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Plurimum gestiit Thomas, qubd appropinquanti Sabbato
efferenda sit.

Horner quidam Johannulus in angulo sedebat, artocreas
quasdam deglutiens. Inseruit pollices, pruna nana
evellens, et magna voce exclamavit " Dii boni, quam
bonus puer fio ! "

Diddle-diddle-dumkins ! meus unicus Alius Johannes
cubitum ivit, integris braccis, caliga una tantum, indutus.
Diddle-diddle, etc. Da Capo.

Hie adsum saltans Joannula. Cum nemo adsit mihi,
semper resto sola.

^Enigma mihi hoc solvas, et (Edipus fies.

Qua ratione assimulandus sit equus Tremulo 1

Quippe cui tota communicatio sit per Hay et Neigh,
juxta consilium illud Dominicum, " Fiat omnis com-
municatio vestra Yea et Nay."

In his nugis caram diem consumo, dum invigilo vale-
tudini carioris nostras Emmae, quae apud nos jamdudum
aegrotat. Salvere vos jubet mecum Maria mea, ipsa
integra valetudine. Eli a.

Ab agro Enfeldiense datum, Aprilis nescio quibus
Calendis — Davus sum, non Calendarius.

p^S. — Perdita iu toto est Billa Reformatura.

To Rev. H. F. CARY.

Datura ab agro Enfeldiensi,
Letter CCCLXXXIV.] Maii die sexta, 1831.

Assidens est mihi bona soror, Euripiden evolvens,
donum vestrum, carissime Cary, pro quo gratias agimus,
lecturi atque iterum lecturi idem. Pergratus est liber


ambobus, nempe " Sacerdotis Oommiserationis," sacrum
opus a te ipso Humanissimse Religionis Sacerdote dono
datum. Lachrymantes gavisuri sumus ; est ubi dolor
fiat voluptas ; nee semper dulce mihi est ridere ; aliquando
commutandum est he ! he ! he ! cum heu ! heu ! heu !

A Musis Tragicis me non penitus abhorruisse testis
sit Carmen Calamitosum, nescio quo autore lingua prius
vernacula scriptum, et nuperrime a me ijDso Latine versum
scilicet, "Tom Tom of Islington." Tenuistine?

" Thomas Thomas de Islington,
Uxorem duxit Die qnadam Solis,
Abduxit domum sequenti die,
Emit baculum subsequent,
Vapulat ilia postera,
^Egrotat succedenti, Mortua fit crastina."

Et miro gaudio afficitur Thomas luce postera quod sub-
sequent (nempe, Dominica) uxor sit efferenda.

" En Uiades Domesticas !
En circulum calamitatum !
Plane hebdomadalem tragoediam."

I nunc et confer Euripiden vestrum his luctibus, hac
morte uxoria ; confer Alcesten ! Hecuben ! quas non
antiquas Heroinas Dolorosas.

Suffundor genas lachrymis tantas strages revolvens.
Quid restat nisi quod Tecum Tuam Caram salutemus
ambosque valere jubeamus, nosmet ipsi bene valentes.



Letter CCCLXXXV.] June 8, 1831.

Dear Sir — I am extremely sorry to be obliged to
decline the article proposed, particularly as I should have
been flattered with a Plate accompanying it. In the first
place, Midsummer Day is not a topic I could make any-
thing of, I am so pure a Cockney, and little read besides
in May games and antiquities ; and in the second, I am


here at Margate, spoiling my holydays with a Keview I
have undertaken for a friend, which I shall barely get
through before rny return, for that sort of work is a hard
task to me. If you will excuse the shortness of my first
contribution (and I know I can promise nothing more for
July) I will endeavour a longer article for our next.
Will you permit me to say that I think Leigh Hunt
would do the Article you propose in a masterly manner,
if he has not out-writ himself already upon the subject.
I do not return the proof — to save postage — because it
is correct, with one exception. In the stanza from Words-
worth you have changed day into air for rhyme's sake.
Day is the right reading, and / implore you to restore it.

The other passage, which you have queried, is to my
ear correct. Pray let it stand.

Dear sir, yours truly, C. Lamb.


J. Taylor, Esq.

On second consideration I do enclose the proof.


Letter CCCLXXXVI.] August 1831.

