eyebrows my eyes are set\\nin my head my brains are gone out to see a poor\\nrelation in Moorfields, and they did not say when\\nthey d come back again my skull is a Grub Street\\nattic to let, not so much as a joint-stool left\\nin it my hand writes, not I, from habit, as chick-\\nens run about a little when their heads are off. Oh\\nfor a vigorous fit of gout, colic, toothache, an\\nearwig in my auditory, a fly in my visual organs\\npain is life, the sharper the more evidence of\\nlife but this apathy, this death Did you ever\\nhave an obstinate cold, a six or seven weeks\\nunintermitting chill and suspension of hope, fear,\\nconscience, and everything? Yet do I try all I can\\nto cure it. I try wine, and spirits, and smoking,\\nand snuff in unsparing quantities but they all only\\nseem to make me worse, instead of better. I sleep\\nin a damp room, but it does me no good I come\\nhome late o nights, but do not find any visible\\namendment Who shall deliver me from the body\\nof this death\\nIt is just fifteen minutes after twelve. Thurtell is\\n1 Hanged that day for the murder of Weare.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0275.jp2"}, "276": {"fulltext": "270 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nby this time a good way on his journey, baiting at\\nScorpion, perhaps. Ketch is bargaining for his cast\\ncoat and waistcoat and the Jew demurs at first at\\nthree half-crowns, but on consideration that he may\\nget somewhat by showing em in the town, finally\\ncloses.\\nC. L.\\nLXXX.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nJanuary 23, 1824.\\nMy dear Sir, That peevish letter of mine,^\\nwhich was meant to convey an apology for my\\nincapacity to write, seems to have been taken by\\nyou in too serious a light, it was only my way of\\ntelling you I had a severe cold. The fact is, I have\\nbeen insuperably dull and lethargic for many weeks,\\nand cannot rise to the vigor of a letter, much less\\nan essay. The London must do without me for\\na time, for I have lost all interest about it; and\\nwhether I shall recover it again I know not. I will\\nbridle my pen another time, and not tease and\\npuzzle you with my aridities. I shall begin to feel\\na little more alive with the spring.\\nWinter is to me (mild or harsh) always a great\\ntrial of the spirits. I am ashamed not to have\\nnoticed your tribute to Woolman, whom we love so\\nmuch it is done in your good manner. Your\\nfriend Tayler called upon me some time since, and\\nseems a very amiable man. His last story is pain-\\n1 Letter LXXIX.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0276.jp2"}, "277": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OE CHARLES LAMB. 271\\nfully fine. His book I like it is only too stuffed\\nwith Scripture, too parsonish. The best thing in it\\nis the boy s own story. When I say it is too full of\\nScripture, I mean it is too full of direct quotations\\nno book can have too much of silent Scripture in it.\\nBut the natural power of a story is diminished when\\nthe uppermost purpose in the writer seems to be to re-\\ncommend something else, namely, Religion. You\\nknow what Horace says of the Deus inter sit I am\\nnot able to explain myself, you must do it for me.\\nMy sister s part in the Leicester School (about\\ntwo thirds) was purely her own as it was (to the\\nsame quantity) in the Shakspeare Tales which\\nbear my name. I wrote only the Witch Aunt,\\nthe First Going to Church, and the final story\\nabout A little Indian girl in a ship. Your account\\nof my black-balling amused me. think, as Quakers,\\nthey did right. There are some things hard to be\\nunderstood. The more I think, the more I am\\nvexed at having puzzled you with that letter but I\\nhave been so out of letter-writing of late years that\\nit is a sore effort to sit down to it and I felt in\\nyour debt, and sat down waywardly to pay you in\\nbad money. Never mind my dulness I am used\\nto long intervals of it. The heavens seem brass to\\nme then again comes the refreshing shower,\\nI have been merry twice and once ere now.\\nYou said something about Mr. Mitford in a late\\nletter, which I beUeve I did not advert to. I shall\\nbe happy to show him my Milton (it is all the show\\nthings I have) at any time he will take the trouble", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0277.jp2"}, "278": {"fulltext": "272 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nof a jaunt to Islington. I do also hope to see Mr.\\nTayler there some day. Pray say so to both. Cole-\\nridge s book is in good part printed, but sticks a\\nlittle for more copy. It bears an unsalable title,\\nExtracts from Bishop Leighton but I am con-\\nfident there will be plenty of good notes in it,\\nmore of Bishop Coleridge than Leighton in it, I\\nhope for what is Leighton Do you trouble your-\\nself about libel cases? The decision against Hunt\\nfor the Vision of Judgment made me sick. What\\nis to become of the good old talk about our good\\nold king, his personal virtues saving us from a\\nrevolution, etc.? Why, none that think can ut-\\nter it now. It must stink. And the Vision is as\\nto himward such a tolerant, good-humored thing\\nWhat a wretched thing a Lord Chief Justice is,\\nalways was, and will be\\nKeep your good spirits up, dear B. B., mine will\\nreturn they are at present in abeyance, but I am\\nrather lethargic than miserable. I don t know but\\na good horsewhip would be more beneficial to me\\nthan physic. My head, without aching, will teach\\nyours to ache. It is well I am getting to the con-\\nclusion. I will send a better letter when I am a\\nbetter man. Let me thank you for your kind con-\\ncern for me (which I trust will have reason soon\\nto be dissipated), and assure you that it gives me\\npleasure to hear from you.\\nYours truly,\\nC.L.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0278.jp2"}, "279": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 273\\nLXXXI.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON\\nApril, 1824.\\nDear B. B., I am sure I cannot fill a letter,\\nthough I should disfurnish my skull to fill it but you\\nexpect something, and shall have a notelet. Is Sun-\\nday, not divinely speaking, but humanly and holiday-\\nsically, a blessing? Without its institution, would\\nour rugged taskmasters have given us a leisure day so\\noften, think you, as once in a month? or, if it had\\nnot been instituted, might they not have given us\\nevery sixth day Solve me this problem. If we are\\nto go three times a-day to church, why has Sunday\\nslipped into the notion of a ^^//day A HoLY-day, I\\ngrant it. The Puritans, I have read in Southey s\\nbook, knew the distinction. They made people ob-\\nserve Sunday rigorously, would not let a nursery-\\nmaid walk out in the fields with children for recreation\\non that day. But then they gave the people a holi-\\nday from all sorts of work every second Tuesday.\\nThis was giving to the two Caesars that which was\\nhis respective. Wise, beautiful, thoughtful, generous\\nlegislators Would Wilberforce give us our Tues-\\ndays No he would turn the six days into\\nsevenths,\\nAnd those three smiling seasons of the year\\nInto a Russian winter.\\nOld Play.\\nI am sitting opposite a person who is making\\nstrange distortions with the gout, which is not un-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0279.jp2"}, "280": {"fulltext": "2 74 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\npleasant, to me, at least. What is the reason we\\ndo not sympathize with pain, short of some terrible\\nsurgical operation? HazHtt, who boldly says all he\\nfeels, avows that not only he does not pity sick\\npeople, but he hates them. I obscurely recognize\\nhis meaning. Pain is probably too selfish a con-\\nsideration, too simply a consideration of self-atten-\\ntion. We pity poverty, loss of friends, etc., more\\ncomplex things, in which the sufferer s feelings are\\nassociated with others. This is a rough thought\\nsuggested by the presence of gout I want head to\\nextricate it and plane it. What is all this to your\\nletter? I felt it to be a good one, but my turn,\\nwhen I write at all^ is perversely to travel out of\\nthe record, so that my letters are anything but\\nanswers. So you still want a motto? You must\\nnot take my ironical one, because your book, I take\\nit, is too serious for it. Bickerstaff might have used\\nit for his lucubrations. What do you think of (for\\na title) Religio Tremuli? or Tremebundi? There\\nis Religio Medici and Laici. But perhaps the\\nvolume is not quite Quakerish enough, or exclusively\\nso, for it. Your own Vigils is perhaps the best.\\nWhile I have space, let me congratulate with you\\nthe return of spring, what a summery spring too\\nAll those qualms about the dog and cray-fish^ melt\\nbefore it. I am going to be happy and vain again.\\nA hasty farewell,\\nC. Lamb.\\n1 Lamb had confessed, in a previous letter to Barton, to\\nhaving once wantonly set a dog upon a cray-fish.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0280.jp2"}, "281": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 275\\nLXXXII.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nMay 15, 1824.\\nDear B. B., I am oppressed with business all\\nday, and company all night. But I will snatch a\\nquarter of an hour. Your recent acquisitions of the\\npicture and the letter are greatly to be congratulated.\\nI too have a picture of my father and the copy of\\nhis first love-verses but they have been mine long.\\nBlake is a real name, I assure you, and a most ex-\\ntraordinary man, if he is still living. He is the\\nRobert [William] Blake whose wild designs accom-\\npany a splendid folio edition of the Night Thoughts,\\nwhich you may have seen, in one of which he pic-\\ntures the parting of soul and body by a solid mass of\\nhuman form floating off, God knows how, from a\\nlumpish mass (fac-simile to itself) left behind on\\nthe dying bed. He paints in water-colors marvellous\\nstrange pictures, visions of his brain, which he asserts\\nthat he has seen they have great merit. He has\\nseen the old Welsh bards on Snowdon, he has seen\\nthe beautifullest, the strongest, and the ugliest man,\\nleft alone from the massacre of the Britons by the\\nRomans, and has painted them from memory (I\\nhave seen his paintings), and asserts them to be as\\ngood as the figures of Raphael and Angelo, but not\\nbetter, as they had precisely the same retro -visions\\nand prophetic visions with themself [himself] The\\npainters in oil (which he will have it that neither of\\nthem practised) he affirms to have been the ruin of", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0281.jp2"}, "282": {"fulltext": "276 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nart, and affirms that all the while he was engaged in\\nhis Welsh paintings, Titian was disturbing him,\\nTitian the 111 Genius of Oil Painting. His pictures\\none in particular, the Canterbury Pilgrims, far above\\nStothard have great merit, but hard, dry, yet with\\ngrace. He has written a Catalogue of them, with a\\nmost spirited criticism on Chaucer, but mystical and\\nfull of vision. His poems have been sold hitherto\\nonly in manuscript. I never read them but a\\nfriend at my desire procured the Sweep Song.\\nThere is one to a tiger, which I have heard recited,\\nbeginning,\\nTiger, Tiger, burning bright,\\nThro the deserts of the night,\\nwhich is glorious, but, alas I have not the book\\nfor the man is flown, whither I know not, to\\nHades or a madhouse. But I must look on him\\nas one of the most extraordinary persons of the age.\\nMontgomery s book^ I have not much hope from,\\nand the society with the affected name has been\\nlaboring at it for these twenty years, and made few\\nconverts. I think it was injudicious to mix stories,\\navowedly colored by fiction, with the sad, true state-\\nments from the parliamentary records, etc. But I\\nwish the little negroes all the good that can come\\nfrom it. I battered my brains (not buttered them,\\nbut it is a bad a) for a few verses for them, but\\n1 The Chimney-Sweeper s Friend, and Climbing-Boy s\\nAlbum, a book, by James Montgomery, setting forth the\\nwrongs of the little chimney-sweepers, for whose relief a\\nsociety had been started.\\n2 The Society for Ameliorating the Condition of Infant\\nChimney-Sweepers.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0282.jp2"}, "283": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 277\\nI could make nothing of it. You have been luckier.\\nBut Blake s are the flower of the set, you will, I am\\nsure, agree though some of Montgomery s at the\\nend are pretty, but the Dream awkwardly para-\\nphrased from B.\\nWith the exception of an Epilogue for a Private\\nTheatrical, I have written nothing new for near six\\nmonths. It is in vain to spur me on. I must wait.\\nI cannot write without a genial impulse, and I have\\nnone. T is barren all and dearth. No matter;\\nlife is something without scribbUng. I have got\\nrid of my bad spirits, and hold up pretty well this\\nrain- damned May.\\nSo we have lost another poet.^ I never much\\nrelished his Lordship s mind, and shall be sorry if\\nthe Greeks have cause to miss him. He was to me\\noffensive, and I never can make out his real power,\\nwhich his admirers talk of. Why, a line of Words-\\nworth s is a lever to hft the immortal spirit Byron\\ncan only move the spleen. He was at best a satir-\\nist. In any other way, he was mean enough. I\\ndaresay I do him injustice but I cannot love him,\\nnor squeeze a tear to his memory. He did not like\\nthe world, and he has left it, as Alderman Curtis\\nadvised the Radicals, if they don t like their coun-\\ntry, damn em, let em leave it, they possessing no\\nrood of ground in England, and he ten thousand\\nacres. Byron was better than many Curtises.