and wages of unborn scandal. In truth, I wonder property, properly my own. Some day, you took it up so seriously. All my inten- Manning, when we meet, substituting Corytion was but to make a little sport with such don and fair Amaryllis, for public and fair game as Mr. Pitt, Mr. Wilber- we will discuss together this question of force, Mrs. Fitzherbert, the Devil, &c.- moral feeling, 'In what cases, and how far gentry dipped in Styx all over, whom no sincerity is a virtue?' I do not mean Truth, paper javelin-lings can touch. To have made a good Olivia-like creature, God bless her, free with these cattle, where was the harm? who, meaning no offence, is always ready to 'twould have been but giving a polish to give an answer when she is asked why she lamp-black, not nigrifying a negro primarily. did so and so; but a certain forward-talking After all, I cannot but regret my involuntary half-brother of hers, Sincerity, that amphivirtue. Hang virtue that's thrust upon us; bious gentleman, who is so ready to perk up it behaves itself with such constraint, till his obnoxious sentiments unasked into your conscience opens the window and lets out notice, as Midas would his ears into your the goose. I had struck off two imitations face uncalled for. But I despair of doing of Burton, quite abstracted from any modern anything by a letter in the way of explainallusions, which was my intent only to lug ing or coming to explanations. A good wish, in from time to time to make 'em popular. or a pun, or a piece of secret history, may be well enough that way conveyed; nay, it has been known, that intelligence of a turkey hath been conveyed by that medium, without much ambiguity. Godwin I am a good deal pleased with. He is a very well-behaved, decent man, nothing very brilliant about him, or imposing, as you may suppose; quite another guess sort of gentleman from what your Anti-jacobin Christians imagine him. I was well pleased to find he has neither horns nor claws; quite a tame creature, I assure you. A middle-sized man, both in stature and in understanding; whereas, from his noisy fame, you would expect to find a Briareus Centimanus, or a Tityus tall enough to pull Jupiter from his heavens. "Stuart has got these, with an introductory letter; but, not hearing from him, I have ceased from my labours, but I write to him to-day to get a final answer. I am afraid they won't do for a paper. Burton is a scarce gentleman, not much known, else I had done 'em pretty well. "I have also hit off a few lines in the name of Burton, being a 'Conceit of Diabolic Possession.' Burton was a man often assailed by deepest melancholy, and at other times much given to laughing, and jesting, as is the way with melancholy men. I will send them you they were almost extempore, and no great things; but you will indulge them. Robert Lloyd is come to town. Priscilla meditates going to see Pizarro at Drury Lane to-night, (from her uncle's) under cover of coming to dine with me.. heu! tempora! heu! mores!-I have barely time to finish, as I expect her and Robin every minute.Yours as usual, "C. L." The following is an extract from a letter addressed about this time to Manning, who had taken a view of a personal matter relating to a common friend of both, directly contrary to that of Lamb. TO MR. MANNING. "Dear Manning,-Rest you merry in your opinion! Opinion is a species of property; and though I am always desirous to share "Pray, is it a part of your sincerity to show my letters to Lloyd? for, really, gentlemen ought to explain their virtues upon a first acquaintance, to prevent mistakes. "God bless you, Manning. Take my trifling as trifling; and believe me, seriously and deeply,-Your well-wisher and friend, "C. L." The following letter was addressed to Coleridge shortly after he had left London on a visit to Wordsworth, who in the meantime had settled on the borders of Grasmere. TO MR. COLERIDGE. "Aug. 6th, 1800. "Dear Coleridge,-I have taken to-day, with my friend to a certain extent, I shall and delivered to L. & Co., Imprimis: your ever like to keep some tenets, and some books, viz., three ponderous German diction aries, one volume (I can find no more) of the last stanza is detestable, the rest most German and French ditto, sundry other exquisite !