Madonnas, varied with so chaste design
While all are different, each seems genuine,
And hers the only Jesus: hard outline
And rigid form, by Durer's hand subdued
To matchless grace and sacro-sanctitude,
Durer, who makes thy slighted Germany
Vie with the praise of paint-proud Italy.

Whoever enterest here, no more presume
To name a parlor or a drawing-room;
But, bending lowly to each holy story,
Make this thy chapel and thine oratory.

LETTERS.

LETTER S.

TO A BOOKSELLER.

THANK you for the books. I am ashanied to take tithe thus of your press. I am worse to a publisher

than the two Universities and the British Museum. A. C. I will forthwith read. B. C. (I can't get out of the A, B, C) I have more than read. Taken altogether, 'tis too lovely; but what delicacies! I like most "King Death;" glorious 'bove all, "The Lady with the Hundred Rings; "" The Owl;" "Epistle to What's his Name"† (here may be I'm partial); "Sit down, Sad Soul;" "The Pauper's Jubilee" (but that's old, and yet 'tis never old); "The Falcon; " "Felon's Wife; " damn "Madame Pasty" (but that is borrowed);

Apple-pie is very good,

And so is apple-pasty;

But

O Lord! 'tis very nasty:

but chiefly the dramatic fragments, scarce three of which should have escaped my specimens, had an antique name been prefixed. They exceed his first. So much for the nonsense of poetry: now to the se

"The Maid of Eloan," by Allan Cunningham; and Barry Cornwall's Songs and Dramatic Fragments."

4

† Charles Lamb

27

[4171

rious business of life. Up a court (Blandford Court) in Pall Mall (exactly at the back of Marlborough House), with iron gate in front, and containing two houses, at No. 2, did lately live Leishman, my tailor. He is moved somewhere in the neighborhood, devil knows where. Pray find him out, and give him the opposite. I am so much better, though my head shakes in writing it, that, after next Sunday, I can well see F. and you. Can you throw B. C. in? Why tarry the wheels of my "Hogarth"?

CHARLES LAMB.

TO J. PAYNE COLLIER.

THE GARDEN OF ENGLA, Dec. 10.

DEAR J. P. C.,-I know how zealously you feel for our friend S. T. Coleridge; and I know that you and your family attended his lectures four or five years ago. He is in bad health, and worse mind: and, unless something is done to lighten his mind, he will soon be reduced to his extremities; and even these are not in the best condition. I am sure that you will do for him what you can; but at present he seems in a mood to do for himself. He projects a new course, not of physic, nor of metaphysic, nor a new course of life, but a new course of lectures on Shakspeare and poetry. There is no man better qualified (always excepting number one); but I am pre-engaged for a series of dissertations on Indian and India-pendence, to be completed, at the expense of the company, in I know not (yet) how many volumes foolscap folio. I am busy