\\nFarewell, and accept this apology for a letter from\\none who owes you so much in that kind.\\nYours ever truly, C. L.\\n1 Byron had died on April 19.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0283.jp2"}, "284": {"fulltext": "278 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nLXXXIII.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nAugust, 1824.\\nI CAN no more understand Shelley than you can\\nhis poetry is thin sown with profit or delight.\\nYet I must point to your notice a sonnet conceived\\nand expressed with a witty delicacy. It is that ad-\\ndressed to one who hated him, but who could not\\npersuade him to hate hi77i again. His coyness to\\nthe other s passion for hate demands a return as\\nmuch as love, and starves without it is most arch\\nand pleasant. Pray, like it very much. For his\\ntheories and nostrums, they are oracular enough, but\\nI either comprehend em not, or there is miching\\nmalice and mischief in em, but, for the most part,\\nringing with their own emptiness. Hazlitt said well\\nof em Many are the wiser and better for read-\\ning Shakspeare, but nobody was ever wiser or better\\nfor reading Shelley. I wonder you will sow your\\ncorrespondence on so barren a ground as I am, that\\nmake such poor returns. But my head aches at the\\nbare thought of letter-writing. I wish all the ink in\\nthe ocean dried up, and would listen to the quills shiv-\\nering up in the candle flame, like parching martyrs.\\nThe same indisposition to write it is has stopped my\\nElias but you will see a futile effort in the next\\nnumber,^ wrung from me with slow pain. The\\n1 The essay Blakesmoor in Hertfordshire, in the Lon-\\ndon Magazine for September, 1824.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0284.jp2"}, "285": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 279\\nfact is, my head is seldom cool enough. I am\\ndreadfully indolent. To have to do anything to\\norder me a new coat, for instance, though my old\\nbuttons are shelled like beans is an effort. My\\npen stammers like my tongue. What cool craniums\\nthose old inditers of folios must have had, what a\\nmortified pulse Well, once more I throw my-\\nself on your mercy. Wishing peace in thy new\\ndwelling,\\nC. Lamb.\\nLXXXIV.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nDecember i, 1824.\\nTaylor and Hessey, finding their magazine goes\\noff very heavily at 2s. 6d., are prudently going to\\nraise their price another shilling; and having al-\\nready more authors than they want, intend to in-\\ncrease the number of them. If they set up against\\nthe New Monthly, they must change their present\\nhands. It is not tying the dead carcase of a review\\nto a half-dead magazine will do their business. It\\nis like George Dyer multiplying his volumes to make\\nem sell better. When he finds one will not go off,\\nhe pubHshes two two stick, he tries three three\\nhang fire, he is confident that four will have a better\\nchance.\\n1 Taylor and Hessey succeeded John Scott as editors of\\nthe London Magazine (of which they were also publishers),\\nand it was to this periodical that most of Lamb s Elia\\nEssays were contributed.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0285.jp2"}, "286": {"fulltext": "28o LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nAnd now, my dear sir, trifling apart, the gloomy\\ncatastrophe of yesterday morning prompts a sadder\\nvein. The fate of the unfortunate Fauntleroy^\\nmakes me, whether I will or no, to cast reflecting\\neyes around on such of my friends as, by a parity\\nof situation, are exposed to a similarity of tempta-\\ntion. My very style seems to myself to become\\nmore impressive than usual, with the change of\\ntheme. Who, that standeth, knoweth but he may\\nyet fall? Your hands as yet, I am most willing to\\nbelieve, have never deviated into others property\\nyou think it impossible that you could ever commit\\nso heinous an offence. But so thought Fauntleroy\\nonce so have thought many besides him, who at\\nlast have expiated as he hath done. You are as yet\\nupright but you are a banker, at least, the next\\nthing to it. I feel the delicacy of the subject; but\\ncash must pass through your hands, sometimes to a\\ngreat amount. If in an unguarded hour But I will\\nhope better. Consider the scandal it will bring upon\\nthose of your persuasion. Thousands would go to\\nsee a Quaker hanged, that would be indifferent to\\nthe fate of a Presbyterian or an Anabaptist. Think\\nof the effect it would have on the sale of your poems\\nalone, not to mention higher considerations I trem-\\nble, I am sure, at myself, when I think that so many\\npoor victims of the law, at one time of their life,\\nmade as sure of never being hanged as I, in my pre-\\nsumption, am too ready to do myself. What are we\\nbetter than they? Do we come into the world with\\n1 The forger, hanged Nov. 30, 1824. This was the last\\nexecution for this offence.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0286.jp2"}, "287": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 281\\ndifferent necks? Is there any distinctive mark un-\\nder our left ears? Are we unstrangulable, I ask\\nyou Think of these things. I am shocked some-\\ntimes at the shape of my own fingers, not for their\\nresemblance to the ape tribe (which is something),\\nbut for the exquisite adaptation of them to the pur-\\nposes of picking fingering, etc. No one that is so\\nframed, I maintain it, but should tremble.\\nC. L.\\nLXXXV.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nMarch 23, 1825.\\nDear B. B., I have had no impulse to write, or\\nattend to any single object but myself for weeks\\npast, my single self, I by myself, I. I am sick\\nof hope (deferred. The grand wheel is in agitation\\nthat is to turn up my fortune but round it rolls,\\nand will turn up nothing. I have a glimpse of free-\\ndom, of becoming a gentleman at large but I am\\nput off from day to day. I have offered my resigna-\\ntion, and it is neither accepted nor rejected. Eight\\nweeks am I kept in this fearful suspense. Guess\\nwhat an absorbing stake I feel it. I am not con-\\nscious of the existence of friends present or absent.\\nThe East India Directors alone can be that thing to\\nme or not. I have- just learned that nothing will\\nbe decided this week. Why the next? Why any\\nweek? It has fretted me into an itch of the fin-\\ngers I rub em against paper, and write to you,\\nrather than not allay this scorbuta.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0287.jp2"}, "288": {"fulltext": "282 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nWhile I can write, let me adjure you to have no\\ndoubts of Irving. Let Mr. Mitford drop his disre-\\nspect. Irving has prefixed a dedication (of a mis-\\nsionary subject, first part) to Coleridge, the most\\nbeautiful, cordial, and sincere. He there acknowl-\\nedges his obligation to S. T. C. for his knowledge of\\nGospel truths, the nature of a Christian Church,\\netc., to the talk of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (at\\nwhose Gamaliel feet he sits weekly), rather than to\\nthat of all the men living. This from him, the great\\ndandled and petted sectarian, to a religious char-\\nacter so equivocal in the world s eye as that of\\nS. T. C, so foreign to the Kirk s estimate, can\\nthis man be a quack The language is as affecting\\nas the spirit of the dedication. Some friend told\\nhim, This dedication will do you no good,\\nnot in the world s repute, or with your own people.\\nThat is a reason for doing it, quoth Ir\\\\Wng.\\nI am thoroughly pleased with him. He is firm,\\nout-speaking, intrepid, and docile as a pupil of\\nPythagoras. You must like him.\\nYours, in tremors of painful hope,\\nC. Lamb.\\nLXXXVI.\\nTO WORDSWORTH\\nApril d, 1825.\\nDear Wordsworth, I have been several times\\nmeditating a letter to you concerning the good\\nthing which has befallen me but the thought of", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0288.jp2"}, "289": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 283\\npoor Monkhouse^ came across me. He was one\\nthat I had exulted in the prospect of congratulating\\nme. He and you were to have been the first par-\\nticipators for indeed it has been ten weeks since\\nthe first motion of it. Here am I then, after thirty-\\nthree years slavery, sitting in my own room at\\neleven o clock this finest of all April mornings, a\\nfreed man, with ;^44i a year for the remainder of\\nmy life, live I as long as John Dennis, who outlived\\nhis annuity and starved at ninety: ^441;\\n;^45o, with a deduction of ^9 for a provision se-\\ncured to my sister, she being survivor, the pension\\nguaranteed by Act Georgii Tertii, etc.\\nI came home forever on Tuesday in last week.\\nThe incomprehensibleness of my condition over-\\nwhelmed me it was like passing from life into\\neternity. Every year to be as long as three, e.,\\nto have three times as much real time time that\\nis my own in it I wandered about thinking I\\nwas happy, but feeling I was not. But that tumul-\\ntuousness is passing off, and I begin to understand\\nthe nature of the gift. Holidays, even the annual\\nmonth, were always uneasy joys, their conscious\\nfugitiveness the craving after making the most\\nof them. Now, when all is holiday, there are no\\nholidays. I can sit at home, in rain or shine, with-\\nout a restless impulse for walkings. I am daily\\nsteadying, and shall soon find it as natural to me\\nto be my own master as it has been irksome to\\nhave had a master. Mary wakes every morning\\nWordsworth s cousin, who was ill of consumption in\\nDevonshire. He died the following year.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0289.jp2"}, "290": {"fulltext": "284 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nwith an obscure feeling that some good has happened\\nto us.\\nLeigh Hunt and Montgomery, after their release-\\nments, describe the shock of their emancipation\\nmuch as I feel mine. But it hurt their frames. I\\neat, drink, and sleep sound as ever. I lay no anx-\\nious schemes for going hither and thither, but take\\nthings as they occur. Yesterday I excursioned\\ntwenty miles to-day I write a few letters. Pleas-\\nuring was for fugitive play-days mine are fugitive\\nonly in the sense that life is fugitive. Freedom\\nand life co-existent\\nAt the foot of such a call upon you for gratula-\\ntion, I am ashamed to advert to that melancholy\\nevent. Monkhouse was a character I learned to\\nlove slowly but it grew upon me yearly, monthly,\\ndaily. What a chasm has it made in our pleasant\\nparties His noble, friendly face was always coming\\nbefore me, till this hurrying event in my life came,\\nand for the time has absorbed all interest in fact,\\nit has shaken me a little. My old desk companions,\\nwith whom I have had such merry hours, seem to\\nreproach me for removing my lot from among them.\\nThey were pleasant creatures but to the anxieties\\nof business, and a weight of possible worse ever\\nimpending, I was not equal. Tuthill and Oilman\\ngave me my certificates I laughed at the friendly\\nlie implied in them. But my sister shook her head,\\nand said it was all true. Indeed, this last winter I\\nwas jaded out; winters were always worse than\\nother parts of the year, because the spirits are\\nworse, and I had no daylight. In summer I had", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0290.jp2"}, "291": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 285\\ndaylight evenings. The rehef was hinted to me\\nfrom a superior power when I, poor slave, had not\\na hope but that I must wait another seven years\\nwith Jacob and lo the Rachel which I coveted\\nis brought to me.\\nLXXXVII.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nApril 6, 1825.\\nDear B. B., My spirits are so tumultuary with\\nthe novelty of my recent emancipation that I have\\nscarce steadiness of hand, much more mind, to\\ncompose a letter. I am free, B. B., free as air\\nThe little bird that wings the sky\\nKnows no such liberty.\\nI was set free on Tuesday in last week at four\\no clock. I came home forever\\nI have been describing my feelings as well as I\\ncan to Wordsworth in a long letter, and don t care\\nto repeat. Take it, briefly, that for a few days I\\nwas painfully oppressed by so mighty a change but\\nit is becoming daily more natural to me. I went\\nand sat among em all at my old thirty-three-years\\ndesk yester- morning and, deuce take me, if I had\\nnot yearnings at leaving all my old pen-and-ink\\nfellows, merry, sociable lads, at leaving them in\\n1 The birds that wanton in the air\\nKnow no such liberty,\\nLovelace.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0291.jp2"}, "292": {"fulltext": "286 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nthe lurch, fag, fag, fag The comparison of my\\nown superior feUcity gave me anything but pleasure.\\nB. B., I would not serve another seven years for\\nseven hundred thousand pounds I have got-^441\\nnet for life, sanctioned by Act of Parliament, with a\\nprovision for Mary if she survives me. I will live\\nanother fifty years or if I live but ten, they will be\\nthirty, reckoning the quantity of real time in them,\\ne., the time that is a man s own. Tell me how\\nyou like Barbara S. will it be received in atone-\\nment for the foolish Vision, I mean by the\\nlady? A propos, I never saw Mrs. Crawford in my\\nlife nevertheless, it s all true of somebody.\\nAddress me, in future, Colebrooke Cottage, Isling-\\nton. I am really nervous (but that will wear off)\\nso take this brief announcement.\\nYours truly,\\nC. L.\\nLXXXVIII.