without remorse; not that you would mind his dress. When men go off the stage so early, it scarce seems a noticeable thing in their epitaphs, whether they had been wise or silly in their lifetime. the money, but you have not always ready cash to answer small demands, the epistolarii nummi. "Your Epigram on the Sun and Moon in Germany is admirable. Take 'em all together, they are as good as Harrington's. I will muster up all the conceits I can, and you shall have a packet some day. You and I together can answer all demands surely you, mounted on a terrible charger, (like Homer, in the Battle of the Books,) at the head of the cavalry: I will lead the light horse. I have just heard from Stoddart. Allen and he intend taking Keswick in their way home. Allen wished particularly to have it a secret that he is in Scotland, and wrote to me accordingly very urgently. As luck was, I had told not above three or four; but Mary had told Mrs. Green of Christ's Hospital! For the present, farewell: never forgetting love to Pipos and his friends. "C. LAMB." The following letter embodies in strong language Lamb's disgust at the rational mode of educating children. While he gave utterance to a deep and hearted feeling of jealousy for the old delightful books of fancy, which were banished by the sense of Mrs. Barbauld, he cherished great respect for that lady's power as a true English prose writer; and spoke often of her "Essay on Inconsistent Expectations," as alike bold and original in thought and elegant in style. TO MR. COLERIDGE. "Oct. 23rd, 1802. I was "I am glad the snuff and Pi-pos's * books please. 'Goody Two Shoes' is almost out of print. Mrs. Barbauld's stuff has banished all the old classics of the nursery; and the shopman at Newberry's hardly deigned to reach them off an old exploded corner of a shelf, when Mary asked for them. Mrs. B.'s and Mrs. Trimmer's nonsense lay in piles about. Knowledge insignificant and vapid as Mrs. B.'s books convey, it seems, must come to a child in the shape of knowledge, and his empty noddle must be turned with conceit of his own powers when he has learnt, that a horse is an animal, and Billy is better than a horse, and such like; instead of that beautiful interest in wild tales, which made the child a man, while all the time he suspected himself to be no bigger than a child. Science has succeeded to poetry no less in the little walks of children than with men. Is there no possibility of averting this sore evil? Think what you would have been now, if instead of being fed with tales and old wives' fables in childhood, you had been crammed with geography and natural history! "Hang them!-I mean the cursed Barbauld crew, those blights and blasts of all that is human in man and child. "As to the translations, let me do two or three hundred lines, and then do you try the nostrums upon Stuart in any way you please. If they go down, I will bray more. In fact, if I got or could but get 50l. a year only, in addition to what I have, I should live in affluence. "I read daily your political essays. particularly pleased with 'Once a Jacobin: ' though the argument is obvious enough, the style was less swelling than your things sometimes are, and it was plausible ad populum. A vessel has just arrived from Jamaica with the news of poor Sam Le Grice's death. He died at Jamaica of the yellow fever. His course was rapid and he had been very foolish, but I believe there was more of suggestion, the more hasty because I want kindness and warmth in him than in almost any other of our schoolfellows. The annual meeting of the Blues is to-morrow, at the London Tavern, where poor Sammy dined with them two years ago, and attracted the notice of all by the singular foppishness of "Have you anticipated it, or could not you give a parallel of Bonaparte with Cromwell, particularly as to the contrast in their deeds affecting foreign states? Cromwell's interference for the Albigenses, B.'s against the Swiss. Then religion would come in; and Milton and you could rant about our countrymen of that period. This is a hasty my supper. I have just finished Chapman's Homer. Did you ever read it ?--it has most the continuous power of interesting you all along, like a rapid original, of any; and in A nickname of endearment for little Hartley Coleridge. 'Being abroad, the earth was overlaid With flockers to them, that came forth; as when of frequent bees Swarms rise out of a hollow rock, repairing the degrees Of their egression endlessly, with ever rising new the uncommon excellence of the more finished you stand indebted to me 3s. 6d.; an odd parts goes beyond Fairfax or any of 'em. volume of Montaigne, being of no use to me, The metre is fourteen syllables, and capable I having the whole; certain books belonging of all sweetness and grandeur. Cowper's to Wordsworth, as do also the strange thickponderous blank verse detains you every hoofed shoes, which are very much admired step with some heavy Miltonism; Chapman at in London. All these sundries I commend gallops off with you his own free pace. Take to your most strenuous looking after. If you a simile for example. The council breaks find the Miltons in certain parts dirtied and upsoiled with a crumb of right Gloucester blacked in the candle, (my usual supper,) or peradventure a stray ash of tobacco wafted into the crevices, look to that passage more especially: depend upon it, it contains good matter. I have got your little Milton, which, as it contains 'Salmasius'—and I make a rule of never hearing but one side of the question (why should I distract myself?) I shall return to you when I pick up the Latina opera. The first Defence is the greatest work among them, because it is uniformly great, and such as is befitting the very mouth of a great nation, speaking for itself. But the second Defence, which is but a succession of splendid episodes, slightly tied together, has one passage, which, if you have not read, I conjure you to lose no time, but read it; it is his consolations in his blindness, which had been made a reproach to him. It begins whimsically, with poetical flourishes about Tiresias and other blind spring, They still crowd out so; this flock here, that there, belabouring The loaded flowers. So,' &c. &c. "What endless egression of phrases the dog commands ! "Take another, Agamemnon wounded, bearing his wound heroically for the sake of the army (look below) to a woman in labour. 