Dear M. — The R.A. here memorised was George
Dawe, whom I knew well, and heard many anecdotes of,
from Daniels and Westall, at H. Rogers's ; to each of
them it will be well to send a magazine in my name.
It will fly like wildfire among the Royal Academicians and
artists. Could you get hold of Procter 1 — his chambers
are in Lincoln's Inn, at Montagu's ; or of Janus Weather-
cock 1 — both of their prose is capital. Don't encourage
poetry. The " Peter's Net " does not intend funny things
only. All is fish. And leave out the sickening "Elia"
at the end. Then it may comprise letters and characters
addressed to Peter ; but a signature forces it to be all
characteristic of the one man Elia, or the one man, Peter,


which cramped me formerly. I have agreed not for my
sister to know the subjects I choose till the magazine
comes out ; so beware of speaking of 'em, or writing about
'em, save generally. Be particular about this warning.
Can't you drop in some afternoon, and take a bed 1 The
Athenaeum has been hoaxed with some exquisite poetry,
that was, two or three months ago, in " Hone's Book."
I like your first Number capitally. But is it not small 1
Come and see us, week-day if possible.

Send or bring me Hone's Number for August. The
anecdotes of E. and of G. D. are substantially true ; what
does Elia (or Peter) care for dates 1

The poem I mean is in " Hone's Book," as far back as
April. I do not know who wrote it ; but 'tis a poem I
envy — that and Montgomery's "Last Man :" I envy the
writers, because I feel I could have done something like
them. C. L.

Letter CCCLXXXVII.] September 5, 1831.

Dear M. — Your letter's contents pleased me. I am
only afraid of taxing you. Yet I want a stimulus, or I
think I should drag sadly. I shall keep the moneys in
trust, till I see you fairly over the next 1st January :
then I shall look upon them as earned. No part of your
letter gave me more pleasure (no, not the £10, tho' you
may grin) than that you will revisit old Enfield, which
I hope will be always a pleasant idea to you.

Yours, very faithfully, C. L.

Letter CCCLXXXVIIL] October 24, 1831.

To address an abdicated monarch is a nice point of
breeding. To give him his lost titles is to mock him ;
to withhold 'em is to wound him. But his minister, who
falls with him, may be gracefully sympathetic. I do
honestly feel for your diminution of honours, and regret



even the pleasing cares which are part and parcel of great-
ness. Your magnanimous submission, and the cheerful
tone of your renunciation, in a letter which, without
flattery, would have made an "Article," and which,
rarely as I keep letters, shall be preserved, comfort me a
little. Will it please, or plague you, to say that when
your parcel came I darnn'd it 1 for my pen was warming
in my hand at a ludicrous description of a Landscape of
an E.A., which I calculated upon sending you to-morrow,
the last day you gave me. Now any one calling in, or a
letter coming, puts an end to my writing for the day.
Little did I think that the mandate had gone out, so
destructive to my occupation, so relieving to the appre-
hensions of the whole body of R.A.'s ; so you see I had
not quitted the ship while a plank was remaining.

To drop metaphors, I am sure you have done wisely.
The very spirit of your epistle speaks that you have a
weight off your mind. I have one on mine ; the cash in

hand, which, as less truly says, burns in my pocket.

I feel queer at returning it (who does not ?), you feel
awkward at retaking it (who ought not). Is there no
middle way of adjusting this fine embarrassment 1 ? I
think I have hit upon a medium to skin the sore place
over, if not quite to heal it. You hinted that there
might be something under £10, by and by, accruing to
me — Devil's Money (you are sanguine, say £7 : 10s.);
that I entirely renounce, and abjure all future interest
in : I insist upon it ; and " by him I will not name," I
won't touch a penny of it. That will split your loss, one
half, and leave me conscientious possessor of what I hold.
Less than your assent to this, no proposal will I accept of.

The Rev. Mr. , whose name you have left illegible

(is it Seagull ?) never sent me any book on Christ's
Hospital, by which I could dream that I was indebted
to him for a dedication. Did G. D. send his penny
tract to me to convert me to Unitarianism 1 Dear,
blundering soul ! why I am as old a one-Goddite as
himself. Or did he think his cheap publication would


bring over the Methodists over the way here 1 However,
I'll give it to the pew-opener, in whom I have a little
interest, to hand over to the clerk, whose wife she some-
times drinks tea with, for him to lay before the deacon,
who exchanges the civility of the hat with him, for to
transmit to the minister, who shakes hands with him out

of chapel, and he, in all odds, will with it.

I wish very much to see you. I leave it to you to
come how you will ; we shall be very glad (we need not
repeat) to see your sister, or sisters, with you ; but for
you, individually, I will just hint that a dropping in to
tea, unlooked for, about five, stopping bread-and-cheese
and gin-and-water, is worth a thousand Sundays. I am
naturally miserable on a Sunday ; but a week-day evening
and supper is like old times. Set out now, and give no
time to deliberation.

_p.£. — The second volume of " Elia " is delightful
(ly bound, I mean), and quite cheap. Why, man, 'tis a
unique !