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nJuly 2, 1825.\\nI AM hardly able to appreciate your volume\\nnow but I liked the dedication much, and the\\napology for your bald burying grounds. To Shelley\\nbut that is not new. To the young Vesper-\\nsinger, Great Bealings, Playford, and what not.\\nIf there be a cavil, it is that the topics of religious\\nconsolation, however beautiful, are repeated till a\\n1 The Elia essay. Fanny Kelly was the original of\\nBarbara S.\\nBarton s volume of Poems.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0292.jp2"}, "293": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 287\\nsort of triteness attends them. It seems as if you\\nwere forever losing Friends children by death, and\\nreminding their parents of the Resurrection. Do\\nchildren die so often and so good in your parts?\\nThe topic taken from the consideration that they\\nare snatched away from possible vanities seems\\nhardly sound for to an Omniscient eye their con-\\nditional failings must be one with their actual. But\\nI am too unwell for theology.\\nSuch as I am,\\nI am yours and A. K. s truly,\\nC. Lamb.\\nLXXXIX.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nAugust 10, 1825.\\nWe shall be soon again at Colebrooke.\\nDear B. B., You must excuse my not writing\\nbefore, when I tell you we are on a visit at Enfield,\\nwhere I do not feel it natural to sit down to a letter.\\nIt is at all times an exertion. I had rather talk\\nwith you and Anne Knight quietly at Colebrooke\\nLodge over the matter of your last. You mistake\\nme when you express misgivings about my relishing\\na series of Scriptural poems. I wrote confusedly\\nwhat I meant to say was, that one or two consola-\\ntory poems on deaths would have had a more\\ncondensed effect than many. Scriptural, devo-\\ntional topics, admit of infinite variety. So far\\nfrom poetry tiring me because religious, I can read,", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0293.jp2"}, "294": {"fulltext": "288 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nand I say it seriously, the homely old version of the\\nPsalms in our Prayer-books for an hour or two\\ntogether sometimes, without sense of weariness.\\nI did not express myself clearly about what I\\nthink a false topic, insisted on so frequently in con-\\nsolatory addresses on the death of infants. I know\\nsomething like it is in Scripture, but I think hu-\\nmanly spoken. It is a natural thought, a sweet\\nfallacy, to the survivors, but still a fallacy. If it\\nstands on the doctrine of this being a probationary\\nstate, it is liable to this dilemma. Omniscience, to\\nwhom possibility must be clear as act, must know of\\nthe child what it would hereafter turn out if good,\\nthen the topic is false to say it is secured from fall-\\ning into future wilfulness, vice, etc. If bad, I do\\nnot see how its exemption from certain future overt\\nacts by being snatched away at all tells in its favor.\\nYou stop the arm of a murderer, or arrest the finger\\nof a pickpurse but is not the guilt incurred as\\nmuch by the intent as if never so much acted?\\nWhy children are hurried off, and old reprobates of a\\nhundred left, whose trial humanly we may think was\\ncomplete at fifty, is among the obscurities of provi-\\ndence. The very notion of a state of probation has\\ndarkness in it. The All-knower has no need of\\nsatisfying his eyes by seeing what we will do, when\\nhe knows before what we will do. Methinks we\\nmight be condemned before commission. In these\\nthings we grope and flounder and if we can pick\\nup a little human comfort that the child taken is\\nsnatched from vice (no great compliment to it, by\\nthe by) let us take it. And as to where an untried", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0294.jp2"}, "295": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 289\\nchild goes, whether to join the assembly of its elders\\nwho have borne the heat of the day, fire- purified\\nmartyrs and torment-sifted confessors, what know\\nwe? We promise heaven, methinks, too cheaply,\\nand assign large revenues to minors incompetent to\\nmanage them. Epitaphs run upon this topic of\\nconsolation till the very frequency induces a cheap-\\nness. Tickets for admission into paradise are sculp-\\ntured out a penny a letter, twopence a syllable, etc.\\nIt is all a mystery and the more I try to express\\nmy meaning (having none that is clear), the more I\\nflounder. Finally, write what your own conscience,\\nwhich to you is the unerring judge, deems best, and\\nbe careless about the whimsies of such a half-baked\\nnotionist as I am. We are here in a most pleasant\\ncountry, full of walks, and idle to our heart s desire.\\nTaylor has dropped the London. It was indeed\\na dead weight. It had got in the Slough of De-\\nspond. I shuffle off my part of the pack, and stand,\\nlike Christian, with light and merry shoulders. It\\nhad got silly, indecorous, pert, and everything that\\nis bad. Both our kind remeful^rances to Mrs. K.\\nand yourself, and strangers -greeting to Lucy, is it\\nLucy, or Ruth that gathers wise sayings in a\\nBook.\\nC. Lamb.\\nXC.\\nTO SOUTHEY.\\nAugust 19, 1S25.\\nDear Southey, You U know whom this letter\\ncomes from by opening slap-dash upon the text, as\\n19", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0295.jp2"}, "296": {"fulltext": "290 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nin the good old times. I never could come into the\\ncustom of envelopes, t is a modern foppery the\\nPlinian correspondence gives no hint of such. In\\nsingleness of sheet and. meaning, then, I thank you\\nfor your little book. I am ashamed to add a codicil\\nof thanks for your Book of the Church. I scarce\\nfeel competent to give an opinion of the latter I\\nhave not reading enough of that kind to venture at\\nit. I can only say the fact, that I have read it with\\nattention and interest. Being, as you know, not\\nquite a Churchman, I felt a jealousy at the Church\\ntaking to herself the whole deserts of Christianity,\\nCatholic and Protestant, from Druid extirpation\\ndownwards. I call all good Christians the Church,\\nCapillarians and all. But I am in too light a humor\\nto touch these matters. May all our churches\\nflourish Two things staggered me in the poem\\n(and one of them staggered both of us) I cannot\\naway with a beautiful series of verses, as I protest\\nthey are, commencing Jenner. T is like a\\nchoice banquet opened with a pill or an electuary,\\nphysic stuff. T other is, we cannot make out how\\nEdith should be no more than ten years old. By r\\nLady, we had taken her to be some sixteen or up-\\nwards. We suppose you have only chosen the round\\nnumber for the metre. Or poem and dedication\\nmay be both older than they pretend to, but then\\nsome hint might have been given for, as it stands,\\nit may only serve some day to puzzle the parish\\nreckoning. But without inquiring further (for t is\\nungracious to look into a lady s years), the dedica-\\ntion is eminently pleasing and tender, and we wish", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0296.jp2"}, "297": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 291\\nEdith May Southey joy of it. Something, too,\\nstruck us as if we had heard of the death of John\\nMay. A John May s death was a few years since in\\nthe papers. We think the tale one of the quietest,\\nprettiest things we have seen. You have been tem-\\nperate in the use of locahties, which generally spoil\\npoems laid in exotic regions. You mostly cannot\\nstir out (in such things) for humming-birds and fire-\\nflies. A tree is a Magnolia, etc. Can I but like\\nthe truly Catholic spirit? Blame as thou mayest\\nthe Papist s erring creed, which and other pass-\\nages brought me back to the old Anthology days\\nand the admonitory lesson to Dear George on\\nThe Vesper Bell, a little poem which retains its\\nfirst hold upon me strangely.\\nThe compliment to the translatress is daintily\\nconceived. Nothing is choicer in that sort of writ-\\ning than to bring in some remote, impossible paral-\\nlel^ as between a great empress and the inobtrusive,\\nquiet soul who digged her noiseless way so persever-\\ningly through that rugged Paraguay mine. How\\nshe Dobrizhoffered it all out, it puzzles my slender\\nLatinity to conjecture. Why do you seem to sanc-\\ntion Landor s unfeeling allegorizing away of honest\\nQuixote? He may as well say Strap is meant to\\nsymbolize the Scottish nation before the Union, and\\nRandom since that Act of dubious issue or that Part-\\nridge means the Mystical Man, and Lady Bellaston\\ntypifies the Woman upon Many Waters. Gebir, in-\\ndeed, may mean the state of the hop markets last\\nmonth, for anything I know to ihe contrary. That\\nall Spain overflowed with romancical books (as", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0297.jp2"}, "298": {"fulltext": "292 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nMadge Newcastle calls them) was no reason that\\nCervantes should not smile at the matter of them\\nnor even a reason that, in another mood, he might\\nnot multiply them, deeply as he was tinctured with\\nthe essence of them. Quixote is the father of gentle\\nridicule, and at the same time the very depository\\nand treasury of chivalry and highest notions. Marry,\\nwhen somebody persuaded Cervantes that he meant\\nonly fun, and put him upon writing that unfortunate\\nSecond Part, with the confederacies of that unworthy\\nduke and most contemptible duchess, Cervantes\\nsacrificed his instinct to his understanding.\\nWe got your little book but last night, being at\\nEnfield, to which place we came about a month\\nsince, and are having quiet holidays. Mary walks\\nher twelve miles a day some days, and I my twenty\\non others. Tis all holiday with me now, you\\nknow the change works admirably.\\nFor literary news, in my poor way, I have a one-\\nact farce going to be acted at Haymarket but\\nwhen? is the question. Tis an extravaganza, and\\nlike enough to follow Mr. H. The London\\nMagazine has shifted its publishers once more, and\\nI shall shift myself out of it. It is fallen. My\\nambition is not at present higher than to write non-\\nsense for the playhouses, to eke out a something\\ncontracted income. Tempus erat. There was a\\ntime, my dear Cornwallis, when the muse, etc. But\\nI am now in Mac Flecknoe s predicament,\\nPromised a play, and dwindled to a farce.\\n1 Probably The Pawnbroker s Daughter, which happily\\nwas not destined to be performed. Ainger.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0298.jp2"}, "299": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 293\\nColeridge is better (was, at least, a few weeks\\nsince) than he has been for years. His accomplish-\\ning his book at last has been a source of vigor to\\nhim. We are on a half visit to his friend Allsop, at\\na Mrs. Leishman s, Enfield, but expect to be at\\nColebrooke Cottage in a week or so, where, or\\nanywhere, I shall be always most happy to receive\\ntidings from you. G. Dyer is in the height of an\\nuxorious paradise. His honeymoon will not wane\\ntill he wax cold. Never was a more happy pair,\\nsince Acme and Septimius, and longer. Farewell,\\nwith many thanks, dear S. Our loves to all round\\nyour Wrekin.\\nYour old friend,\\nC. Lamb.\\nXCI.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nMarch 20, 1826.\\nDear B. B., You may know my letters by the\\npaper and the folding. For the former, I live on\\nscraps obtained in charity from an old friend, whose\\nstationery is a permanent perquisite for folding, I\\nshall do it neatly when I learn to tie my neckcloths.\\nI surprise most of my friends by writing to them on\\nruled paper, as if I had not got past pothooks and\\nhangers. Sealing-wax I have none on my estabhsh-\\nment wafers of the coarsest bran supply its place.\\nWhen my epistles come to be weighed with Pliny s,\\nhowever superior to the Roman in delicate irony,\\njudicious reflections, etc., his gilt post will bribe", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0299.jp2"}, "300": {"fulltext": "294 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nover the judges to him. All the time I was at the\\nE. I. H. I never mended a pen I now cut em to\\nthe stumps, marring rather than mending the primi-\\ntive goose-quill. I cannot bear to pay for articles I\\nused to get for nothing. When Adam laid out his\\nfirst penny upon nonpareils at some stall in Meso-\\npotamos, I think it went hard with him, reflecting\\nupon his old goodly orchard, where he had so* many\\nfor nothing. When I write to a great man at the\\ncourt end, he opens with surprise upon a naked\\nnote, such as Whitechapel people interchange, with\\nno sweet degrees of envelope. I never enclosed\\none bit of paper in another, nor understood the\\nrationale of it. Once only I sealed with borrowed\\nwax, to set Walter Scott a-wondering, signed with\\nthe imperial quartered arms of England, which my\\nfriend Field bears in compliment to his descent, in\\nthe female line, from Oliver Cromwell. It must\\nhave set his antiquarian curiosity upon watering.