doubtless with accuracy, except that it would only give you the outlines:-My poor dear,

"The jury, of course, brought in their you if you come. verdict-Lunacy."* and all of us.

comfort to you, I know, to know that our little incident may serve to make you underprospects are somewhat brighter. My poor stand my way of managing my mind. Within dear, dearest sister, the unhappy and un- a day or two after the fatal one, we dressed conscious instrument of the Almighty's judg- for dinner a tongue which we had had salted ments on our house, is restored to her senses; for some weeks in the house. As I sat down, to a dreadful sense and recollection of what a feeling like remorse struck me; - this has past, awful to her mind and impressive tongue poor Mary got for me, and can I par(as it must be to the end of life), but tem- take of it now, when she is far away? A pered with religious resignation and the thought occurred and relieved me,—if I give reasonings of a sound judgment, which, in in to this way of feeling, there is not a chair, this early stage, knows how to distinguish a room, an object in our rooms, that will not between a deed committed in a transient fit awaken the keenest griefs; I must rise above of frenzy, and the terrible guilt of a mother's such weaknesses. I hope this was not want murder. I have seen her. I found her, this of true feeling. I did not let this carry me, morning, calm and serene; far, very very though, too far. On the very second day, far from an indecent forgetful serenity; she (I date from the day of horrors,) as is usual has a most affectionate and tender concern in such cases, there were a matter of twenty for what has happened. Indeed, from the people, I do think, supping in our room; beginning, frightful and hopeless as her dis- they prevailed on me to eat with them (for order seemed, I had confidence enough in her to eat I never refused). They were all making strength of mind and religious principle, to merry in the room! Some had come from look forward to a time when even she might friendship, some from busy curiosity, and recover tranquillity. God be praised, Cole- some from interest; I was going to partake ridge, wonderful as it is to tell, I have never with them; when my recollection came that once been otherwise than collected and calm; my poor dead mother was lying in the next even on the dreadful day, and in the midst room-the very next room ;-a mother who, of the terrible scene, I preserved a tranquil- through life, wished nothing but her children's lity which bystanders may have construed welfare. Indignation, the rage of grief, someinto indifference - a tranquillity not of thing like remorse, rushed upon my mind. despair. Is it folly or sin in me to say that it was a religious principle that most supported me? I allow much to other favour able circumstances. I felt that I had something else to do than to regret. On that first evening, my aunt was lying insensible, to all appearance like one dying,-my father, with his poor forehead plaistered over, from a wound he had received from a daughter dearly loved by him, and who loved him no less dearly, my mother a dead and murdered corpse in the next room-yet was I wonderfully supported. I closed not my eyes in sleep that night, but lay without terrors and without despair. I have lost no sleep since. I had been long used not to rest in things of sense, had endeavoured after a comprehension of mind, unsatisfied with the 'ignorant present time,' and this kept me up. I had the whole weight of the family thrown on me; for my brother, little disposed (I speak not without tenderness for him) at any time to take care of old age and infirmities, had now, with his bad leg, an exemption from such duties, and I was now left alone. One

In an agony of emotion I found my way mechanically to the adjoining room, and fell on my knees by the side of her coffin, asking forgiveness of heaven, and sometimes of her, for forgetting her so soon. Tranquillity returned, and it was the only violent emotion that mastered me, and I think it did me good.

"I mention these things because I hate concealment, and love to give a faithful journal of what passes within me. Our friends have been very good. Sam Le Grice, who was then in town, was with me the three or four first days, and was as a brother to me, gave up every hour of his time, to the very hurting of his health and spirits, in constant attendance and humouring my poor father; talked with him, read to him, played at cribbage with him (for so short is the old man's recollection, that he was playing at cards, as though nothing had happened while the coroner's inquest was sitting over the way!) Samuel wept tenderly when he went away, for his mother wrote him a very severe letter on his loitering so long in town,

-he has taken his ease in the world, and is not fit himself to struggle with difficulties, nor has much accustomed himself to throw himself into their way; and I know his language is already, Charles, you must take care of yourself, you must not abridge yourself of a single pleasure you have been used to,' &c. &c,, and in that style of talking. But you, a necessarian, can respect a difference of mind, and love what is amiable in a character not perfect. He has been very good,—but I fear for his mind. Thank God, I can unconnect myself with him, and shall manage all my father's moneys in future myself, if I take charge of Daddy, which poor John has not even hinted a wish, at any future time even, to share with me. The lady at this madhouse assures me that I may dismiss immediately both doctor and apothecary, retaining occasionally a composing draught or so for a while; and there is a less expensive establishment in her house, where she will only not have a room and nurse to herself, for 501. or guineas a-year-the outside would be 607.