'He, with his lance, sword, mighty stones, pour'd his heroic wreak On other squadrons of the foe, whiles yet warm blood did break Thro' bis cleft veins: but when the wound was quite exhaust and crude, The eager anguish did approve his princely fortitude. As when most sharp and bitter pangs distract a labouring dame, Which the divine Ilithiæ, that rule the painful frame With thought, it must be, 'tis love's fruit, the end for which she lives; The mean to make herself new born, what comforts will redound: "I will tell you more about Chapman and his peculiarities in my next. I am much interested in him. "Yours ever affectionately, and Pi-Pos's, "C. L." TO MR. COLERIDGE. "Nov. 4th, 1802. "Observe, there comes to you, by the Kendal waggon to-morrow, the illustrious 5th of November, a box, containing the Miltons, the strange American Bible, with White's brief note, to which you will attend; 'Baxter's Holy Commonwealth,' for which worthies, (which still are mainly interesting sius nunc etiam quam solebant, colunt, observant, adsunt; quod et nonnulli sunt, quibuscum Pyladeas atque Theseas alternare voces verorum amicorum liceat, "Vade gubernaculum mei pedis. Da manum ministro amico. Da collo manum tuam, ductor autem viæ ero tibi ego." All this, and much more, is highly pleasing C. LAMB." TO MR. MANNING. "Feb. 19th, 1803. "My dear Manning,-The general scope of your letter afforded no indications of insanity, but some particular points raised a scruple. For God's sake don't think any more of 'Independent Tartary.' What are you to do among such Ethiopians? Is there no lineal descendant of Prester John? Is the chair empty? Is the sword unswayed?— depend upon it they'll never make you their king, as long as any branch of that great stock is remaining. I tremble for your Christianity. They will certainly circumcise "To-morrow I expect with anxiety S.T. C.'s you. Read Sir John Mandeville's travels to letter to Mr. Fox," The year 1803 passed without any event to disturb the dull current of Lamb's toilsome life. He wrote nothing this year, except some newspaper squibs, and the delightful little poem on the death of Hester Savory. This he sent to Manning at Paris, with the following account of its subject : "Dear Manning, I send you some verses I have made on the death of a young Quaker you may have heard me speak of as being in love with for some years while I lived at Pentonville, though I had never spoken to her in my life. She died about a month since. If you have interest with the Abbé de Lisle, you may get 'em translated: he has done as much for the Georgics." The verses must have been written in the very happiest of Lamb's serious mood. I cannot refrain from the luxury of quoting the conclusion, though many readers have it by heart. "My sprightly neighbour, gone before To that unknown and silent shore ! Shall we not meet as heretofore, Soine summer morning. When from thy cheerful eyes a ray The following letters were written to Manning, at Paris, while still haunted with the idea of oriental adventure. cure you, or come over to England. There is a Tartar-man now exhibiting at Exeter Change. Come and talk with him, and hear what he says first. Indeed, he is no very favourable specimen of his countrymen ! But perhaps the best thing you can do, is to try to get the idea out of your head. For this purpose repeat to yourself every night, after you have said your prayers, the words Independent Tartary, Independent Tartary, two or three times, and associate with them the idea of oblivion, ('tis Hartley's method with obstinate memories,) or say, Independent, Independent, have I not already got an independence? That was a clever way of the old puritans, pundivinity. My dear friend, think what a sad pity it would be to bury such parts in heathen countries, among nasty, unconversable, horse-belching, Tartar-people! Some say, they are Cannibals; and then, conceive a Tartar-fellow eating my friend, and adding the cool malignity of mustard and vinegar! I am afraid 'tis the reading of Chaucer has misled you; his foolish stories about Cambuscan, and the ring, and the horse of brass. Believe me, there are no such things, 'tis all the poet's invention; but if there were such darling things as old Chaucer sings, I would up behind you on the horse of brass, and frisk off for Prester John's country. But these are all tales; a horse of brass never flew, and a king's daughter never talked with birds! The Tartars, really, are a cold, insipid, smouchy set. You'll be sadly moped (if you are not eaten) among them. Pray try and cure yourself. Take hellebore (the counsel is Horace's, 'twas none of my thought originally). Shave yourself oftener. Eat no memory, when you come back. You cannot saffron, for saffron-eaters contract a terrible write things so trifling, let them only be Tartar-like yellow. Pray, to avoid the fiend. about Paris, which I shall not treasure. In Eat nothing that gives the heart-burn. Shave particular, I must have parallels of actors the upper lip. Go