"These remarks, I know, are crude and unwrought, but I do not lay claim to much accurate thinking. I never judge system good a title to publication as the 'Witch,' clusion of our bills of lading. The finishing or the 'Sailor's Mother.' You call'd it the of the 'Sailor' is also imperfect. Any dis'Last of the Family.' The 'Old Woman of senting minister may say and do as much. Berkeley' comes next; in some humours I would give it the preference above any. But who the devil is Matthew of Westminster? You are as familiar with these antiquated wise of things, but fasten upon particulars. monastics, as Swedenborg, or, as his followers affect to call him, the Baron, with his invisibles. But you have raised a very comic effect out of the true narrative of Matthew of Westminster. 'Tis surprising with how little addition you have been able to convert, with so little alteration, his incidents, meant for terror, into circumstances and food for the spleen. The Parody is not so successful; it has one famous line, indeed, which conveys the finest death-bed image I ever met with: 'The doctor whisper'd the nurse, and the surgeon knew what he said.' But the offering the bride three times bears not the slightest analogy or proportion to the fiendish noises three times heard! In 'Jaspar,' the circumstance of the great light is very affecting. But I had heard you mention it before. The 'Rose' is the only insipid piece in the volume; it hath neither thorns nor sweetness; and, besides, sets all chronology and probability at defiance. "Cousin Margaret,' you know, I like. The allusions to the Pilgrim's Progress are particularly happy, and harmonise tacitly and delicately with old cousins and aunts. To familiar faces we do associate familiar scenes, and accustomed objects; but what hath Apollidon and his sea-nymphs to do in these affairs? Apollyon I could have borne, though he stands for the devil, but who is Apollidon? I think you are too apt to conclude faintly, with some cold moral, as in the end of the poem called 'The Victory – 1 After all, there is a great deal in the book TO MR. SOUTHEY. "C. L." "March 20th, 1799. "I am hugely pleased with your 'Spider,' your old freemason,' as you call him. The three first stanzas are delicious; they seem to me a compound of Burns and Old Quarles, those kind of home-strokes, where more is felt than strikes the ear; a terseness, a jocular pathos, which makes one feel in laughter. The measure, too, is novel and pleasing. I could almost wonder, Rob. Burns, in his lifetime never stumbled upon it. The fourth stanza is less striking, as being less original. The fifth falls off. It has no felicity of phrase, no old-fashioned phrase or feeling. 'Young hopes, and love's delightful dreams,' savour neither of Burns nor Quarles; they seem more like shreds of many a modern sentimental sonnet. The last stanza hath nothing striking in it, if I except the two concluding lines, which are Burns all over. could be looked to. I am sure this is a kind I wish, if you concur with me, these things of writing, which comes ten-fold better recommended to the heart, comes there more like a neighbour or familiar, than thousands of Hamnels and Zillahs and Madelons. I 'Be thou her comforter, who art the widow's friend;' beg you will send me the 'Holly-tree,' if it a single common-place line of comfort, which at all resemble this, for it must please me. bears no proportion in weight or number to I have never seen it. I love this sort of the many lines which describe suffering. poems, that open a new intercourse with the This is to convert religion into mediocre most despised of the animal and insect race. feelings, which should burn, and glow, and tremble. A moral should be wrought into the body and soul, the matter and tendency of a poem, not tagged to the end, like a 'God send the good ship into harbour,' at the con I think this vein may be further opened Peter Pindar hath very prettily apostrophised a fly; Burns hath his mouse and his louse; Coleridge less successfully hath made overtures of intimacy to a jackass, therein TO MR. SOUTHEY. "Oct. 31st, 1799. "Dear Southey,—I have but just got your letter, being returned from Herts, where I have passed a few red-letter days with much pleasure. I would describe the county to, you, as you have done by Devonshire, but alas! I am a poor pen at that same. I could tell you of an old house with a tapestry bedroom, the Judgment of Solomon' composing one pannel, and 'Acteon spying Diana naked' the other. I could tell of an old marble hall, with Hogarth's prints, and the Roman Cæsars in marble hung round. I could tell where the bones of my honoured grandam lie; but there are feelings which refuse to be translated, sulky aborigines, which will not be naturalised in another soil. Of this nature are old family faces, and scenes of infancy. only following at unresembling distance, Sterne and greater Cervantes. Besides these, I know of no other examples of breaking down the