--the epithet enviable would dash German books unbound, as you left them, 'Percy's Ancient Poetry,' and one volume of 'Anderson's Poets.' I specify them, that you may not lose any. Secundo: a dressinggown (value, fivepence) in which you used to sit and look like a conjuror, when you were translating Wallenstein. A case of two razors, and a shaving-box and strap. This it has cost me a severe struggle to part with. They are in a brown-paper parcel, which also contains sundry papers and poems, sermons, some few Epic Poems,-one about Cain and Abel, which came from Poole, &e., &c., and also your tragedy; with one or two small German books, and that drama in which Got-fader performs. Tertio: a small oblong box containing all your letters, collected from all your waste papers, and which fill the said little box. All other waste papers, which I judged worth sending, are in the paper parcel aforesaid. But you will find all your letters in the box by themselves. Thus have I discharged my conscience and my lumber-room of all your property, save and except a folio entitled 'Tyrrell's Bibliotheca Politica,' which you used to learn your politics out of when you wrote for the 'Post,' mutatis mutandis, i. e., applying past inferences to modern data. I retain that, because I am sensible I am very deficient in the politics myself; and I have torn updon't be angry, waste paper has risen forty per cent., and I can't afford to buy it-all 'Buonaparte's Letters,' 'Arthur Young's Treatise on Corn,' and one or two more lightarmed infantry, which I thought better suited the flippancy of London discussion, than the dignity of Keswick thinking. Mary says you will be in a passion about them, when you come to miss them; but you must study philosophy. Read 'Albertus Magnus de Chartis Amissis' five times over after | phlebotomising,-'tis Burton's recipe-and then be angry with an absent friend if you can. Sara is obscure. Am I to understand by her letter, that she sends a kiss to Eliza B- Pray tell your wife that a note of interrogation on the superscription of a letter is highly ungrammatical—she proposes writing my name Lamb? Lambe is quite enough. I have had the Anthology, and like only one thing in it, Lewti; but of that the finest poem. For God's sake (I never was more serious), don't make me ridiculous any more by terming me gentle-hearted in print, or do it in better verses. It did well enough five years ago when I came to see you, and was moral coxcomb enough at the time you wrote the lines, to feed upon such epithets; but, besides that, the meaning of gentle is equivocal at best, and almost always means poor-spirited; the very quality of gentleness is abhorrent to such vile trumpetings. My sentiment is long since vanished. I hope my virtues have done sucking. I can scarce think but you meant it in joke. I hope you did, for I should be ashamed to think you could think to gratify me by such praise, fit only to be a cordial to some green-sick sonneteer.* "I have hit off the following in imitation of old English poetry, which, I imagine, I am a dab at. The measure is unmeasureable; but it most resembles that beautiful ballad the Old and Young Courtier; and in its feature of taking the extremes of two situations for just parallel, it resembles the old poetry certainly. If I could but stretch out the circumstances to twelve more verses, i. e. if I had as much genius as the writer of that old song, I think it would be excellent. It was to follow an imitation of Burton in prose, which you have not seen. But fate and wisest Stewart' say No.t 6 "I can send you 200 pens and six quires of paper immediately, if they will answer the carriage by coach. It would be foolish to pack 'em up cum multis libris et cæteris,— they would all spoil. I only wait your commands to coach them. I would pay fiveand-forty thousand carriages to read W.'s This refers to a poem of Coleridge's, composed in under the title of "This Lime-tree Bower my Prison," 1797, and published in the Anthology of the year 1800, addressed to "Charles Lamb, of the India House, London," in which Lamb is thus apostrophised, as taking more pleasure in the country than Coleridge's 66 But thou, methinks most glad, even then he For thou hast pined noticing the difference of rich and poor, in the ways of tragedy, of which I have heard so much and seen so little-only what I saw at Stowey. Pray give me an order in writing on Longman for Lyrical Ballads.' I have the first volume, and, truth to tell, six shillings is a broad shot. I cram all I can in, to save a multiplying of letters,-those pretty comets with swinging tails. "I'll just crowd in God bless you! "C. LAMB." "John Woodvil" was now printed, although not published till a year afterwards; probably withheld in the hope of its representation on the stage. A copy was sent to Coleridge for Wordsworth, with the following letter or cluster of letters, written at several times. The ladies referred to, in the exquisite description of Coleridge's bluestocking friends, are beyond the reach of feeling its application; nor will it be detected by the most apprehensive of their surviving friends. TO MR. COLERIDGE. 