\\nTo your questions upon the currency, I refer you to\\nMr. Robinson s last speech, where, if you can find a\\nsolution, I cannot. I think this, though, the best\\nministry we ever stumbled upon, gin reduced four\\nshillings in the gallon, wine two shillings in the\\nquart This comes home to men s minds and\\nbosoms. My tirade against visitors was not meant\\nparticularly at you or Anne Knight. I scarce know\\nwhat I meant, for I do not just now feel the griev-\\nance. I wanted to make an article. So in another\\nthing I talked of somebody s insipid wife without a\\ncorrespondent object in my head and a good lady,\\na friend s wife, whom I really love (don t startle, I", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0300.jp2"}, "301": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 295\\nmean in a licit way) has looked shyly on me ever\\nsince. The blunders of personal application are\\nludicrous. I send out a character every now and\\nthen on purpose to exercise the ingenuity of my\\nfriends. Popular Fallacies will go on that word\\nconcluded is an erratum, I suppose, for con-\\ntinued. I do not know how it got stuffed in there. A\\nlittle thing without name will also be printed on the\\nReHgion of the Actors but it is out of your way, so\\nI recommend you, with true author s hypocrisy, to\\nskip it. We are about to sit down to roast beef, at\\nwhich we could wish A. K., B. B., and B. B. s\\npleasant daughter to be humble partakers. So much\\nfor my hint at visitors, which was scarcely calculated\\nfor droppers-in from Woodbridge the sky does not\\ndrop such larks every day. My very kindest wishes\\nto you all three, with my sister s best love.\\nC. Lamb.\\nXCII.\\nTO J. B. DIBDIN.\\nJune, 1826.\\nDear D., My first impulse upon seeing your\\nletter was pleasure at seeing your old neat hand,\\nnine parts gentlemanly, with a modest dash of the\\nclerical my second, a thought natural enough this\\nhot weather Am I to answer all this Why, t is as\\nlong as those to the Ephesians and Galatians put\\ntogether I have counted the words, for curiosity.\\nI never knew an enemy to puns who was not\\nan ill-natured man. Your fair critic in the coach", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0301.jp2"}, "302": {"fulltext": "296 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nreminds me of a Scotchman who assured me he did\\nnot see much in Shakspeare. I rephed, I daresay not.\\nHe felt the equivoke, looked awkward and reddish,\\nbut soon returned to the attack by saying that he\\nthought Burns was as good as Shakspeare. I said\\nthat I had no doubt he was, to a Scotchman. We\\nexchanged no more words that day. Let me\\nhear that you have clambered up to Lover s Seat it\\nis as fine in that neighborhood as Juan Fernandez,\\nas lonely, too, when the fishing-boats are not out I\\nhave sat for hours staring upon a shipless sea. The\\nsalt sea is never as grand as when it is left to itself.\\nOne cock-boat spoils it a seamew or two improves\\nit. And go to the little church, which is a very Prot-\\nestant Loretto, and seems dropped by some angel\\nfor the use of a hermit who was at once parishioner\\nand a whole parish. It is not too big. Go in the night,\\nbring it away in your portmanteau, and I will plant\\nit in my garden. It must have been erected, in the\\nvery infancy of British Christianity, for the two or\\nthree first converts, yet with all the appurtenances\\nof a church of the first magnitude, its pulpit, its\\npews, its baptismal font a cathedral in a nutshell.\\nThe minister that divides the Word there must give\\nlumping pennyworths. It is built to the text of\\ntwo or three assembled in my name. It reminds\\nme of the grain of mustard-seed. If the glebe-land\\nis proportionate, it may yield two potatoes. Tithes\\nout of it could be no more split than a hair. Its\\nFirst fruits must be its Last, for t would never pro-\\nduce a couple. It is truly the strait and narrow way,\\nand few there be (of London visitants) that find it.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0302.jp2"}, "303": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 297\\nThe still small voice is surely to be found there, if\\nanywhere. A sounding-board is merely there for\\nceremony. It is secure from earthquakes, not more\\nfrom sanctity than size, for t would feel a mountain\\nthrown upon it no more than a taper-worm would.\\nGo and see, but not without your spectacles.\\nXCIII.\\nTO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON.\\nJanuary 20, 1827.\\nDear Robinson, I called upon you this morn-\\ning, and found that you had gone to visit a dying\\nfriend. I had been upon a like errand. Poor\\nNorris has been lying dying for now almost a week,\\nsuch is the penalty we pay for having enjoyed a\\nstrong constitution Whether he knew me or not,\\nI know not, or whether he saw me through his poor\\nglazed eyes but the group I saw about him I shall\\nnot forget. Upon the bed, or about it, were assem-\\nbled his wife and two daughters, and poor deaf\\nRichard, his son, looking doubly stupefied. There\\nthey were, and seemed to have been sitting all the\\nweek. I could only reach out a hand to Mrs.\\nNorris. Speaking was impossible in that mute\\nchamber. By this time I hope it is all over with\\nhim. In him I have a loss the world cannot make\\nup. He was my friend and my father s friend all\\nthe life I can remember. I seem to have made\\nfoolish friendships ever since. Those are friend-\\n1 Randal Norris, sub-treasurer of the Inner Temple, an\\nearly friend of the Lambs.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0303.jp2"}, "304": {"fulltext": "298 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nships which outUve a second generation. Old as I\\nam waxing, in his eyes 1 was still the child he first\\nknew me. To the last he called me Charley. I\\nhave none to call me Charley now. He was the last\\nlink that bound me to the Temple. You are but of\\nyesterday. In him seem to have died the old plain-\\nness of manners and singleness of heart. Letters he\\nknew nothing of, nor did his reading extend beyond\\nthe pages of the Gentleman s Magazine. Yet\\nthere was a pride of literature about him from being\\namongst books (he was librarian), and from some\\nscraps of doubtful Latin which he had picked up in\\nhis office of entering students, that gave him very\\ndiverting airs of pedantry. Can I forget the eru-\\ndite look with which, when he had been in vain\\ntrying to make out a black-letter text of Chaucer in\\nthe Temple Library, he laid it down and told me that\\nin those old books, Charley, there is sometimes\\na deal of very indiiferent spelling and seemed to\\nconsole himself in the reflection His jokes for\\nhe had his jokes are now ended but they were old\\ntrusty perennials, staples that pleased after decies\\nrepetita, and were always as good as new. One\\nsong he had, which was reserved for the night of\\nChristmas Day, which we always spent in the Temple.\\nIt was an old thing, and spoke of the flat-bottoms\\nof our foes and the possibility of their coming over\\nin darkness, and alluded to threats of an invasion\\nmany years blown over; and when he came to\\nthe part\\nWe 11 still make em run; and we 11 still make em sweat,\\nIn spite of the devil and Brussels Gazette,", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0304.jp2"}, "305": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 299\\nhis eyes would sparkle as with the freshness of an\\nimpending event. And what is the Brussels\\nGazette now? I cry while I enumerate these\\ntrifles. How shall we tell them in a stranger s\\near? His poor good girls will now have to receive\\ntheir afflicted mother in an inaccessible hovel in an\\nobscure village in Herts, where they have been long\\nstruggling to make a school without effect and\\npoor deaf Richard and the more helpless for\\nbeing so is thrown on the wide world.\\nMy first motive in writing, and, indeed, in calling\\non you, was to ask if you were enough acquainted\\nwith any of the Benchers to lay a plain statement\\nbefore them of the circumstances of the family. I\\nalmost fear not, for you are of another hall. But if\\nyou can oblige me and my poor friend, who is now\\ninsensible to any favors, pray exert yourself. You\\ncannot say too much good of poor Norris and his\\npoor wife. Yours ever,\\nCharles Lamb.\\nXCIV.\\nTO PETER GEORGE PATMORE.\\nLONDRES,yz///V IQif/z, 1827.\\nDear P., I am so poorly. I have been to a\\nfuneral, where I made a pun, to the consternation of\\nthe rest of the mourners. And we had wine. I\\ncan t describe to you the howl which the widow set\\nup at proper intervals. Dash could for it was not\\nunlike what he makes.\\n1 A dog given to Lamb by Thomas Hood. See letter to\\nPattrrre dated September, 1827.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0305.jp2"}, "306": {"fulltext": "300 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nThe letter I sent you was one directed to the\\ncare of Edward White, India House, for Mrs. Haz-\\nlitt. Which Mrs. H. I don t yet know but Allsop\\nhas taken it to France on speculation. Really it\\nis embarrassing. There is Mrs. present H., Mrs.\\nlate H., and Mrs. John H. and to which of the\\nthree Mrs. Wigginses it appertains, I know not. I\\nwanted to open it, but tis transportation.\\nI am sorry you are plagued about your book. I\\nwould strongly recommend you to take for one story\\nMassinger s Old Law. It is exquisite. I can\\nthink of no other.\\nDash is frightful this morning. He whines and\\nstands up on his hind legs. He misses Becky, who\\nis gone to town. I took him to Barnet the other\\nday, and he could n t eat his vittles after it. Pray\\nGod his intellectuals be not slipping.\\nMary is gone out for some soles. I suppose t is\\nno use to ask you to come and partake of em\\nelse there is a steam vessel.\\nI am doing a tragi-comedy in two acts, and have\\ngot on tolerably but it will be refused, or worse. I\\nnever had luck with anything my name was put to.\\nOh, I am so poorly I waked it at my cousin s\\nthe bookbinder, who is now with God or if he is\\nnot, tis no fault of mine.\\nWe hope the Frank wines do not disagree with\\nMrs. Patmore. By the way, I like her.\\nDid you ever taste frogs? Get them if you can.\\nThey are like little Lilliput rabbits, only a thought\\nnicer.\\nHow sick I am not of the world, but of the\\nWidow Shrub. She s sworn under ;^6,ooo but I", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0306.jp2"}, "307": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. ZO\\\\\\nthink she perjured herself. She howls in E la, and\\nI comfort her in B flat. You understand music?\\nIf you haven t got Massinger, you have nothing to\\ndo but go to the first Bibhotheque you can hght\\nupon at Boulogne, and ask for it (Gifford s edition)\\nand if they haven t got it, you can have Athalie,\\npar Monsieur Racine, and make the best of it. But\\nthat Old Law is delicious.\\nNo shrimps (that s in answer to Mary s ques-\\ntion about how the soles are to be done.)\\nI am uncertain where this wandering letter may\\nreach you. What you mean by Poste Restante, God\\nknows. Do you mean I must pay the postage So\\nI do, to Dover.\\nWe had a merry passage with the widow at the\\nCommons. She was howling, part howling, and\\npart giving directions to the proctor, when crash\\ndown went my sister through a crazy chair, and\\nmade the clerks grin, and I grinned, and the widow\\ntittered, and then I knew that she was not inconso-\\nlable. Mary was more frightened than hurt.\\nShe d make a good match for anybody (by she,\\nI mean the widow).\\nIf he bring but a relict away,\\nHe is happy, nor heard to complain.\\nShenstone.\\nProcter has got a wen growing out at the nape of\\nhis neck, which his wife wants him to have cut off;\\nbut I think it rather an agreeable excrescence,\\nlike his poetry, redundant. Hone has hanged him-\\nself for debt. Godwin was taken up for picking", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0307.jp2"}, "308": {"fulltext": "302 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\npockets. Moxon has fallen in love with Emma, our\\nnut-brown maid. Becky takes to bad courses. Her\\nfather was blown up in a steam machine. The\\ncoroner found it insanity. I should not like him\\nto sit on my letter.\\nDo you observe my direction? Is it Gallic,\\nclassical? Do try and get some frogs. You must\\nask for grenouilles (green eels). They don t\\nunderstand frogs, though tis a common phrase\\nwith us.\\nIf you go through Bulloign (Boulogne), inquire\\nif Old Godfrey is living, and how he got home from\\nthe Crusades. He must be a very old man.\\nxcv.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nAugust 10, 1827.\\nDear B. B., I have not been able to answer\\nyou, for we have had and are having (I just snatch\\na moment) our poor quiet retreat, to which we fled\\nfrom society, full of company, some staying with\\nus and this moment as I write, almost, a heavy im-\\nportation of two old ladies has come in. Whither\\ncan I take wing from the oppression of human\\nfaces? Would I were in a wilderness of apes, toss-\\ning cocoa-nuts about, grinning and grinned at\\nMitford was hoaxing you surely about my engrav-\\ning t is a little sixpenny thing,^ too like by half, in\\n1 An etching of Lamb, by Brooke Pulham, which is said\\nto be the most characteristic likeness of him extant.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0308.jp2"}, "309": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 303\\nwhich the draughtsman has done his best to avoid\\nflattery. There have been two editions of it, which\\nI think are all gone, as they have vanished from the\\nwindow where they hung, a print-shop, corner\\nof Great and Little Queen Streets, Lincoln s Inn\\nFields, where any London friend of yours may\\ninquire for it for I am (though you won t under-\\nstand it) at Enfield Chase. We have been here\\nnear three months, and shall stay two more, if\\npeople will let us alone but they persecute us from\\nvillage to village. So don t direct to Islington\\nagain till further notice. I am trying my hand at a\\ndrama, in two acts, founded on Crabbe s Con-\\nfidant, 7niitatis mutandis. You like the Odyssey\\ndid you ever read my Adventures of Ulysses,\\nfounded on Chapman s old translation of it? For\\nchildren or men. Chapman is divine, and my\\nabridgment has not quite emptied him of his divin-\\nity. When you come to town I 11 show it you.