partition between us and our 'poor earth-born companions.' It is sometimes revolting to be put in a track of feeling by other people, not one's own immediate thoughts, else I would persuade you, if I could (I am in earnest), to commence a series of these animal poems, which might have a tendency to rescue some poor creatures from the antipathy of mankind. Some thoughts come across me ;-for instance-to a rat, to a toad, to a cockchafer, to a mole-people bake moles alive by a slow oven-fire to cure consumption-rats are, indeed, the most of a wilderness, and of a village church, and despised and contemptible parts of God's earth. I killed a rat the other day by punching him to pieces, and feel a weight of blood upon me to this hour. Toads you know are made to fly, and tumble down and crush all to pieces. Cockchafers are old sport; then again to a worm, with an apostrophe to anglers, those patient tyrants, meek inflictors of pangs intolerable, cool devils; to an owl; to all snakes, with an apology for their poison; to a cat in boots or bladders. Your own fancy, if it takes a fancy to these hints, will suggest many more. A series of such poems, suppose them accompanied with plates descriptive of animal torments, cooks roasting lobsters, fishmongers crimping skates, &c., &c. would take excessively. I will willingly enter into a partnership in the plan with you: I think my heart and soul would go with it too-at least, give it a thought. My plan is but this minute come into my head; but it strikes me instantaneously as something new, good, and useful, full of pleasure, and full of moral. If old Quarles and Wither could live again, we would invite them into our firm. Burns hath done his part." In the summer Lamb revisited the scenes in Hertfordshire, where, in his grandmother's time, he had spent so many happy holidays. In the following letter, he just hints at feelings which, many years after, he so beautifully developed in those essays of 'Elia,''Blakesmoor,' and 'Mackery End.' "I have given your address, and the books you want, to the Arch's; they will send them as soon as they can get them, but they do not seem quite familiar to their names. I shall have nothing to communicate, I fear to the Anthology. You shall have some fragments of my play, if you desire them, but I think I had rather print it whole. Have you seen it, or shall I lend you a copy? I want your opinion of it. "I must get to business, so farewell; my kind remembrances to Edith. "C. L." list of friends received a most important In the autumn of this year Lamb's choice addition in Mr. Thomas Manning, then a mathematical tutor at Cambridge; of whom he became a frequent correspondent, and to whom he remained strongly attached through life. Lloyd had become a graduate of the university, and to his introduction Lamb was indebted for Manning's friendship. The following letters will show how earnestly, yet how modestly, Lamb sought it. TO MR. MANNING. "Dec. 1799. "Dear Manning,―The particular kindness, even up to a degree of attachment, which I have experienced from you, seems to claim some distinct acknowledgment on my part. I could not content myself with a bare to Lloyd. remembrance to you, conveyed in some letter again. I did not mean a pun,—your man's face, you will be apt to say, I know your wicked will to pun. I cannot now write to Lloyd and you too, so you must convey as much interesting intelligence as this may contain or be thought to contain, to him and Sophia, with my dearest love and remembrances. "Will it be agreeable to you, if I occasionally recruit your memory of me, which must else soon fade, if you consider the brief intercourse we have had. I am not likely to prove a troublesome correspondent. My scribbling days are past. I shall have no sentiments to communicate, but as they spring up from some living and worthy occasion. "I look forward with great pleasure to the performance of your promise, that we should meet in London early in the ensuing year. The century must needs commence auspiciously for me, that brings with it Manning's friendship, as an earnest of its after gifts. "I should have written before, but for a troublesome inflammation in one of my eyes, brought on by night travelling with the coach windows sometimes up. "By the by, I think you and Sophia both incorrect with regard to the title of the play." Allowing your objection (which is not necessary, as pride may be, and is in real life often, cured by misfortunes not directly originating from its own acts, as Jeremy Taylor will tell you a naughty desire is sometimes sent to cure it. I know you read these practical divines)-but allowing your objection, does not the betraying of his father's secret directly spring from pride?