If I write much more I shall expand into an article,
which I cannot afford to let you have so cheap. By the
by, to show the perverseness of human will, while I
thought I must furnish one of those accursed things
monthly, it seemed a labour above Hercules's " Twelve "
in a year, which were evidently monthly contributions.
Now I am emancipated, I feel as if I had a thousand
Essays swelling within me. False feelings both !

Your ex-Lampoonist, or Lamb-punnist, from Enfield,
October 24, or " last day but one for receiving articles
that can be inserted."

Letter CCCLXXXIX.] February 1832.

Dear Moxon — The snows are ancle-deep, slush, and
mire, that 'tis hard to get to the post-office, and cruel to
send the maid out. 'Tis a slough of despair, or I should
sooner have thanked you for your offer of the "Life,"


which we shall very much like to have, and will return
duly. I do not know when I shall be in town, but in a
week or two, at farthest, when I will come as far as you,
if I can. We are moped to death with confinement
within doors. I send you a curiosity of G. Dyer's tender
conscience. Between thirty and forty years since, G.
published the "Poet's Fate," in which were two very
harmless lines about Mr. Rogers ; but Mr. R. not quite
approving of them, they were left out in a subsequent
edition, 1801. But G. has been worrying about them
ever since ; if I have heard him once, I have heard him
a hundred times, express a remorse proportioned to a
consciousness of having been guilty of an atrocious libel.
As the devil would have it, a fool they call Barker, in
his "Parriana," has quoted the identical two lines, as
they stood in some obscure edition anterior to 1801, and
the withers of poor G. are again wrung. His letter is a
gem ; with his poor blind eyes it has been laboured out
at six sittings. The history of the couplet is in page 3
of this irregular production, in which every variety of
shape and size that letters can be twisted into is to be
found. Do show his part of it to Mr. R. some day. If
he has bowels, they must melt at the contrition so queerly
charactered of a contrite sinner. G. was born, I verily
think, without original sin, but chooses to have a con-
science, as every Christian gentleman should have ; his
dear old face is insusceptible of the twist they call a
sneer, yet he is apprehensive of being suspected of that
ugly appearance. When he makes a compliment, he
thinks he has given an affront, — a name is personality.
But show (no hurry) this unique recantation to Mr. R. :
'tis like a dirty pocket-handkerchief, mucked with tears
of some indigent Magdalen. There is the impress of
sincerity in every pot-hook and hanger; and then the
gilt frame to such a pauper picture ! It should go into
the Museum. I am heartily sorry my Devil does not
answer. We must try it a little longer ; and, after all,
I think I must insist on taking a portion of its loss


upon myself. It is too much you should lose by two
adventures. You do not say how your general business
goes on, and I should very much like to talk over it with
you here.

Come when the weather will possibly let you ; I want
to see the Wordsworths, but I do not much like to be all
night away. It is dull enough to be here together, but
it is duller to leave Mary ; in short, it is painful, and in
a flying visit I should hardly catch them. I have no
beds for them if they came down, and but a sort of a
house to receive them in ; yet I shall regret their departure
unseen ; I feel cramped and straitened every way. Where
are they *?

We have heard from Emma but once, and that a
month ago, and are very anxious for another letter.

You say we have forgot your powers of being service-
able to us. That we never shall : I do not know what I
should do without you when I want a little commission.
Now then : there are left at Miss Buffam's, the " Tales
of the Castle," and certain volumes of the " Retrospective
Review." The first should be conveyed to Novello's,
and the Reviews should be taken to Talfourd's office,
ground -floor, East side, Elm Court, Middle Temple, to
whom I should have written, but my spirits are wretched ;
it is quite an effort to write this. So, with the " Life,"
I have cut you out three pieces of service. What can I
do for you here, but hope to see you very soon, and think
of you with most kindness 1 I fear to-morrow, between
rains and snows, it woidd be impossible to expect you,
but do not let a practicable Sunday pass. We are
always at home.

Mary joins in remembrances to your sister, whom we
hope to see in any fine-ish weather, when she'll venture.

Remember us to Allsop, and all the dead people ; to
whom, and to London, we seem dead.



Letter CCCXC] April 9, 1832.

Dear Sir — Pray accept a little volume. 'Tis a legacy
from Elia, you'll see. Silver and gold had he none, but
such as he had left he you. I do not know how to thank
you for attending to my request about the Album. I
thought you would never remember it. Are not you
proud and thankful, Emma 1 Yes ; very, both.

[Signed] Emma Isola.