\\nYou have well described your old-fashioned grand\\npaternal hall. Is it not odd that every one s ear-\\nliest recollections are of some such place? I had\\nmy Blakesware [Blakesmoor in the London\\nNothing fills a child s mind like a large old mansion\\nbetter if un or partially occupied, peopled\\nwith the spirits of deceased members of the county\\nand justices of the quorum. Would I were buried\\nin the peopled solitudes of one, with my feelings at\\nseven years old Those marble busts of the em-\\nperors, they seemed as if they were to stand for-\\never, as they had stood from the living days of\\nRome, in that old marble hall, and I too partake of", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0309.jp2"}, "310": {"fulltext": "304 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ntheir permanency. Eternity was, while I tliought\\nnot of Time. But he thought of me, and they are\\ntoppled down, and corn covers the spot of the noble\\nold dwelling and its princely gardens. I feel like a\\ngrasshopper that, chirping about the grounds, es-\\ncaped the scythe only by my littleness. Even now\\nhe is whetting one of his smallest razors to clean\\nwipe me out, perhaps. Well\\nXCVI.\\nTO THOMAS HOOD.\\nSeptember i8, 1827.\\nDear Hood, If I have anything in my head, I\\nwill send it to Mr. Watts. Strictly speaking, he\\nshould have all my album-verses but a very inti-\\nmate friend importuned me for the trifles, and I be-\\nlieve I forgot Mr. W^atts, or lost sight at the time of\\nhis similar Souvenir. Jamieson conveyed the\\nfarce from me to Mrs. C. Kemble he will not be\\nin town before the 27th.\\nGive our kind loves to all at Highgate, and tell\\nthem that we have finally torn ourselves outright\\naway from Colebrooke, where I had no health, and\\nare about to domiciliate for good at Enfield, where\\nI have experienced good.\\nLord, what good hours do we keep\\nHow quietly we sleep 1\\nSee the rest in the Compleat Angler.\\n1 By Charles Cotton.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0310.jp2"}, "311": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 305\\nWe have got our books into our new house. I\\nam a dray-horse if I was not ashamed of the in-\\ndigested, dirty lumber, as I toppled em out of the\\ncart, and blessed Becky that came with em for her\\nhaving an unstuffed brain with such rubbish. We\\nshall get in by Michael s Mass. T was with some\\npain we were evulsed from Colebrooke.\\nYou may find some of our flesh sticking to the\\ndoorposts. To change habitations is to die to\\nthem and in my time I have died seven deaths.\\nBut I don t know whether every such change does\\nnot bring with it a rejuvenescence. T is an enter-\\nprise, and shoves back the sense of death s approxi-\\nmating, which, though not terrible to me, is at all\\ntimes particularly distasteful. My house-deaths\\nhave generally been periodical, recurring after seven\\nyears j but this last is premature by half that time.\\nCut off in the flower of Colebrooke The Middle-\\ntonian stream and all its echoes mourn. Even\\nminnows dwindle. A parvis Jiujtt minimi\\nI fear to invite Mrs. Hood to our new mansion,\\nlest she should envy it, and hate us. But when we\\nare fairly in, I hope she will come and try it. I\\nheard she and you were made uncomfortable by\\nsome unworthy-to-be-cared-for attacks, and have\\ntried to set up a feeble counteraction through the\\nTable Book of last Saturday. Has it not reached\\nyou, that you are silent about it? Our new domi-\\ncile is no manor-house, but new, and externally not\\ninviting, but furnished within with every conve-\\nnience, capital new locks to every door, capital\\ngrates in every room, with nothing to pay for in-\\n20", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0311.jp2"}, "312": {"fulltext": "3o6 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ncoming, and the rent \u00c2\u00a3^\\\\o less than the IsUngton\\none.\\nIt was built, a few years since, at ;2^i,.too ex-\\npense, they tell me, and I perfectly believe it.\\nAnd I get it for ;\u00c2\u00a335, exclusive of moderate taxes.\\nWe think ourselves most lucky.\\nIt is not our intention to abandon Regent Street\\nand West End perambulations (monastic and terrible\\nthought!), but occasionally to breathe the fresher\\nair of the metropolis. We shall put up a bedroom\\nor two (all we want) for occasional ex- rustication,\\nwhere we shall visit, not be visited. Plays, too,\\nwe 11 see, perhaps our own Urbani Sylvani and\\nSylvan Urbanuses in turns courtiers for a sport,\\nthen philosophers old, homely tell-truths and\\nlearn-truths in the virtuous shades of Enfield, liars\\nagain and mocking gibers in the coffee-houses and\\nresorts of London. What can a mortal desire more\\nfor his bi-parted nature?\\nOh, the curds-and-cream you shall eat with us\\nhere\\nOh, the turtle- soup and lobster-salads we shall\\ndevour with you there\\nOh, the old books we shall peruse here\\nOh, the new nonsense we shall trifle over there\\nOh, Sir T. Browne, here\\nOh, Mr. Hood and Mr. Jerdan, there\\nThine,\\nC. (URBANUS) L. (SYLVANUs) (Elia ambo)", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0312.jp2"}, "313": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 307\\nXCVII.\\nTO P. G. PATMORE.\\nSeptember, 1827.\\nDear P., Excuse my anxiety, but how is Dash\\nI should have asked if Mrs. Patmore kept her rules\\nand was improving; but Dash came uppermost.\\nThe order of our thoughts should be the order of\\nour writing. Goes he muzzled, or aperto ore Are\\nhis intellects sound, or does he wander a little in\\nhis conversation. You cannot be too careful to\\nwatch the first symptoms of incoherence. The\\nfirst illogical snarl he makes, to St. Luke s with him\\nAll the dogs here are going mad, if you believe the\\noverseers but I protest they seem to me very\\nrational and collected. But nothing is so deceitful\\nas mad people, to those who are not used to them.\\nTry him with hot water if he won t lick it up, it s\\na sign he does not like it. Does his tail wag\\nhorizontally or perpendicularly? That has decided\\nthe fate of many dogs in Enfield. Is his general\\ndeportment cheerful? I mean when he is pleased,\\nfor otherwise there is no judging. You can t be\\ntoo careful. Has he bit any of the children yet?\\nIf he has, have them shot, and keep him for curi-\\nosity, to see if it was the hydrophobia. They say\\nall our army in India had it at one time but that\\nwas in Hyde7^-K\\\\\\\\Ys time. Do you get paunch for\\nhim? Take care the sheep was sane. You might\\npull his teeth out (if he would let you), and then you\\nneed not mind if he were as mad as a Bedlamite.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0313.jp2"}, "314": {"fulltext": "3oS LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nIt would be rather fun to see his odd ways. It\\nmight amuse Mrs. P. and the children. They d\\nhave more sense than he. He d be like a fool\\nkept in a family, to keep the household in good\\nhumor with their own understanding. You might\\nteach him the mad dance, set to the mad howl.\\nMadge Owlet would be nothing to him. My, how\\nhe capers {^In the margin is written One of\\nthe children speaks this^) What I scratch out\\nis a German quotation, from Lessing, on the bite of\\nrabid animals but I remember you don t read\\nGerman. But Mrs. P. may, so I wish I had let it\\nstand. The meaning in English is Avoid to\\napproach an animal suspected of madness, as you\\nwould avoid fire or a precipice, which I think is\\na sensible observation. The Germans are certainly\\nprofounder than we. If the slightest suspicion\\narises in your breast that all is not right with him,\\nmuzzle him and lead him in a string (common\\npackthread will do he don t care for twist) to\\nMr. Hood s, his quondam master, and he 11 take\\nhim in at any time. You may mention your sus-\\npicion, or not, as you like, or as you think it may\\nwound, or not, Mr. H. s feeHngs. Hood, I know,\\nwill wink at a few follies in Dash, in consideration\\nof his former sense. Besides, Hood is deaf, and if\\nyou hinted anything, ten to one he would not hear\\nyou. Besides, you will have discharged your con-\\nscience, and laid the child at the right door, as\\nthey say.\\nWe are dawdling our time away very idly and\\npleasantly at a Mrs. Leishman s, Chase, Enfield,", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0314.jp2"}, "315": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 309\\nwhere, if you come a-hunting, we can give you cold\\nmeat and a tankard. Her husband is a tailor but\\nthat, you know, does not make her one. I know a\\njailor (which rhymes), but his wife was a fine lady.\\nLet us hear from you respecting Mrs. P. s regi-\\nmen. I send my love in a to Dash.\\nC. La]mb.\\nXCVIII.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nOctober 11, 1828\\nA SPLENDID edition of Bunyan s Pilgrim Why,\\nthe thought is enough to turn one s moral stomach.\\nHis cockle-hat and staff transformed to a smart\\ncocked beaver and a jemmy cane his amice gray\\nto the last Regent Street cut; and his painful\\npalmer s pace to the modern swagger Stop thy\\nfriend s sacrilegious hand. Nothing can be done\\nfor B. but to reprint the old cuts in as homely but\\ngood a style as possible, the Vanity Fair and the\\nPilgrims there the silly-soothness in his setting-\\nout countenance the Christian idiocy (in a good\\nsense) of his admiration of the shepherds on the\\nDelectable mountains the lions so truly allegorical,\\nand remote from any similitude to Pidcock s the\\ngreat head (the author s), capacious of dreams and\\nsimilitudes, dreaming in the dungeon. Perhaps you\\ndon t know my edition, what I had when a child.\\n1 An edition de luxe, illustrated by John Martin, and\\nwith an Introduction by Southey. See Macaulay s review\\nof it.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0315.jp2"}, "316": {"fulltext": "3IO LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nIf you do, can you bear new designs from Martin,\\nenamelled into copper or silver plate by Heath,\\naccompanied with verses from Mrs. Hemans s pen?\\nOh, how unlike his own\\nWouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy?\\nWouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly\\nWouldst thou read riddles and their explanation\\nOr else be drowned in thy contemplation\\nDost thou love picking meat or wouldst thou see\\nA man i the clouds, and hear him speak to thee\\nWouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep\\nOr wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep\\nOr wouldst thou lose thyself, and catch no harm,\\nAnd find thyself again without a charm\\nWouldst read thyself, and read thou knowest not what,\\nAnd yet know whether thou art blest or not\\nBy reading the same lines Oh, then come hither.\\nAnd lay my book, thy head, and heart together.\\nShow me any such poetry in any one of the fifteen\\nforthcoming combinations of show and emptiness\\nyclept Annuals. So there s verses for thy\\nverses and now let me tell you that the sight of\\nyour hand gladdened me. I have been daily trying\\nto write to you, but [have been] paralyzed. You\\nhave spurred me on this tiny effort, and at intervals\\nI hope to hear from and talk to you. But my spirits\\nhave been in an oppressed way for a long time, and\\nthey are things which must be to you of faith, for\\nwho can explain depression? Yes, I am hooked\\ninto the Gem, but only for some lines written on\\na dead infant of the editor s,^ which being, as it\\nwere, his property, I could not refuse their ap-\\npearing but I hate the paper, the type, the gloss,\\n1 Hood s.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0316.jp2"}, "317": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 311\\nthe dandy plates, the names of contributors poked\\nup into your eyes in first page, and whisked through\\nall the covers of magazines, the barefaced sort of\\nemulation, the immodest candidateship. Brought\\ninto so little space, in those old Londons, a\\nsignature was lost in the wood of matter, the paper\\ncoarse (till latterly, which spoiled them), in short,\\nI detest to appear in an Annual. What a fertile\\ngenius (and a quiet good soul withal) is Hood\\nHe has fifty things in hand, farces to supply the\\nAdelphi for the season a comedy for one of the\\ngreat theatres, just ready; a whole entertainment\\nby himself for Mathews and Yates to figure in a\\nmeditated Comic Annual for next year, to be nearly\\ndone by himself. You d like him very much.\\nWordsworth, I see, has a good many pieces an-\\nnounced in one of em, not our Gem. W. Scott\\nhas distributed himself like a bribe haunch among\\nem. Of all the poets, Gary has had the good\\nsense to keep quite clear of em, with clergy-gentle-\\nmanly right notions. Don t think I set up for being\\nproud on this point I like a bit of flattery, tickling\\nmy vanity, as well as any one. But these pompous\\nmasquerades without masks (naked names or faces)\\nI hate. So there s a bit of my mind. Besides,\\nthey infallibly cheat you, I mean the booksellers.\\nIf I get but a copy, I only expect it from Hood s\\nbeing my friend. Goleridge has lately been here.\\nHe too is deep among the prophets, the year-ser-\\nvers, the mob of gentleman annuals. But they 11\\ncheat him, I know. And now, dear B. B., the sun\\n1 The translator of Dante.