about like an European. and actresses. I must be told if any building Read no books of voyages (they are nothing in Paris is at all comparable to St. Paul's, but lies), only now and then a romance, to which, contrary to the usual mode of that keep the fancy under. Above all, don't go part of our nature called admiration, I have to any sights of wild beasts. That has been looked up to with unfading wonder, every your ruin. Accustom yourself to write morning at ten o'clock, ever since it has lain familiar letters, on common subjects, to in my way to business. At noon I casually your friends in England, such as are of glance upon it, being hungry; and hunger a moderate understanding. And think has not much taste for the fine arts. Is any about common things more. I supped last night-walk comparable to a walk from St. night with Rickman, and met a merry Paul's to Charing Cross, for lighting, and natural captain, who pleases himself vastly paving, crowds going and coming without with once having made a pun at Otaheite respite, the rattle of coaches, and the cheerin the O. language. "Tis the same man fulness of shops? Have you seen a man who said Shakspeare he liked, because he guillotined yet? is it as good as hanging? was so much of the gentleman. Rickman is a man absolute in all numbers.' I think I may one day bring you acquainted, if you do not go to Tartary first; for you'll never come back. Have a care, my dear friend, of Anthropophagi! their stomachs are always craving. 'Tis terrible to be weighed out at fivepence a-pound. To sit at table (the reverse of fishes in Holland), not as a guest, "Not a sentence, not a syllable of Trismegistus, shall be lost through my neglect. I am his word-banker, his store-keeper of puns and syllogisms. You cannot conceive (and if Trismegistus cannot, no man can) the strange joy which I felt at the receipt of a letter from Paris. It seemed to give me a learned importance, which placed me above all who had not Parisian correspondents. Believe that I shall carefully husband every. scrap, which will save you the trouble of Captain, afterwards Admiral Burney, who became one of the most constant attendants on Lamb's parties, and whose son, Martin, grew up in his strongest regard, and received the honour of the dedication of the second volume of his works. Your are the women all painted, and the men all ribs till they shake, nothing loth to be so shaken? This is John Bull's criterion, and it shall be mine. You are Frenchified. Both your taste and morals are corrupt and perverted. By-and-by you will come to assert, that Buonaparte is as great a general as the old Duke of Cumberland, and deny that one Englishman can beat three Frenchmen. Read Henry the Fifth to restore your orthodoxy. All things continue at a stay-still in London. I cannot repay your new novelties say, in a short time, my habits would come laughter in excess? or can a Frenchman back like a 'stronger man' armed, and drive laugh? Can they batter at your judicious out that new pleasure; and I should soon sicken for known objects. Nothing has transpired here that seems to me of sufficient importance to send dry-shod over the water: but I suppose you will want to be told some news. The best and the worst to me is, that I have given up two guineas a week at the 'Post,' and regained my health and spirits, which were upon the wane. I grew sick, and Stuart unsatisfied. Ludisti satis, tempus abire est; I must cut closer, that's all. Mister Fell, or as you, with your usual facetiousness with my stale reminiscences. Like the and drollery, call him Mr. F + ll has stopped short in the middle of his play. Some friend has told him that it has not the least merit in it. O! that I had the rectifying of the Litany! I would put in a libera nos (Scriptores videlicet) ab amicis! That's all the news. A propos (is it pedantry, writing to a Frenchman, to express myself sometimes by a French word, when an English one would not do as well? methinks, my thoughts fall naturally into it)— C. L." TO MR. MANNING. prodigal, I have spent my patrimony, and Under this cold marble stone "My dear Manning,-Although something of the latest, and after two months' waiting, your letter was highly gratifying. Some parts want a little explication; for example, 'the god-like face of the first consul.' What god does he most resemble, Mars, Bacchus, or Apollo or the god Serapis, who, flying (as) Egyptian chronicles deliver) from the fury of the dog Anubis (the hieroglyph of an English mastiff), lighted upon Monomotapa (or the land of apes), by some thought to be Old France, and there set up a tyranny, &c. Our London prints of him represent him gloomy and sulky, like an angry Jupiter. I hear that he is very small, even less than me. I dispericraniated me, as one may say; but envy you your access to this great man, much more than your séances and conversaziones, which I have a shrewd suspicion must be something dull. What you assert concerning the actors of Paris, that they exceed our comedians, bad as ours are, is impossible. In one sense it may be true, that their fine gentlemen, in what is called genteel comedy, may possibly be more brisk and dégagé than Mr. Caulfield, or Mr. Whitfield but have any of them the power to move Who, when alive, by few or none Was loved, as loved she might have been, Who on the marble graves his moan.' "Brief, and pretty, and tender, is it not? I send you this, being the only piece of poetry I have done, since the muses all went with T. M. to Paris. I have neither stuff in my brain, nor paper in my drawer, to write you a longer letter. Liquor, and company, and wicked tobacco, a'nights, have quite ; you, who spiritualise upon Champagne, may "C. LAMB. |