—from the pride of wine and a full heart, and a proud overstepping of the ordinary rules of morality, and contempt of the prejudices of mankind, which are not to bind superior souls—' as trust in the matter of secrets all ties of blood, &c. &c., keeping of promises, the feeble mind's religion, binding our morning knowledge to the performance of what last night's ignorance spake'-does he not prate, that 'Great Spirits' must do more than die for their friend-does not the pride of wine incite him to display "Dear Manning,-Having suspended my some evidence of friendship, which its own correspondence a decent interval, as knowing irregularity shall make great? This I know, that even good things may be taken to satiety, that I meant his punishment not alone to be a wish cannot but recur to learn whether a cure for his daily and habitual pride, but you be still well and happy. Do all things continue in the state I left them in Cambridge? "What more I have to say shall be reserved for a letter to Lloyd. I must not prove tedious to you in my first outset, lest I should affright you by my ill-judged loquacity. "I am, yours most sincerely, TO MR. MANNING. "C. LAMB." "Dec. 28th, 1799. "Do your night parties still flourish? and do you continue to bewilder your company, with your thousand faces, running down through all the keys of idiotism (like Lloyd over his perpetual harpsichord), from the smile and the glimmer of half-sense and quarter-sense, to the grin and hanging lip of Betty Foy's own Johnny? And does the face-dissolving curfew sound at twelve? How unlike the great originals were your petty terrors in the postscript, not fearful enough to make a fairy shudder, or a Lilliputian fine lady, eight months full of child, miscarry. Yet one of them, which had more beast than the rest, I thought faintly resembled one of your brutifications. But, seriously, the direct consequence and appropriate punishment of a particular act of pride. "If you do not understand it so, it is my fault in not explaining my meaning. "I have not seen Coleridge since, and scarcely expect to see him,-perhaps he has been at Cambridge. "Need I turn over to blot a fresh clean half-sheet? merely to say, what I hope you are sure of without my repeating it, that I would have you consider me, dear Manning, "Your sincere friend, "C. LAMB." Early in the following year (1800), Lamb, I long to see your own honest Manning-face "Pride's Cure." delightful holidays in his society and that when I was present with you seemed scarce of Wordsworth, who then resided in the to indent my notice, now presses painfully | neighbourhood. This was the first oppor- on my remembrance. Is the Patriot come tunity Lamb had enjoyed of seeing much of yet? Are Wordsworth and his sister gone the poet, who was destined to exercise a yet? I was looking out for John Thelwall beneficial and lasting influence on the litera- all the way from Bridgewater, and had I met ture and moral sense of the opening century. him, I think it would have moved almost me At this time Lamb was scarcely prepared to to tears. You will oblige me too by sending sympathise with the naked simplicity of the me my great-coat, which I left behind in "Lyrical Ballads," which Wordsworth was the oblivious state the mind is thrown into preparing for the press. The "rich conceits" at parting. is it not ridiculous that I of the writers of Elizabeth's reign had been sometimes envy that great-coat lingering blended with his first love of poetry, and he so cunningly behind!-at present I have could not at once acknowledge the serene none-so send it me by a Stowey waggon, if beauty of a style, in which language was there be such a thing, directing for C. L., only the stainless mirror of thought, and No. 45, Chapel-street, Pentonville, near which sought no aid either from the grandeur London. But above all, that Inscription ! of artificial life or the pomp of words. In it will recall to me the tones of all your after days he was among the most earnest of voices-and with them many a remembered this great poet's admirers, and rejoiced as he kindness to one who could and can repay found the scoffers who sneered at his bold you all only by the silence of a grateful experiment gradually owning his power. How heart. I could not talk much, while I was he felt when the little golden opportunity of with you, but my silence was not sullenness, conversation with Wordsworth and Cole- nor I hope from any bad motive; but, in ridge had passed will appear from the truth, disuse has made me awkward at it. following letter, which seems to have been I know I behaved myself, particularly at addressed to Coleridge shortly after his Tom Poole's, and at Cruikshank's, most like return to London. a sulky child; but company and converse are strange to me. It was kind in you all to endure me as you did. TO MR. COLERIDGE. "I am scarcely yet so reconciled to the loss of you, or so subsided into my wonted uniformity of feeling, as to sit calmly down to think of you and write to you. But I reason myself into the belief that those few and pleasant holidays shall not have been spent in vain. I feel improvement in the recollection of many a casual conversation. The names of Tom