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0317.jp2"}, "318": {"fulltext": "312 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nshining out merrily, and the dirty clouds we had\\nyesterday having washed their own faces clean with\\ntheir own rain, tempts me to wander up Winchmore\\nHill, or into some of the delightful vicinages of En-\\nfield, which I hope to show you at some time when\\nyou can get a few days up to the great town. Be-\\nlieve me, it would give both of us great pleasure to\\nshow you our pleasant farms and villages.\\nWe both join in kindest loves to you and yours.\\nC. Lamb redivivtis.\\nXCIX.\\nTO PROCTER.\\nyanuary 22, 1829.\\nDon t trouble yourself about the verses. Take\\nem coolly as they come. Any day between this and\\nmidsummer will do. Ten lines the extreme. There\\nis no mystery in my incognita. She has often seen\\nyou, though you may not have observed a silent\\nbrown girl, who for the last twelve years has ram-\\nbled about our house in her Christmas holidays.\\nShe is Italian by name and extraction.^ Ten lines\\nabout the blue sky of her country will do, as it s her\\nfoible to be proud of it. Item, I have made her\\na tolerable Latinist. She is called Emmalsola. I\\nshall, I think, be in town in a few weeks, when I\\nwill assuredly see you. I will put in here loves to\\n1 Emma Isola, Lamb s ward, daughter of one of the Esquire\\nBedells of Cambridge University, and granddaughter of an\\nItalian refugee. The Lambs had met her during one of their\\nCambridge visits, and finally adopted her.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0318.jp2"}, "319": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 313\\nMrs. Procter and the Anti-Capulets [Montagus],\\nbecause Mary tells me I omitted them in my last.\\nI like to see my friends here. I have put my law-\\nsuit into the hands of an Enfield practitioner, a\\nplain man, who seems perfectly to understand it,\\nand gives me hopes of a favorable result.\\nRumor tells us that Miss Holcroft is married.\\nWho is Baddams? Have I seen him at Montacute s?\\nI hear he is a great chemist. I am sometimes\\nchemical myself. A thought strikes me with horror.\\nPray Heaven he may not have done it for the sake\\nof trying chemical experiments upon her, young\\nfemale subjects are so scarce An t you glad about\\nBurke s case? We may set off the Scotch mur-\\nders against the Scotch novels, Hare the Great\\nUnhanged.-^\\nMartin Burney is richly worth your knowing. He\\nis on the top scale of my friendship ladder, on which\\nan angel or two is still climbing, and some, alas\\ndescending. I am out of the literary world at pres-\\nent. Pray, is there anything new from the admired\\npen of the author of The Pleasures of Hope\\nHas Mrs. He-mans (double masculine) done any-\\nthing pretty lately? Why sleeps the lyre of Hervey\\nand of Alaric Watts Is the muse of L. E. L. silent\\nDid you see a sonnet of mine in Blackwood s last\\nCurious construction Elaborata facilitas And\\nnow I 11 tell. Twas written for The Gem but\\nthe editors declined it, on the plea that it would\\nshock all mothers so they published The Widow\\n1 Burke and Hare, the Edinburgh resurrection-men.\\n2 The Gypsy s Malison.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0319.jp2"}, "320": {"fulltext": "314 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ninstead. I am born out of time. I have no con-\\njecture about what the present world calls delicacy.\\nI thought Rosamund Gray was a pretty modest\\nthing. Hessey assures me that the world would not\\nbear it. I have lived to grow into an indecent char-\\nacter. When my sonnet was rejected, I exclaimed,\\nDamn the age I will write for Antiquity 1\\nEjTatum in sonnet. Last line but something, for\\ntender read tend. The Scotch do not know\\nour law terms, but I find some remains of honest,\\nplain old writing lurking there still. They were not\\nso mealy mouthed as to refuse my verses. Maybe,\\nt is their oatmeal.\\nBlackwood sent me \u00c2\u00a3,20 for the drama. Some-\\nbody cheated me out of it next day and my new\\npair of breeches, just sent home, cracking at first\\nputting on, I exclaimed, in my wrath, All tailors\\nare cheats, and all men are tailors. Then I was\\nbetter.\\nC. L.\\nC.\\nTO BERNARD BARTON.\\nEnfield Chase Side,\\nSaturday, z^th of July, A. D. 1829, 1 1 A. M.\\nThere a fuller, plumper, juicier date never\\ndropped from Idumean palm. Am I in the date-\\nive case now If not, a fig for dates, which is\\nmore than a date is worth. I never stood much\\naffected to these limitary specialities, least of all,\\nsince the date of my superannuation.\\nWhat have I with time to do\\nSlaves of desks, twas meant for you.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0320.jp2"}, "321": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 3^5\\nDear B B.,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Your handwriting has conveyed\\nmuch pleasure to me in respect of Lucy s restora-\\ntion. Would I could send you as good news of my\\npoor Lucy But some wearisome weeks I must\\nremain lonely yet. I have had the loneliest time\\nnear ten weeks, broken by a short apparition of\\nEmma for her holidays, whose departure only deep-\\nened the returning solitude, and by ten days I have\\npassed in town. But town, with all my native han-\\nkering after it, is not what it was. The streets, the\\nshops, are left, but all old friends are gone. And\\nin London I was frightfully convinced of this as\\nI passed houses and places, empty caskets now.\\nI have ceased to care almost about anybody. The\\nbodies I cared for are in graves, or dispersed.\\nMy old clubs, that lived so long and flourished so\\nsteadily, are crumbled away. When I took leave of\\nour adopted young friend at Charing Cross, twas\\nheavy unfeeling rain, and I had nowhere to go.\\nHome have I none, and not a sympathizing house\\nto turn to in the great city. Never did the waters\\nof heaven pour down on a forlorner head. Yet I\\ntried ten days at a sort of a friend s house but it was\\nlarge and straggling, one of the individuals of my\\nold long knot of friends, card-players, pleasant com-\\npanions, that have tumbled to pieces, into dust and\\nother things and I got home on Thursday, con-\\nvinced that I was better to get home to my hole at\\nEnfield, and hide like a sick cat in my corner.\\nLess than a month, I hope, will bring home Mary.\\nShe is at Fulham, looking better in her health than\\n1 Mary Lamb.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0321.jp2"}, "322": {"fulltext": "3i6 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\never, but sadly rambling, and scarce showing any\\npleasure in seeing me, or curiosity when I should\\ncome again. But the old feelings will come back\\nagain, and we shall drown old sorrows over a game\\nof piquet again. But t is a tedious cut out of a\\nlife of fifty- four, to lose twelve or thirteen weeks\\nevery year or two. And to make me more alone, our\\nill-tempered maid is gone, who, with all her airs, was\\nyet a home-piece of furniture, a record of better\\ndays the young thing that has succeeded her is\\ngood and attentive, but she is nothing. And I have\\nno one here to talk over old matters with. Scolding\\nand quarrelling have something of familiarity and a\\ncommunity of interest they imply acquaintance\\nthey are of resentment, which is of the family\\nof dearness.\\nI bragged formerly that I could not have too\\nmuch time I have now a surfeit. With few years\\nto come, the days are wearisome. But weariness is\\nnot eternal. Something will shine out to take the\\nload off that flags me, which is at present intoler-\\nable. I have killed an hour or two in this poor\\nscrawl. I am a sanguinary murderer of time, and\\nwould kill him inch-meal just now. But the snake\\nis vital. Well, I shall write merrier anon. T is\\nthe present copy of my countenance I send, and to\\ncomplain is a little to alleviate. May you enjoy\\nyourself as far as the wicked world will let you, and\\nthink that you are not quite alone, as I am Health\\nto Lucia and to Anna, and kind remembrances.\\nYour forlorn C. L.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0322.jp2"}, "323": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 317\\nCI.\\nTO MR. GILLMAN.\\nNovember 30, 1829.\\nDear G., The excursionists reached home and\\nthe good town of Enfield a Httle after four, without\\nsUp or dislocation. Little has transpired concern-\\ning the events of the back- journey, save that on\\npassing the house of Squire Melhsh, situate a stone\\nbow s cast from the hamlet, Father Westwood,^ with\\na good-natured wonderment, exclaimed, I cannot\\nthink what is gone of Mr. Mellish s rooks. I fancy\\nthey have taken flight somewhere; but I have\\nmissed them two or three years past. All this\\nwhile, according to his fellow-traveller s report, the\\nrookery was darkening the air above with undimin-\\nished population, and deafening all ears but his with\\ntheir cawings. But nature has been gently with-\\ndrawing such phenomena from the notice of Thomas\\nWestwood s senses, from the time he began to miss\\nthe rooks. T. Westwood has passed a retired life\\nin this hamlet of thirty or forty years, living upon the\\nminimum which is consistent with gentihty, yet a\\nstar among the minor gentry, receiving the bows of\\nthe tradespeople and courtesies of the alms-women\\ndaily. Children venerate him not less for his exter-\\nnal show of gentry than they wonder at him for a\\n1 Lamb s landlord. He had driven Mary Lamb over to see\\nColeridge at Highgate. The Lambs had been compelled, by\\nthe frequent illnesses of Mary Lamb, to give up their house-\\nkeeping at Enfield and to take lodgings with the Westwoods.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0323.jp2"}, "324": {"fulltext": "3l8 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ngentle rising endorsation of the person, not amount-\\ning to a hump, or if a hump, innocuous as the hump\\nof the buffalo, and coronative of as mild qualities.\\nT is a throne on which patience seems to sit, the\\nproud perch of a self-respecting humility, stooping\\nwith condescension. Thereupon the cares of life\\nhave sat, and rid him easily. For he has thrid the\\nangusticE dojuiis with dexterity. Life opened upon\\nhim with comparative brilliancy. He set out as a\\nrider or traveller for a wholesale house, in which ca-\\npacity he tells of many hair-breadth escapes that be-\\nfell him, one especially, how he rode a mad horse\\ninto the town of Devizes how horse and rider ar-\\nrived in a foam, to the utter consternation of the\\nexpostulating hostlers, inn-keepers, etc. It seems\\nit was sultry weather, piping-hot the steed tor-\\nmented into frenzy with gad-flies, long past being\\nroadworthy but safety and the interest of the house\\nhe rode for were incompatible things a fall in serge\\ncloth was expected and a mad entrance they made\\nof it. Whether the exploit was purely voluntary, or\\npartially or whether a certain personal defiguration\\nin the man part of this extraordinary centaur (non-\\nassistive to partition of natures) might not enforce\\nthe conjunction, I stand not to inquire. I look not\\nwith skew eyes into the deeds of heroes. The\\nhosier that was burned with his shop in Field Lane,\\non Tuesday night, shall have passed to heaven for\\nme like a Marian Martyr, provided always that he\\nconsecrated the fortuitous incremation with a short\\nejaculation in the exit, as much as if he had taken\\nhis state degrees of martyrdom in fof-md in the", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0324.jp2"}, "325": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB 3^9\\nmarket vicinage. There is adoptive as well as\\nacquisitive sacrifice. Be the animus what it might,\\nthe fact is indisputable, that this composition was\\nseen flying all abroad, and mine host of Daintry\\nmay yet remember its passing through his town, if\\nhis scores are not more faithful than his memory.\\nTo come from his heroic character, all the amia-\\nble qualities of domestic life concentre in this tamed\\nBellerophon. He is excellent over a glass of grog\\njust as pleasant without it laughs when he hears a\\njoke, and when (which is much oftener) he hears it\\nnot sings glorious old sea-songs on festival nights\\nand but upon a slight acquaintance of two years,\\nColeridge, is as dear a deaf old man to us as old\\nNorris, rest his soul was after fifty. To him and\\nhis scanty literature (what there is of it, soimd) have\\nwe flown from the metropoHs and its cursed annual-\\nists, reviewers, authors, and the whole muddy ink\\npress of that stagnant pool.\\nCII.\\nTO WORDSWORTH.\\nJanuary 22, 1830.\\nAnd is it a year since we parted from you at the\\nsteps of Edmonton stage There are not now the\\nyears that there used to be. The tale of the dwindled\\nage of men, reported of successional mankind, is\\ntrue of the same man only. We do not live a year\\nin a year now. T is a punctiim stans. The seasons", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0325.jp2"}, "326": {"fulltext": "320 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\npass us with indifference. Spring cheers not, nor\\nwinter heightens our gloom autumn hath foregone\\nits moraUties, they are heypass repass, as in a\\nshow-box. Yet, as far as last year, occurs back\\nfor they scarce show a reflex now, they make no\\nmemory as heretofore t was sufficiently gloomy.