and he was forced to go. Mr. Norris, of Christ's Hospital, has been as a father to me -Mrs. Norris as a mother; though we had few claims on them. A gentleman, brother to my godmother, from whom we never had right or reason to expect any such assistance, sent my father twenty pounds; and to crown all these God's blessings to our family at such a time, an old lady, a cousin of my father and aunt's, a gentlewoman of fortune, is to take my aunt and make her comfortable for the short remainder of her days. My aunt is recovered, and as well as ever, and highly pleased at thoughts of going-and has generously given up the interest of her little money (which was formerly paid my father for her board) wholely and solely to my sister's use. Reckoning this, we have, Daddy and I, for our two selves and an old maidservant to look after him, when I am out, which will be necessary, 170l. or 1807. rather a-year, out of which we can spare 501. or 607. at least for Mary while she stays at Islington, where she must and shall stay during her father's life, for his and her comfort. I know you know, by economy, how much more John will make speeches about it, but she even I shall be able to spare for her comforts. shall not go into an hospital. The good lady She will, I fancy, if she stays, make one of of the madhouse, and her daughter, an elegant, the family, rather than of the patients; and sweet-behaved young lady, love her, and are the old and young ladies I like exceedingly, taken with her amazingly; and I know from and she loves dearly; and they, as the saying her own mouth she loves them, and longs to is, take to her very extraordinarily, if it is be with them as much. Poor thing, they extraordinary that people who see my sister say she was but the other morning saying, should love her. Of all the people I ever she knew she must go to Bethlem for life; saw in the world, my poor sister was most that one of her brothers would have it so, but and thoroughly devoid of the least tincture the other would wish it not, but be obliged of selfishness. I will enlarge upon her to go with the stream; that she had often as qualities, poor dear, dearest soul, in a future she passed Bethlem thought it likely, 'here letter, for my own comfort, for I understand it may be my fate to end my days,' conscious her thoroughly; and, if I mistake not, in of a certain flightiness in her poor head the most trying situation that a human being oftentimes, and mindful of more than one can be found in, she will be found (I speak severe illness of that nature before. A not with sufficient humility, I fear, but legacy of 100%., which my father will have humanly and foolishly speaking), she will be at Christmas, and this 20%. I mentioned found, I trust, uniformly great and amiable, before, with what is in the house, will much God keep her in her present mind, to whom more than set us clear. If my father, an old be thanks and praise for all His dispensations servant-maid, and I, can't live, and live com- to mankind! C. LAMB," fortably, on 130l. or 120l. a-year, we ought to burn by slow fires; and I almost would, that Mary might not go into an hospital. Let me not leave one unfavourable impression on your mind respecting my brother. Siuce this has happened, he has been very kind and brotherly; but I fear for his mind,

"These mentioned good fortunes and change of prospects had almost brought my mind over to the extreme, the very opposite to despair. I was in danger of making myself too happy. Your letter brought me back to a view of things which I had entertained

from the beginning. I hope (for Mary see, from the above awkward playfulness of I can answer)-but I hope that I shall through life never have less recollection, nor a fainter impression, of what has happened than I have now. "Tis not a light thing, nor meant by the Almighty to be received lightly. I must be serious, circumspect, and deeply religious through life; and by such means may both of us escape madness in future, if it so please the Almighty!

"Send me word how it fares with Sara. I repeat it, your letter was, and will be, an inestimable treasure to me. You have a view of what my situation demands of me, like my own view, and I trust a just

one.

"Coleridge, continue to write; but do not for ever offend me by talking of sending me cash. Sincerely, and on my soul, we do not want it. God love you both.

fancy, that my spirits are not quite depressed. I should ill deserve God's blessings, which, since the late terrible event, have come down in mercy upon us, if I indulged regret or querulousness. Mary continues serene and cheerful. I have not by me a little letter she wrote to me; for, though I see her almost every day, yet we delight to write to one another, for we can scarce see each other but in company with some of the people of the house. I have not the letter by me, but will quote from memory what she wrote in it: 'I have no bad terrifying dreams. At midnight, when I happen to awake, the nurse sleeping by the side of me, with the noise of the poor mad people around me, I have no fear. The spirit of my mother seems to descend and smile upon me, and bid me live to enjoy the life and reason which the

"I will write again very soon. Do you Almighty has given me. I shall see her write directly."

As Lamb recovered from the shock of his own calamity, he found comfort in gently admonishing his friend on that imbecility of purpose which attended the development of his mighty genius. His next letter, commencing with this office of friendship, soon reverts to the condition of that sufferer, who was endeared to him the more because others shrank from and forsook her.

TO MR. COLERIDGE.

"October 17th, 1796.

again in heaven; she will then understand me better. My grandmother, too, will understand me better, and will then say no more, as she used to do, 'Polly, what are those poor crazy moythered brains of yours thinking of always?' Poor Mary! my mother indeed never understood her right. She loved her, as she loved us all, with a mother's love; but in opinion, in feeling, and sentiment, and disposition, bore so distant a resemblance to her daughter, that she never understood her right; never could believe how much she loved her; but met her caresses, her protestations of filial affection, too frequently with coldness and "My dearest Friend,-I grieve from my repulse. Still she was a good mother. God very soul to observe you in your plans of forbid I should think of her but most respectlife, veering about from this hope to the fully, most affectionately. Yet she would other, and settling nowhere. Is it an un- always love my brother above Mary, who toward fatality (speaking humanly) that was not worthy of one-tenth of that affection does this for you-a stubborn, irresistible which Mary had a right to claim. But it is concurrence of events-or lies the fault, as my sister's gratifying recollection, that every I fear it does, in your own mind? You seem act of duty and of love she could pay, every to be taking up splendid schemes of fortune kindness, (and I speak true, when I say to only to lay them down again; and your the hurting of her health, and most probably fortunes are an ignis fatuus that has been in great part to the derangement of her conducting you, in thought, from Lancaster- senses) through a long course of infirmities court, Strand, to somewhere near Matlock; and sickness, she could show her, she ever then jumping across to Dr. Somebody's, did. I will, some day, as I promised, enlarge whose son's tutor you were likely to be; and, would to God, the dancing demon may conduct you at last, in peace and comfort, to the life and labours of a cottager.' You

to you upon my sister's excellences; 'twill seem like exaggeration, but I will do it. At present, short letters suit my state of mind best. So take my kindest wishes for your