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no anxious schemes for going hither and thither, but take things as they occur. Yes

TO BERNARD BARTON. terday I excursioned twenty miles ; to-day

“ April, 1835. I write a few letters. Pleasuring was for “Dear B. B.-My spirits are so tumultuary fugitive play-days, mine are fugitive only in with the novelty of my recent emancipation, the sense that life is fugitive. Freedom and that I have scarce steadiness of hand, much life co-existent !

more mind, to compose a letter. I am free, “At the foot of such a call upon you for B. B.-free as air ! gratulation, I am ashamed to advert to that

* The little bird that wings the sky melancholy event. Monkhouse was a cha

Knows no such liberty.' racter I learned to love slowly, but it grew upon me, yearly, monthly, daily. What a I was set free on Tuesday in last week at chasm has it made in our pleasant parties ! four o'clock. I came home for ever! His noble friendly face was always coming “I have been describing my feelings as before me, till this hurrying event in my life well as I can Wordsworth in a long letter, came, and for the time has absorbed all and don't care to repeat. Take it briefly, interest ; in fact it has shaken me a little. that for a few days I was painfully oppressed My old desk companions, with whom I have by so mighty a change, but it is becoming had such merry hours, seem to reproach me daily more natural to me. I went and sat for removing my lot from among them. among 'em all at my old thirty-three-years' They were pleasant creatures; but to the desk yester morning; and, deuce take me, anxieties of business, and a weight of possible if I had not yearnings at leaving all my old worse ever impending, I was not equal. pen-and-ink fellows, merry, sociable lads, at Indeed this last winter I was jaded out, leaving them in the lurch, fag, fag, fag !winters were always worse than other parts The comparison of my own superior felicity of the year, because the spirits are worse, and gave me anything but pleasure. I had no day-light. In summer I had day “B. B., I would not serve another seven light evenings. The relief was hinted to me years for seven hundred thousand pounds ! from a superior power when I, poor slave, I have got 4411. net for life, sanctioned by had not a hope but that I must wait another act of parliament, with a provision for Mary seven years with Jacob—and lo! the Rachel if she survives me. I will live another fifty which I coveted is brought to me.

years; or, if I live but ten, they will be “Have you read the noble dedication of thirty, reckoning the quantity of real time Irving's 'Missionary Orations' to S. T. C. in them, i.e. the time that is a nian's own. Who shall call this man a quack hereafter ? Tell me how you like 'Barbara S.* ;' will it What the Kirk will think of it neither I nor be received in atonement for the foolish Irving care. When somebody suggested to Vision '-I mean by the lady? A-propos, I him that it would not be likely to do him never saw Mrs. Crawford in my life ; nevergood, videlicet, among his own people, “That theless it's all true of somebody. is a reason for doing it,' was his noble

" Address me, in

future, ColebrookThat Irving thinks he has profited cottage, Islington. I am really nervous (but mainly by S. T. C., I have no doubt. The that will wear off), so take this brief very style of the Dedication shows it.

announcement. “Communicate my news to Southey, and

“ Yours truly,

C. L." beg his pardon for my being so long acknowledging his kind present of the ' Church, which circumstances, having no reference to

" April 18th, 1825. himself, prevented at the time. Assure him “Dear Miss Hutchinson,--You want to of my deep respect and friendliest feelings. know all about my gaol delivery. Take it

“Divide the same, or rather each take the then. About twelve weeks since I had a sort whole to you-I mean you and all yours. To Miss Hutchinson I must write separate. • The true heroine of this beautiful story is still

It is enough to “Farewell ! and end at last, long selfish living, though she has left the stage.

make a severer quaker than B. B. feel that there is letter!


some soul of goodness" in players.




of intimation that a resignation might be alas ! is the first. Our kindest remembrances well accepted from me. This was a kind to Mrs. Monkhouse, bird's whisper. On that hint I spake. “And believe us yours most truly, Gand T-furnished me with certifi

“C. LAMB." cates of wasted health and sore spirits-not much more than the truth, I promise you In this summer Lamb and his sister paid and for nine weeks I was kept in a fright. a long visit to Enfield, which induced their I had gone too far to recede, and they might removing thither some time afterwards. take advantage, and dismiss me with a much The following letter is addressed thence, less sum than I had reckoned on. However, liberty came at last, with a liberal provision. I have given up what I could have lived on

“ August 19th, 1825. in the country ; but have enough to live “Dear Southey,-You'll know who this here, by management and scribbling occa- letter comes from by opening slap-dash upon sionally. I would not go back to my prison the text, as in the good old times. I never for seven years longer for 10,0001. a year- could come into the custom of envelopes ; seven years after one is fifty, is no trifle to 'tis a modern foppery; the Plinian corresgive up. Still I am a young pensioner, and pondence gives no hint of such. In singlehave served but thirty-three years ; very ness of sheet and meaning, then, I thank you few, I assure you, retire before forty, forty- for your little book. I am ashamed to add tive, or fifty years' service.