\\nLet the sullen nothing pass. Suffice it that after sad\\nspirits, prolonged through many of its months, as it\\ncalled them, we have cast our skins, have taken a\\nfarewell of the pompous, troublesome trifle called\\nhousekeeping, and are settled down into poor board-\\ners and lodgers at next door with an old couple, the\\nBaucis and Baucida of dull Enfield. Here we have\\nnothing to do with our victuals but to eat them, with\\nthe garden but to see it grow, with the tax-gatherer\\nbut to hear him knock, with the maid but to hear\\nher scolded. Scot and lot, butcher, baker, are\\nthings unknown to us, save as spectators of the pa-\\ngeant. We are fed we know not how, quietists,\\nconfiding ravens. We have the otium pro digni-\\ntate, a respectable insignificance. Yet in the self-\\ncondemned obliviousness, in the stagnation, some\\nmolesting yearnings of hfe not quite killed rise,\\nprompting me that there was a London, and that I\\nwas of that old Jerusalem. In dreams I am in Fleet\\nMarket but I wake and cry to sleep again. I die\\nhard, a stubborn Eloisa in this detestable Paraclete.\\nWhat have I gained by health? Intolerable dulness.\\nWhat by early hours and moderate meals? A total\\nblank. Oh, never let the lying poets be believed\\nwho tice men from the cheerful haunts of streets,\\nor think they mean it not of a country village. In", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0326.jp2"}, "327": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 32 1\\nthe ruins of Palmyra I could gird myself up to soli-\\ntude, or muse to the snorings of the Seven Sleepers\\nbut to have a little teasing image of a town about\\none, country folks that do not look like country\\nfolks, shops two yards square, half-a-dozen apples\\nand two penn orth of over-looked gingerbread for\\nthe lofty fruiterers of Oxford Street, and for the im-\\nmortal book and print stalls a circulating library that\\nstands still, where the show-picture is a last year s\\nValentine, and whither the fame of the last ten\\nScotch novels has not yet travelled (marry, they\\njust begin to be conscious of the Redgauntlet to\\nhave a new plastered flat church, and to be wishing\\nthat it was but a cathedral The very blackguards\\nhere are degenerate, the topping gentry stock-\\nbrokers the passengers too many to insure your\\nquiet, or let you go about whistling or gaping, too\\nfew to be the fine indifferent pageants of Fleet\\nStreet. Confining, room-keeping, thickest winter is\\nyet more bearable here than the gaudy months.\\nAmong one s books at one s fire by candle, one is\\nsoothed into an oblivion that one is not in the\\ncountry but with the light the green fields return,\\ntill I gaze, and in a calenture can plunge myself into\\nSt. Giles s. Oh, let no native Londoner imagine\\nthat health and rest and innocent occupation, inter-\\nchange of converse sweet and recreative study, can~\\nmake the country anything better than altogether\\nodious and detestable. A garden was the primi-\\ntive prison, till man with Promethean felicity and\\nboldness luckily sinned himself out of it. Thence\\nfollowed Babylon, Nineveh, Venice, London haber-\\n21", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0327.jp2"}, "328": {"fulltext": "322 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ndashers, goldsmiths, taverns, playhouses, satires, epi-\\ngrams, puns, these all came in on the town part\\nand the thither side of innocence. Man found out\\ninventions. From my den I return you condolence\\nfor your decaying sight, not for anything there is\\nto see in the country, but for the miss of the pleasure\\nof reading a London newspaper. The poets are as\\nwell to listen to anything high may nay, must\\nbe read out you read it to yourself with an imagi-\\nnary auditor but the light paragraphs must be glid\\nover by the proper eye mouthing mumbles their\\ngossamery substance. Tis these trifles I should\\nmourn in fading sight. A newspaper is the single\\ngleam of comfort I receive here it comes from rich\\nCathay with tidings of mankind. Yet I could not\\nattend to it, read out by the most beloved voice.\\nBut your eyes do not get worse, I gather. Oh, for\\nthe coUyriura of Tobias enclosed in a whiting s liver,\\nto send you, with no apocryphal good wishes The\\nlast long time I heard from you, you had knocked\\nyour head against something. Do not do so for\\nyour head (I do not flatter) is not a knob, or the\\ntop of a brass nail, or the end of a ninepin, un-\\nless a Vulcanian hammer could fairly batter a Re-\\ncluse out of it then would I bid the smirched god\\nknock, and knock lustily, the two-handed skinker\\nMary must squeeze out a line propria inami but\\nindeed her fingers have been incorrigibly nervous to\\nletter- writing for a long interval. Twill please you\\nall to hear that, though I fret like a lion in a net,\\nher present health and spirits are better than they\\nhave been for some time past she is absolutely", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0328.jp2"}, "329": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 323\\nthree years and a half younger, as I tell her, since\\nwe have adopted this boarding plan.\\nOur providers are an honest pair, Dame Westwood\\nand her husband, he, when the light of prosperity\\nshined on them, a moderately thriving haberdasher\\nwithin Bow bells, retired since with something under\\na competence; writes himself parcel-gentleman;\\nhath borne parish offices sings fine old sea-songs at\\nthreescore and ten sighs only now and then when\\nhe thinks that he has a son on his hands about\\nfifteen, whom he finds a difficulty in getting out\\ninto the world, and then checks a sigh with mutter-\\ning, as I once heard him prettily, not meaning to be\\nheard, I have married my daughter, however;\\ntakes the weather as it comes outsides it to town in\\nseverest season; and o winter nights tells old stories\\nnot tending to literature (how comfortable to au-\\nthor-rid folks and has one ancedote, upon which\\nand about forty pounds a year he seems to have\\nretired in green old age. It was how he was a rider\\nin his youth, travelling for shops, and once (not to\\nbalk his employer s bargain) on a sweltering day in\\nAugust, rode foaming into Dunstable upon a mad\\nhorse, to the dismay and expostulatory wonderment\\nof inn-keepers, ostlers, etc., who declared they would\\nnot have bestrid the beast to win the Derby. Un-\\nderstand the creature galled to death and despera-\\ntion by gad-flies, cormorant-winged, worse than\\nbeset Inachus s daughter. This he tells, this he\\nbrindles and burnishes, on a winter s eve t is his\\nstar of set glory, his rejuvenescence to descant\\n1 See preceding letter.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0329.jp2"}, "330": {"fulltext": "324 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nupon. Far from me be it {dii avertant to look a\\ngift-story in the mouth, or cruelly to surmise (as\\nthose who doubt the plunge of Curtius) that the\\ninseparate conjuncture of man and beast, the cen-\\ntaur-phenomenon that staggered all Dunstable, might\\nhave been the effect of unromantic necessity; that\\nthe horse-part carried the reasoning willy-nilly;\\nthat needs must when such a devil drove that cer-\\ntain spiral configurations in the frame of Thomas\\nWestwood, unfriendly to alighting, made the alliance\\nmore forcible than voluntary. Let him enjoy his\\nfame for me, nor let me hint a whisper that shall\\ndismount Bellerophon. But in case he was an in-\\nvoluntary martyr, yet if in the fiery conflict he\\nbuckled the soul of a constant haberdasher to him,\\nand adopted his flames, let accident and him share\\nthe glory. You would all like Thomas Westwood.\\nHow weak is painting to describe a\\nman Say that he stands four feet and a nail high\\nby his own yard-measure, which, Hke the sceptre of\\nAgamemnon, shall never sprout again, still, you have\\nno adequate idea nor when I tell you that his dear\\nhump, which I have favored in the picture, seems\\nto me of the buffalo, indicative and repository of\\nmild qualities, a budget of kindnesses, still, you\\nhave not the man. Knew you old Norris of the\\nTemple, sixty years ours and our father s friend?\\nHe was not more natural to us than this old West-\\nwood, the acquaintance of scarce more weeks.\\nUnder his roof now ought I to take my rest, but\\nthat back-looking ambition tells me I might yet be a\\n1 Here was inserted a sketch answering to the description.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0330.jp2"}, "331": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 325\\nLondoner Well, if we ever do move, we have\\nencumbrances the less to impede us all our furni-\\nture has faded under the auctioneer s hammer, going\\nfor nothing, like the tarnished frippery of the prodi-\\ngal, and we have only a spoon or two left to bless\\nus. Clothed we came into Enfield, and naked we\\nmust go out of it. I would live in London shirtless,\\nbookless. Henry Crabb is at Rome advices to\\nthat effect have reached Bury. But by solemn\\nlegacy he bequeathed at parting (whether he should\\nlive or die) a turkey of Suffolk to be sent every\\nsucceeding Christmas to us and divers other friends.\\nWhat a genuine old bachelor s action I fear he\\nwill find the air of Italy too classic. His station is\\nin the Hartz forest his soul is be-Goethed. Miss\\nKelly we never see, Talfourd not this half year;\\nthe latter flourishes, but the exact number of his\\nchildren, God forgive me, I have utterly forgotten\\nwe single people are often out in our count there.\\nShall I say two? We see scarce anybody. Can\\nI cram loves enough to you all in this little O?\\nExcuse particularizing.\\nC. L.\\nCIH.\\nTO MRS. HAZLITT.\\nMay 24, 1830.\\nMary s love Yes. Mary Lamb quite well.\\nDear Sarah, I found my way to Northaw on\\nThursday and a very good woman behind a coun-\\nter, who says also that you are a very good lady,\\nbut that the woman who was with you was naught.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0331.jp2"}, "332": {"fulltext": "326 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nWe travelled with one of those troublesome\\nfellow- passengers in a stage-coach that is called\\na well-informed man. For twenty miles we dis-\\ncoursed about the properties of steam, probabilities\\nof carriages by ditto, till all my science, and more\\nthan all, was exhausted, and I was thinking of es-\\ncaping my torment by getting up on the outside,\\nwhen, getting into Bishops Stortford, my gentleman,\\nspying some farming land, put an unlucky question\\nto me, What sort of a crop of turnips I thought\\nwe should have this year? Emma s eyes turned to\\nme to know what in the world I could have to say\\nand she burst into a violent fit of laughter, maugre\\nher pale, serious cheeks, when, with the greatest\\ngravity, I replied that it depended, I believed, upon\\nboiled legs of mutton. This clenched our conver-\\nsation and my gentleman, with a face half wise,\\nhalf in scorn, troubled us with no more conversa-\\ntion, scientific or philosophical, for the remainder\\nof the journey.\\nAyrton was here yesterday, and as learned to\\nthe full as my fellow-traveller. What a pity that\\nhe will spoil a wit and a devilish pleasant fellow (as\\nhe is) by wisdom He talked on Music and\\nby having read Hawkins and Burney recently I was\\nenabled to talk of names, and show more knowl-\\nedge than he had suspected I possessed and in\\nthe end he begged me to shape my thoughts upon\\npaper, which I did after he was gone, and sent him\\nFree Thoughts on Some Eminent Composers.\\nSome cry up Haydn, some Mozart,\\nJust as the whim bites. For my part,", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0332.jp2"}, "333": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 327\\nI do not care a farthing candle\\nFor either of them, or for Handel/ etc.\\nMartin Burney is as odd as ever. We had a dis-\\npute about the word heir, which I contended\\nwas pronounced Uke air. He said that might\\nbe in common parlance, or that we might so use\\nit speaking of the Heir-at-Law, a comedy but\\nthat in the law-courts it was necessary to give it\\na full aspiration, and to say Hayer he thought\\nit might even vitiate a cause if a counsel pro-\\nnounced it otherwise. In conclusion, he would\\nconsult Serjeant Wilde, who gave it against him.\\nSometimes he falleth into the water, sometimes\\ninto the fire. He came down here, and insisted\\non reading Virgil s y^neid all through with me\\n(which he did), because a counsel must know\\nLatin. Another time he read out all the Gospel\\nof St. John, because Biblical quotations are very\\nemphatic in a court of justice. A third time he\\nwould carve a fowl, which he did very ill favoredly,\\nbecause we did not know how indispensable it\\nwas for a barrister to do all those sort of things\\nwell. Those httle things were of more conse-\\nquence than we supposed. So he goes on, har-\\nassing about the way to prosperity, and losing it.\\nWith a long head, but somewhat a wrong one,\\nharum-scarum. Why does not his guardian angel\\nlook to him? He deserves one, maybe he has\\ntired him out.\\nI am tired with this long scrawl; but I thought\\n1 Martin Burney, originally a solicitor, had lately been\\ncalled to the Bar.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0333.jp2"}, "334": {"fulltext": "328 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nin your exile you might like a letter. Commend\\nme to all the wonders in Derbyshire, and tell the\\ndevil I humbly kiss my hand to him.\\nYours ever, C. Lamb.\\nCIV.\\nTO GEORGE DYER.\\nDecember 20, 1830.\\nDear Dyer, I would have written before to\\nthank you for your kind letter, written with your\\nown hand. It glads us to see your writing. It will\\ngive you pleasure to hear that, after so much illness,\\nwe are in tolerable health and spirits once more.