6 sure, of the author but hunger about me, and whom found I closeted with Mary but a friend of this Miss W- one Miss Be, or B-y; I don't know how she spells her name. I just came in time enough, I believe, luckily to prevent them from exchanging vows of eternal friendship. It seems she is one of your authoresses, that you first foster, and then upbraid us with. But I forgive you. The rogue has given me potions to make me love him.' Well; go she would not, nor step a step over our threshold, till we had promised to come and drink tea with her next night. I had never seen her before, and could not tell who the devil it was that was so familiar. We went, however, not to be impolite. Her lodgings are up two pair of stairs in Street. Tea and coffee, and macaroons a kind of cake I much love. We sat down. Presently Miss B broke the silence, by declaring herself quite of a different opinion from D'Israeli, who supposes the differences of human intellect to be the mere effect of organisation. She begged to know my opinion. I attempted to carry "I send you, in this parcel, my play, which it off with a pun upon organ, but that went I beg you to present in my name, with my off very flat. She immediately conceived a respect and love, to Wordsworth and his very low opinion of my metaphysics; and, sister. You blame us for giving your direc- turning round to Mary, put some question to tion to Miss W- -; the woman has been her in French,-possibly having heard that ten times after us about it, and we gave it neither Mary nor I understood French. The her at last, under the idea that no further explanation that took place occasioned some harm would ensue, but she would once write embarrassment and much wondering. She to you, and you would bite your lips and then fell into an insulting conversation about forget to answer it, and so it would end. the comparative genius and merits of all You read us a dismal homily upon Reali- modern languages, and concluded with ties.' We know, quite as well as you do, asserting that the Saxon was esteemed the what are shadows and what are realities. purest dialect in Germany. From thence You, for instance, when you are over your she passed into the subject of poetry; where fourth or fifth jorum, chirping about old I, who had hitherto sat mute, and a hearer school occurrences, are the best of realities. only, humbly hoped I might now put in a Shadows are cold, thin things, that have no word to some advantage, seeing that it was warmth or grasp in them. Miss W, and my own trade in a manner. But I was her friend, and a tribe of authoresses that stopped by a round assertion, that no good come after you here daily, and, in defect of poetry had appeared since Dr. Johnson's you, hive and cluster upon us, are the shadows. time. It seems the Doctor has suppressed You encouraged that mopsey, Miss W- many hopeful geniuses that way, by the to dance after you, in the hope of having her severity of his critical strictures in his nonsense put into a nonsensical Anthology. 'Lives of the Poets.' I here ventured to We have pretty well shaken her off, by that question the fact, and was beginning to simple expedient of referring her to you; appeal to names, but I was assured 'it was but there are more burrs in the wind. I certainly the case.' Then we discussed Miss came home t'other day from business, hungry More's book on education, which I had never as a hunter, to dinner, with nothing, I am read. It seems Dr. Gregory, another of Miss " 'She folded her arms beneath her cloak, The trouble to you will be small, and the benefit to us very great! A pretty antithesis! A figure in speech I much applaud. "Godwin has called upon us. He spent one evening here. Was very friendly. Kept us up till midnight. Drank punch, and talked about you. He seems, above all men, mortified at your going away. Suppose you were to write to that good-natured heathen: B's friends, has found fault with one of and the lines,Miss More's metaphors. Miss More has been at some pains to vindicate herself,-in the opinion of Miss B, not without success. It seems the Doctor is invariably against the use of broken or mixed metaphor, which he reprobates, against the authority of Shakspeare himself. We next discussed the question, whether Pope was a poet? I find Dr. Gregory is of opinion he was not, though Miss Seward does not at all concur with him in this. We then sat upon the comparative merits of the ten translations of 'Pizarro,' and Miss By or Be advised Mary to take two of them home; she thought it might afford her some pleasure to compare them verbatim; which we declined. "If I do not write, impute it to the long being now nine o'clock, wine and macaroons postage, of which you have so much cause to were again served round, and we parted, complain. I have scribbled over a queer letter, with a promise to go again next week, and as 1 find by perusal, but it means no mismeet the Miss Porters, who, it seems, have heard much of Mr. Coleridge, and wish to meet us, because we are his friends. I have been preparing for the occasion. I crowd cotton in my ears. I read all the reviews and magazines of the past month, against the dreadful meeting, and I hope by these means to cut a tolerable second-rate figure. It chief. 