a codicil of thanks for your 'Book of the "You will ask how I bear my freedom ? Church. I scarce feel competent to give an Faith, for some days I was staggered ; could opinion of the latter; I have not reading not comprehend the magnitude of my deliv- enough of that kind to venture at it. I can erance; was confused, giddy ; knew not only say the fact, that I have read it with whether I was on my head or my heel, as attention and interest. Being, as you know, they say.

But those giddy feelings have not quite a Churchman, I felt a jealousy at gide away, and my weather-glass stands at a the Church taking to herself the whole deyTre or two above

deserts of Christianity, Catholic and Pro

testant, from Druid extirpation downwards. CONTENT.

I call all good Christians the Church, Capilla

rians and all. But I am in too light a "I go about quiet, and have none of that humour to touch these matters. May all ristleas hunting after recreation, which made our churches flourish! Two things staggered holydays formerly uneasy joys. All being me in the poem, (and one of them staggered holydays, I feel as if I had none, as they do both of us), I cannot away with a beautiful in heaven, where 'tis all red-letter days. I series of verses, as I protest they are, comhave a kind letter from the Wordsworths, mencing Jenner.' 'Tis like a choice banquet congratulatory not a little. It is a damp, I opened with a pill or an electuary-physic do assure you, amid all my prospects, that I stuff. T'other is, we cannot make out how can receive none from a quarter upon which Edith should be no more than ten years old. I had calculated, almost more than from any, By'r Lady, we had taken her to be some uma receiving congratulations. I had grown sixteen or upwards. We suppose you have to bke poor Monkhouse more and more. I only chosen the round number for the metre. do not esteem a soul living or not living more Or poem and dedication may be both older warmly than I had grown to esteem and than they pretend to; but then some hint ralpe him. But words are vain. We have might have been given ; for, as it stands, it Done of us to count upon many years. That may only serve some day to puzzle the parish Is the only cure for sad thoughts. If only reckoning. But without inquiring further, somne died, and the rest were permanent on (for 'tis ungracious to look into a lady's years,) earth, what a thing a friend's death would the dedication is evidently pleasing and be then!

tender, and we wish Edith May Southey joy " I must take leave, having put off answer- of it. Something, too, struck us as if we had tig a loal of letters to this morning, and this heard of the death of John May. A John

May's death was a few years since in the 'Tis all holiday with me now, you know. papers. We think the tale one of the The change works admirably. quietest, prettiest things we have seen. You “For literary news, in my poor way, I have been temperate in the use of localities, have a one-act farce going to be acted at which generally spoil poems laid in exotic Haymarket; but when ? is the question. regions. You mostly cannot stir out (in such 'Tis an extravaganza, and like enough to things) for humming-birds and fire-flies. A follow Mr. H. "The London Magazine ' has tree is a Magnolia, &c.—Can I but like the shifted its publishers once more, and I shall truly Catholic spirit ? 'Blame as thou shift myself out of it. It is fallen. My mayest the Papist's erring creed—which, ambition is not at present higher than to and other passages, brought me back to the write nonsense for the playhouses, to eke out old Anthology days, and the admonitory a something contracted income. Tempus erat. lesson to Dear George' on “The Vesper There was a time, my dear Cornwallis, when Bell,' a little poem which retains its first hold the Muse, &c. But I am now in Mac upon me strangely.

Fleckno's predicament, “ The compliment to the translatress is

Promised a play, and dwindled to a farce.' daintily conceived. Nothing is choicer in that sort of writing than to bring in some

“Coleridge is better (was, at least, a few remote, impossible parallel,—as between a weeks since) than he has been for years. His great empress and the inobtrusive quiet soul accomplishing his book at last has been a who digged her noiseless way so perseveringly source of vigour to him. We are on a half through that rugged Paraguay mine. How visit to his friend Allsop, at a Mrs. Leishman's, she Dobrizhoffered it all out, it puzzles my Enfield, but expect to be at Colebrookslender Latinity to conjecture. Why do you

cottage in a week or so, where, or anywhere, seem to sanction Landor's unfeeling allegor- I shall be always most happy to receive ising away of honest Quixote! He may as tidings from you. G. Dyer is in the height well say Strap is meant to symbolise the of an uxorious paradise. His honeymoon Scottish nation before the Union, and Random will not wane till he wax cold. Never was since that act of dubious issue; or that a more happy pair, since Acme and Septimius, Partridge means the Mystical Man, and Lady and longer. Farewell, with many thanks, Bellaston typifies the Woman upon Many

dear S. Our loves to all round your Waters. Gebir, indeed, may mean the state


Your old friend, of the hop markets last month, for anything

“ C. LAMB." I know to the contrary. That all Spain overflowed with romancical books (as Madge