\\nMiss Isola intended to call upon you after her\\nnight s lodging at Miss Buffam s, but found she was\\ntoo late for the stage. If she comes to town before\\nshe goes home, she will not miss paying her re-\\nspects to Mrs. Dyer and you, to whom she desires\\nbest love. Poor Enfield, that has been so peace-\\nable hitherto, that has caught an inflammatory fever,\\nthe tokens are upon her and a great fire was blaz-\\ning last night in the barns and haystacks of a farmer\\nabout half a mile from us. Where will these things\\nend? There is no doubt of its being the work\\nof some ill-disposed rustic but how is he to be\\ndiscovered? They go to work in the dark with\\nstrange chemical preparations unknown to our fore-\\nfathers. There is not even a dark lantern to have\\na chance of detecting these Guy Fauxes. We are\\npast the iron age, and are got into the fiery age,\\nundream d of by Ovid. You are lucky in Clifford s", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0334.jp2"}, "335": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OE CHARLES LAMB. 329\\nInn, where, I think, you have few ricks or stacks\\nworth the burning. Pray keep as Uttle corn by you\\nas you can, for fear of the worst.\\nIt was never good times in England since the\\npoor began to speculate upon their condition.\\nFormerly they jogged on with as little reflection\\nas horses the whistling ploughman went cheek by\\njowl with his brother that neighed. Now the biped\\ncarries a box of phosphorus in his leather breeches\\nand in the dead of night the half-illuminated beast\\nsteals his magic potion into a cleft in a barn, and\\nhalf the country is grinning with new fires. Farmer\\nGraystock said something to the touchy rustic that\\nhe did not relish, and he writes his distaste in\\nflames. What a power to intoxicate his crude\\nbrains, just muddlingly awake, to perceive that\\nsomething is wrong in the social system what a\\nhellish faculty above gunpowder\\nNow the rich and poor are fairly pitted, we shall\\nsee who can hang or burn fastest. It is not always\\nrevenge that stimulates these kindlings. There is\\na love of exerting mischief. Think of a disre-\\nspected clod that was trod into earth, that was\\nnothing, on a sudden by damned arts refined into\\nan exterminating angel, devouring the fruits of the\\nearth and their growers in a mass of fire What\\na new existence; what a temptation above Luci-\\nfer s Would clod be anything but a clod if he\\ncould resist it? Why, here was a spectacle last\\nnight for a whole country, a bonfire visible to\\nLondon, alarming her guilty towers, and shaking\\nthe Monument with an ague fit all done by a", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0335.jp2"}, "336": {"fulltext": "33\u00c2\u00b0 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nlittle vial of phosphor in a clown s fob How he\\nmust grin, and shake his empty noddle in clouds,\\nthe Vulcanian epicure Can we ring the bells\\nbackward? Gan we unlearn the arts that pretend\\nto civilize, and then burn the world? There is a\\nmarch of Science but who shall beat the drums\\nfor its retreat? Who shall persuade the boor that\\nphosphor will not ignite?\\nSeven goodly stacks of hay, with corn-barns pro-\\nportionable, lie smoking ashes and chaff, which man\\nand beast would sputter out and reject like those\\napples of asphaltes and bitumen. The food for the\\ninhabitants of earth will quickly disappear. Hot\\nrolls may say, Fuimus panes, fuit quartern-loaf,\\net ingens gloria Apple-pasty-orum. That the good\\nold munching system may last thy time and mine,\\ngood un-incendiary George, is the devout prayer\\nof thine, to the last crust,\\nCh. Lamb.\\nGV.\\nTO DYER.\\nFebruary 22, 1831.\\nDear Dyer, Mr. Rogers and Mr. Rogers s\\nfriends are perfectly assured that you never in-\\ntended any harm by an innocent couplet, and that\\nin the revivification of it by blundering Barker you\\nhad no hand whatever. To imagine that, at this\\ntime of day, Rogers broods over a fantastic expres-\\nsion of more than thirty years standing, would be\\nto suppose him indulging his Pleasures of Memory", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0336.jp2"}, "337": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 33^\\nwith a vengeance. You never penned a line which\\nfor its own sake you need, dying, wish to blot.\\nYou mistake your heart if you think you can write\\na lampoon. Your whips are rods of roses. Your\\nspleen has ever had for its objects vices, not the\\nvicious, abstract offences, not the concrete sinner.\\nBut you are sensitive, and wince as much at the\\nconsciousness of having committed a compliment\\nas another man would at the perpetration of an\\naffront. But do not lug me into the same soreness\\nof conscience with yourself. I maintain, and will\\nto the last hour, that I never writ of you but con\\namore; that if any allusion was made to your near-\\nsightedness, it was not for the purpose of mocking\\nan infirmity, but of connecting it with scholar-like\\nhabits, for is it not erudite and scholarly to be\\nsomewhat near of sight before age naturally brings\\non the malady? You could not then plead the\\nobrepens senectus. Did I not, moreover, make it an\\napology for a certain absence, which some of your\\nfriends may have experienced, when you have not\\non a sudden made recognition of them in a casual\\nstreet-meeting and did I not strengthen your excuse\\nfor this slowness of recognition by further account-\\n1 Talfourd relates an amusing instance of the universal\\ncharity of the kindly Dyer. Lamb once suddenly asked him\\nwhat he thought of the murderer Williams,- a wretch who\\nhad destroyed two families in Ratcliff Highway, and then\\ncheated the gallows by committing suicide. The desperate\\nattempt, savs Talfourd, to compel the gentle optnnist to\\nspeak ill of a mortal creature produced no happier success\\nthan the answer, Why, I should think,^Mr. Lamb, he must\\nhave been rather an eccentric character.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0337.jp2"}, "338": {"fulltext": "332 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ning morally for the present engagement of your mind\\nin worthy objects? Did I not, in your person, make\\nthe handsomest apology for absent-of-mind people\\nthat was ever made If these things be not so, I\\nnever knew what I wrote or meant by my writing,\\nand have been penning libels all my life without\\nbeing aware of it. Does it follow that I should have\\nexpressed myself exactly in the same way of those\\ndear old eyes of yours now, now that Father\\nTime has conspired with a hard taskmaster to put a\\nlast extinguisher upon them I should as soon have\\ninsulted the Answerer of Salmasius when he awoke\\nup from his ended task, and saw no more with\\nmortal vision. But you are many films removed\\nyet from Milton s calamity. You write perfectly\\nintelligibly. Marry, the letters are not all of the\\nsame size or tallness but that only shows your pro-\\nficiency in the hands, text, german-hand, court-\\nhand, sometimes law-hand, and affords variety. You\\npen better than you did a twelvemonth ago and if\\nyou continue to improve, you bid fair to win the\\ngolden pen which is the prize at your young gentle-\\nmen s academy.\\nBut don t gb and lay this to your eyes. You\\nalways wrote hieroglyphically, yet not to come up\\nto the mystical notations and conjuring characters\\nof Dr. Parr. You never wrote what I call a school-\\nmaster s hand, like Mrs. Clarke nor a woman s\\nhand, like Southey nor a missal hand, like Porson\\nnor an all-on-the-wrong-side sloping hand, like Miss\\nHayes nor a dogmatic, Mede-and- Persian, peremp-", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0338.jp2"}, "339": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 333\\ntory hand, like Rickman but you wrote what I call\\na Grecian s hand, what the Grecians write (or\\nwrote) at Christ s Hospital such as Whalley would\\nhave admired, and Boyer have applauded, but Smith\\nor Atwood [writing-masters] would have horsed you\\nfor. Your boy- of- genius hand and your mercantile\\nhand are various. By your flourishes, I should think\\nyou never learned to make eagles or cork-screws, or\\nflourish the governor s names in the writing-school\\nand by the tenor and cut of your letters, I suspect\\nyou were never in it at all. By the length of this\\nscrawl you will think I have a design upon your\\noptics but I have writ as large as I could, out of\\nrespect to them, too large, indeed, for beauty.\\nMine is a sort of Deputy-Grecian s hand, a little\\nbetter, and more of a worldly hand, than a Grecian s,\\nbut still remote from the mercantile. I don t know\\nhow it is, but I keep my rank in fancy still since\\nschool-days I can never forget I was a Deputy-\\nGrecian. And writing to you, or to Coleridge,\\nbesides affection, I feel a reverential deference as\\nto Grecians still.^ I keep my soaring way above\\nthe Great Erasmians, yet far beneath the other.\\nAlas what am I now What is a Leadenhall clerk\\nor India pensioner to a Deputy-Grecian? How art\\nthou fallen, O Lucifer Just room for our loves to\\nMrs. D., etc.\\nC. Lamb.\\nWhalley and Boyer were masters at Christ s Hospital.\\n2 Deputy-Grecian,V Grecian, etc., were of course forms,\\nor grades, at Christ s Hospital.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0339.jp2"}, "340": {"fulltext": "334 LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\nCVI.\\nTO MR. MOXON.^\\nFebruary^ 1832.\\nDear Moxon, The snows are ankle-deep, slush,\\nand mire, that t is hard to get to the post-office, and\\ncruel to send the maid out. Tis a slough of de-\\nspair, or I should sooner have thanked you for your\\noffer of the Life, which we shall very much like\\nto have, and will return duly. I do not know when\\nI shall be in town, but in a week or two at farthest,\\nwhen I will come as far as you, if I can. We are\\nmoped to death with confinement within doors. I\\nsend you a curiosity of G. Dyer s tender conscience.\\nBetween thirty and forty years since, George pub-\\nHshed the Poet s Fate, in which were two very\\nharmless lines about Mr. Rogers but Mr. R. not\\nquite approving of them, they were left out in a\\nsubsequent edition, 1801. But George has been\\nworrying about them ever since if I have heard\\nhim once, I have heard him a hundred times ex-\\npress a remorse proportioned to a consciousness of\\nhaving been guilty of an atrocious libel. As the\\ndevil would have it, a fool they call Barker, in his\\nParriana has quoted the identical two lines as\\nthey stood in some obscure edition anterior to 1801,\\nand the withers of poor George are again wrung,\\nHis letter is a gem with his poor blind eyes it has\\n1 Lamb s future publisher. He afterwards became the\\nhusband of \\\\.-3iXdki s protegee, Emma Isola.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0340.jp2"}, "341": {"fulltext": "LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB. 335\\nbeen labored out at six sittings. The history of the\\ncouplet is in page 3 of this irregular production, in\\nwhich every variety of shape and size that letters\\ncan be twisted into is to be found. Do show his\\npart of it to Mr. Rogers some day. If he has\\nbowels, they must melt at the contrition so queerly\\ncharactered of a contrite sinner. G. was born, I\\nverily think, without original sin, but chooses to\\nhave a conscience, as every Christian gentleman\\nshould have his dear old face is insusceptible of\\nthe twist they call a sneer, yet he is apprehensive of\\nbeing suspected of that ugly appearance. When he\\nmakes a compliment, he thinks he has given an\\naffront, a name is personality. But show (no hur-\\nry) this unique recantation to Mr. Rogers t is like a\\ndirty pocket-handerchief mucked with tears of some\\nindigent Magdalen. There is the impress of sin-\\ncerity m every pot-hook and hanger and then the\\ngilt frame to such a pauper picture It should go\\ninto the Museum.\\nevil.\\nTO MR. MOXON.\\nJuly 24, 1833.\\nFor God s sake give Emma no more watches\\none has turned her head. She is arrogant and in-\\nsulting. She said something very unpleasant to our\\nold clock in the passage, as if he did not keep time\\nand yet he had made her no appointment. She", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0341.jp2"}, "342": {"fulltext": "33^ LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.\\ntakes it out every instant to look at the moment-\\nhand. She lugs us out into the fields, because\\nthere the bird-boys ask you, Pray, sir, can you tell\\nus what s o clock? and she answers them punc-\\ntually. She loses all her time looking to see what\\nthe time is. I overheard her whispering, Just so\\nmany hours, minutes, etc., to Tuesday I think St.\\nGeorge s goes too slow. This little present of\\nTime, why, t is Eternity to her\\nWhat can make her so fond of a gingerbread\\nwatch\\nShe has spoiled some of the movements. Be-\\ntween ourselves, she has kissed away half-past\\ntwelve, which I suppose to be the canonical hour\\nin Hanover Square.\\nWell, if love me, love my watch, answers, she\\nwill keep time to you.\\nIt goes right by the Horse-Guards.\\nDearest M., Never mind opposite nonsense.\\nShe does not love you for the watch, but the watch\\nfor you. I will be at the wedding, and keep the\\n30th July, as long as my poor months last me, as a\\nfestival gloriously.\\nYours ever,\\nElia.\\nTHE END.", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0342.jp2"}, "343": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0343.jp2"}, "344": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0344.jp2"}, "345": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0345.jp2"}, "346": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0346.jp2"}, "347": {"fulltext": "I", "height": "3239", "width": "1932", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0347.jp2"}, "348": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3385", "width": "2057", "jp2-path": "bestlettersofcha01lamb_0348.jp2"}}