'Or is he a shadow?' "I am, and will be, yours ever, in sober "C. L. sadness, "Write German as plain as sunshine, your for that must correct itself. You know I am homo unius linguæ ; in English, illiterate, a dunce, a ninny." TO MR. COLERIDGE. "Aug. 26th, 1800. "How do you like this little epigram? It is not my writing nor had I any finger in it. If you concur with me in thinking it very elegant and very original, I shall be tempted that it is almost or quite a first attempt. to name the author to you. I will just hint [Here Miss Lamb's little poem of Helen was introduced.] "By-the-by, I have a sort of recollection that somebody, I think you, promised me a be very glad of it just now; for I have got sight of Wordsworth's Tragedy. I should Manning with me, and should like to read it with him. But this, I confess, is a refinement. Under any circumstances, alone, in Cold-Bath prison, or in the desert island, just when Prospero and his crew had set off, with Caliban in a cage, to Milan, it would be a treat to me to read that play. Manning has read it, so has Lloyd, and all Lloyd's family; but I could not get him to betray his trust by giving me a sight of it. Lloyd is sadly And elsewhere,deficient in some of those virtuous vices. "George Dyer is the only literary character I am happily acquainted with. The oftener I see him, the more deeply I admire him. He is goodness itself. If I could but calculate the precise date of his death, I would write a novel on purpose to make George the hero. I could hit him off to a hair." The tragedy which Lamb was thus anxious to read, has been perseveringly withheld from the world. A fine passage, quoted in one of Hazlitt's prose essays, makes us share in his earnest curiosity : "Action is momentary-a word, a blow The motion of a muscle-this way or that; Wordsworth's genius is perhaps more fitly employed in thus tracing out the springs of heroic passion, and developing the profound elements of human character, than in following them out through their exhibition in violent contest or majestic repose. Surely he may now afford to gratify the world! "What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, "Indeed the poets are full of this pleasing morality, 'Veni cito, Domine Manning!' "Think upon it. Excuse the paper, it is all I have. "C. LAMB." Lamb now meditated a removal to the home-place of his best and most solemn thoughts-the Temple; and thus announced it in a letter to Manning. TO MR. MANNING. "You masters of logic ought to know (logic is nothing more than a knowledge of words, as the Greek etymon implies), that all words are no more to be taken in a literal sense at all times than a promise given to a tailor. When I exprest an apprehension that you were mortally offended, I meant no more than by the application of a certain formula of efficacious sounds, which had done in similar cases before, to rouse a sense of The next is a short but characteristic letter decency in you, and a remembrance of what to Manning. TO MR. MANNING. Aug. 11th, 1800. "My dear fellow, (N.B. mighty familiar of late!) for me to come to Cambridge now is one of Heaven's impossibilities. Metaphysicians tell us, even it can work nothing which implies a contradiction. I can explain this by telling you that I am engaged to do double duty (this hot weather!) for a man who has taken advantage of this very weather to go and cool himself in 'green retreats' all the month of August. "But for you to come to London instead! -muse upon it, revolve it, cast it about in your mind. I have a bed at your command. You shall drink rum, brandy, gin, aqua-vitæ, usquebaugh, or whiskey a' nights; and for the after-dinner trick, I have eight bottles of genuine port, which, mathematically divided, gives 14 for every day you stay, provided you stay a week. Hear John Milton sing, 'Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause.' was due to me! You masters of logic should "We, poets! generally give light dinners." In + No doubt the poet here alludes to port-wine at 38s. the dozen. |