The farce referred to in this letter was Newcastle calls them) was no reason that founded on Lamb's essay “On the InconveniCervantes should not smile at the matter of ence of being Hanged.” It was, perhaps, too them ; nor even a reason that, in another slight for the stage, and never was honoured mood, he might not multiply them, deeply as by a trial; but was ultimately published in he was tinctured with the essence of them.“ Blackwood's Magazine." Quixote is the father of gentle ridicule, and . at the same time the very depository and treasury of chivalry and highest notions. Marry, when somebody persuaded Cervantes that he meant only fun, and put him upon

CHAPTER XVI. writing that unfortunate Second Part with the confederacies of that unworthy duke and

[1826 to 1823.) most contemptible duchess, Cervantes sacrificed his instinct to his understanding.

“We got your little book but last night, When the first enjoyment of freedom was being at Enfield, to which place we came over, it may be doubted whether Lamb was about a month since, and are having quiethappier for the change. He lost a grievance holydays. Mary walks her twelve miles a on which he could lavish all the fantastical day some days, and I my twenty on others. exaggeration of a sufferer without wounding




the feelings of any individual, and perhaps " It is a sort of office work to me," says the loss was scarcely compensated by the Lamb, in a letter to Barton ; “ hours ten to listless leisure which it brought him. When- four, the same. It does me good. Man must ever the facile kindness of his disposition have regular occupation that has been used permitted, he fled from those temptations of to it.” society, which he could only avoid by flight; and his evening hours of solitude were hardly The Christmas of 1825 was a melancholy so sweet as when they were the reliefs and season for Lamb. He had always from a boy resting-places of his mind,—" glimpses which spent Christmas in the Teniple with Mr. might make him less forlorn” of the world Norris, an officer of the Inner Temple, and of poetry and romance. His mornings were this Christmas was made wretched by the chiefly occupied in long walks, sometimes last illness of his oldest friend. Anxious to extending to ten or twelve miles, in which at excite the sympathy of the Benchers of the this time he was accompanied by a noble Inn for the survivors, Lamb addressed the dog, the property of Mr. Hood, to whose following letter to a friend as zealous as humours Lamb became almost a slave,* and himself in all generous offices, in order that who, at last, acquired so portentous an he might show it to some of the Benchers. ascendancy that Lamb requested his friend Mr. Patmore to take him under his care. At length the desire of assisting Mr. Hone,

“ Colebrooke Row, Islington, in his struggle to support his family by

“Saturday, 20th Jan. 1826. antiquarian research and modern pleasantry, “Dear Robinson,–I called upon you this renewed to him the blessing of regular morning, and found that you were gone to labour ; he began the task of reading through visit a dying friend. I had been upon a like the glorious heap of dramas collected at the errand. Poor Norris has been lying dying

British Museum under the title of the for now almost a week, such is the penalty | “Garrick Plays," to glean scenes of interest we pay for having enjoyed a strong constitu

and beauty for the work of his friend ; and tion! Whether he knew me or not, I know the work of kindness brought with it its own not; or whether he saw me through his poor reward.

glazed eyes ; but the group I saw about him

I shall not forget. Upon the bed, or about • The following allusion to Lamb's subservience to it, were assembled his wife and two daughters, Dash is extracted from one of a series of papers, written in a most cordial spirit, and with great characteristic

and poor deaf Richard, his son, looking power, by the friend to whom Dash was assigned, which doubly stupified. There they were, and appeared in the “Court Magazine.” “During these

seemed to have been sitting all the week. I interminable rambles-heretofore pleasant in virtue of their profound loneliness and freedom from restraint, could only reach out a hand to Mrs. Norris. Lamb made himself a perfect slave to the dog-whose Speaking was impossible in that mute chamfor, generally speaking, the creature was half a mile ot' ber. By this time I hope it is all over with from his companion either before or behind, scouring him. In him I have a loss the world cannot the fields or roads in all directions, scampering up or


up. down "all manner of streets,' and leaving Lamb in a

He was my friend and


my perfect fever of irritation and annoyance; for he was friend all the life I can remember. I seem afraid of losing the dog when it was out of sight, and to have made foolish friendships ever since. Fet could not persuade himself to keep it in sight for a