Poole, of Wordsworth and his good sister, with thine and Sarah's, are become familiar in my mouth as household words.' You would make me very happy, if you think W. has no objection, by transcribing for me that inscription of his. I have some scattered sentences ever floating on my memory, teasing me that I cannot remember more of it. You may believe I will make no improper use of it. Believe' me I can think now of many subjects on which I had planned gaining information from you; but I forgot my 'treasure's worth' while I possessed it. Your leg is now become to me a matter of much more importance—and many a little thing, which "Are you and your dear Sarah-to me also very dear, because very kind—agreed yet about the management of little Hartley? and how go on the little rogue's teeth? I will see White to-morrow, and he shall send you information on that matter; but as perhaps I can do it as well after talking with him, I will keep this letter open. "My love and thanks to you and all of you. "C. L." "Wednesday Evening." Coleridge shortly after came to town, to make arrangements for his contributions to the daily press. The following note is addressed to him when in London. TO MR. COLERIDGE. "Jan. 2nd, 1800. "Dear Coleridge,-Now I write, I cannot | miss this opportunity of acknowledging the obligations myself, and the readers in general of that luminous paper, the 'Morning Post,' are under to you for the very novel and exquisite manner in which you combined "Pray pardon me, if my letters do not political with grammatical science, in your come very thick. I am so taken up with one yesterday's dissertation on Mr. Wyndham's thing or other, that I cannot pick out (I will unhappy composition. It must have been not say time, but) fitting times to write to the death-blow to that ministry. I expect you. My dear love to Lloyd and Sophia, and Pitt and Grenville to resign. More especially pray split this thin letter into three parts, and the delicate and Cottrellian grace with which present them with the two biggest in my name. you officiated, with a ferula for a white wand, as gentleman usher to the word 'also,' which it seems did not know its place. "Dear Manning,-I am living in a continuous feast. Coleridge has been with me now for nigh three weeks, and the more I see of him in the quotidian undress and relaxation of his mind, the more cause I see to love him, and believe him a very good man, and all those foolish impressions to the contrary fly off like morning slumbers. He is engaged in translations, which I hope will keep him this month to come. He is uncommonly kind and friendly to me. He ferrets me day and night to do something. He tends me, amidst all his own worrying and heartoppressing occupations, as a gardener tends his young tulip. Marry come up; what a pretty similitude, and how like your humble servant! He has lugged me to the brink of engaging to a newspaper, and has suggested to me for a first plan, the forgery of a supposed manuscript of Burton the anatomist of melancholy. I have even written the introductory letter; and, if I can pick up a few guineas this way, I feel they will be most refreshing, bread being so dear. If I go on with it, I will apprise you of it, as you may like to see my things! and the tulip of all flowers, loves to be admired most. "They are my oldest friends; but, ever the new friend driveth out the old, as the ballad sings! God bless you all three! I would hear from Ll. if I could. "C. L." "Flour has just fallen nine shillings a sack! we shall be all too rich. "Tell Charles I have seen his mamma, and have almost fallen in love with her, since I mayn't with Olivia. She is so fine and graceful, a complete matron-lady-quaker. She has given me two little books. Olivia grows a charming girl-full of feeling, and thinner than she was; but I have not time to fall in love. She keeps in fine health!" Coleridge, during this visit, recommended Lamb to Mr. Daniel Stuart, then editor of the "Morning Post," as a writer of light articles, by which he might add something to an income, then barely sufficient for the decent support of himself and his sister. It would seem from his next letter to Manning, that he had made an offer to try his hand at some personal squibs, which, ultimately, was not accepted. Manning need not have feared that there would have been a particle of malice in them! Lamb afterwards became a correspondent to the paper, and has recorded his experience of the misery of toiling after pleasantries in one of the "Essays of Elia," entitled "Newspapers thirty-five years ago." TO MR. MANNING. "C. L.'s moral sense presents her compliments to Doctor Manning, is very thankful for his medical advice, but is happy to add that her disorder has died of itself. "Dr. Manning, Coleridge has left us, to go into the north, on a visit to his God, Wordsworth. With him have flown all my splendid prospects of engagement with the 'Morning Post,' all my visionary guineas, the deceitful |