Those are friendships wbich outlive a second moment, by curbing its roving spirit. Lamb's weakness in these particulars as well as he did generation. Old as I am waxing, in his eyes himself, and took a dog-like advantage of it. In the I was still the child he first knew me. To Regent's Park, in particular, Dash had his master completely at his mercy; for the moment they got into the the last he called me Charley. I have done ring, he used to get through the paling on to the green to call me Charley now. He was the last sward, and disappear for a quarter or half an hour together, knowing perfectly well that Lamb did not dare link that bound me to the Temple. You are move from the spot where he (Dash) had disappeared, but of yesterday. In him seem to have died till euch time as he thought proper to show himself the old plainness of manners and singleness again. And they used to take this particular walk much oftener than they otherwise would, precisely because of heart. Letters he knew nothing of, nor Dash liked it and Lamb did not.”—Under his second did his reading extend beyond the pages of master, we learn from the same source, that Dash

the Gentleman's Magazine.' Yet there was “subsided into the best bred and best behaved of his species."

a pride of literature about him from being

Dash knew


amongst books (he was librarian), and from pletely succeeded in what you inteoded to some scraps of doubtful Latin which he had do. What is poetry may be disputed. These picked up in his office of entering students, are poetry to me at least. They are concise, that gave him very diverting airs of pedantry. pithy, and moving. Uniform as they are, an} Can I forget the erudite look with which,' untristorify'd, I read them through at to

1 when he had been in vain trying to make out sittings, without one sensation approxching a black-letter text of Chaucer in the Temple to tedium. I do not know that among yuar! Library, he laid it down and told me that, many kind presents of this Dature, this is D ' in those old books, Charley, there is some- my favourite volume. The language is never times a deal of very indifferent spelling ;' lax, and there is a unity of design anui frelingand seemed to console himself in the reflec-, You wrote them toith love-to aroid the tion! His jokes, for he had his jokes, are coxcombical phrase, con amore. I am par now ended ; but they were old trusty peren- ticularly pleased with the Spiritual law, nials, staples that pleased after decies repetita, pages 31 and 35. It reminded me of Quarles, and were

ways as good as new. One song and holy Mr. Herbert,' as Izaak Walton he had, which was reserved for the night of calls him ; the two best, if not only, of our Christmas-day, which we always spent in the devotional poets, though some prefer Watts, Temple. It was an old thing, and spoke of and some Tom Moore. I am far from well, or the flat bottoms of our foes, and the possi- in my right spirits, and shudder at pen-abibility of their coming over in darkness, and ink work. I poke out a monthly crudity for alluded to threats of an invasion many years Colburn in his magazine, which I call • Pupus blown over; and when he came to the part lar Fallacies,' and periodically crush a proverb

or two, setting up my folly against the wis* We'll still make 'em run, and we'll still make 'em

dom of nations. Do you see the New sweat, In spite of the devil, and Brussels Gazette !" Monthly?'

One word I must object to in your little his eyes would sparkle as with the freshness book, and it recurs more than once-fadeless of an impending event. And what is the is no genuine compound; loveless is, because Brussels Gazette now? I cry while I enu- love is a noun as well as verb; but what is a merate these trifles. “How shall we tell fade ? And I do not quite like whipping the them in a stranger's ear ?'

Greek drama upon the back of Generis “My first motive in writing, and, indeed, page 8. I do not like praise handed in lig in calling on you, was to ask if you were disparagement; as I objected to a sida on enough acquainted with any of the Benchers, sure on Byron, &c. in the ‘Lines on Bloomto lay a plain statement before them of the field. With these poor cavils excepted, your circumstances of the family. I almost fear verses are without a flaw, not, for you are of another hall. But if you

“C. LAMB." can oblige me and my poor friend, who is now insensible to any favours, pray exert

TO BERNARD BARTOS. yourself. You cannot say too much good of

“ March 20th, 18.6. poor Norris and his poor wife.

“Dear B. B.,-You may know my letters CHARLES LAMB." by the paper and the folding. For the former,

I live on scraps obtained in charity from an

old friend, whose stationery is a permanent In the spring of 1826, the following letters perquisite; for folding, I shall do it neatly to Bernard Barton were written.

when I learn to tie my neckcloths. I surprise most of my friends, by writing to them ou

ruled paper, as if I had not got past puta

Feb. 7th, 1826. hooks and hangers. Sealing-wax, I have “Dear B. B.,—I got your book not more none on my establishment; wafers of the than five days ago, so am not so negligent as coarsest bran supply its place. When my I must have appeared to you with a fort- epistles come to be weighed with Pliny's, night's sin upon my shoulders. I tell you however superior to the Roman in delicate with sincerity, that I think you have com- irony, judicious reflections, &c, his gilt pust


“ Yours ever,


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