Many things I had to say to you, which there was not
time for. One, why should I forget ? 'tis for Rose Aylmer,
which has a charm I cannot explain. I lived upon it for
weeks. Next, I forgot to tell you I knew all your Welsh
annoyances, the measureless B.'s. I knew a quarter of a
mile of them. Seventeen brothers and sixteen sisters, as
they appear to me in memory. There was one of them
that used to fix his long legs on my fender, and tell a tale
of a shark every night, endless, immortal. How have I
grudged the salt-sea ravener not having had his gorge of
him ! The shortest of the daughters measured five foot
eleven without her shoes. Well, some day we may confer
about them. But they were tall. Truly, I have discover'd
the longitude. Sir, if you can spare a moment, I should
be happy to hear from you. That rogue Robinson detained
your verses till I call'd for them. Don't entrust a bit of
prose to the rogue ; but believe me,

Your obliged, C. L.

W. S. Landor, Esq.


Letter CCCXCL] April 14, 1832.

My dear Coleridge — Not an unkind thought has
passed in my brain about you ; but I have been wofully


neglectful of you ; so that I do not deserve to announce
to you, that if I do not hear from you before then, I will
set out on Wednesday morning to take you by the hand.
I would do it this moment, but an unexpected visit might
flurry you. I shall take silence for acquiescence, and
come. I am glad you could write so long a letter. Old
loves to, and hope of kind looks from, the Gillmans when
I come.

Yours, semper idem, 0. L.

If you ever thought au offence, much more wrote it,
against me, it must have been in the times of Noah, and
the great waters swept it away. Mary's most kind love,
and maybe a wrong prophet of your bodings ! — here she
is crying for mere love over your letter. I wring out
less, but not sincerer showers.

My direction is simply, Enfield.


Letter CCCXCIL] [1832.]

Thank you for the books. I am ashamed to take
tithe thus of your press. I am worse to a publisher than
the two Universities and the British Museum. A. 0.
I will forthwith read. B. C. (I can't get out of the A,
B, C) I have more than read. Taken altogether, 'tis
too Lovey ; but what delicacies ! I like most " King
Death " ; glorious 'bove all, " The Lady with the
Hundred Rings"; "The Owl"; "Epistle to What's his
Name" (here, may be, I'm partial); "Sit down, Sad
Soul"; "The Pauper's Jubilee" (but that's old, and
yet 'tis never old); "The Falcon"; "Felon's Wife";
damn " Madame Pasty " (but that is borrowed) ;

Apple-pie is very good,
And so is apple-pasty ;


Lord ! 'tis very nasty :


but chiefly the dramatic fragments, — scarce three of
which should have escaped my specimens, had an antique
name been prefixed. They exceed his first. So much
for the nonsense of poetry ; now to the serious business
of life. Up a court (Blandford Court) in Pall Mall
(exactly at the back of Marlborough House), with iron
gate in front, and containing two houses, at No. 2, did
lately live Leishman, my tailor. He is moved somewhere
in the neighbourhood ; devil knows where. Pray find
him out, and give him the opposite. I am so much
better, though my head shakes in writing it, that, after
next Sunday, I can well see F. and you. Can you throw
B. C. in ? Why tarry the wheels of my " Hogarth "1

Charles Lamb.


Letter CCCXCIIL] February 1833.

My dear T. — Now cannot I call him Serjeant ; what
is there in a coif? Those canvas sleeves protective from
ink, when he was a law -chit — a Chitty -\mg (let the
leathern apron be apocryphal), do more 'specially plead
to the Jury Court, of old memory. The costume (will
he agnise it 1) was as of a desk-fellow, or Socius Plutei.
Methought I spied a brother !

That familiarity is extinct for ever. Curse me if I
can call him Mr. Serjeant — except, mark me, in company.
Honour where honour is due ; but should he ever visit us
(do you think he ever will, Mary 1), what a distinction
should I keep up between him and our less fortunate
friend, H. C. R. ! Decent respect shall always be the
Crabb's — but, somehow, short of reverence.

Well, of my old friends, I have lived to see two
knighted, one made a judge, another in a fair way to it.
Why am I restive ? why stands my sun upon Gibeon 1

Variously, my dear Mrs. Talfourd (I can be more
familiar with her !), Mrs. Serjeant Talfourd, — my sister


prompts me — (these ladies stand upon ceremonies) — has
the congratulable news affected the members of our small
community. Mary comprehended it at once, and entered

into it heartily. Mrs. W was, as' usual, perverse ;

wouldn't, or couldn't, understand it. A Serjeant 1 She
thought Mr. T. was in the law. Didn't know that he
ever 'listed.

Emma alone truly sympathised. She had a silk gown
come home that very day, and has precedence before her
learned sisters accordingly.

We are going to drink the health of Mr. and Mrs.
Serjeant, with all the young serjeantry ; and that is all
that I can see that I shall get by the promotion.

Valete, et mementote amici quondam vestri humillimi.

C. L.


Letter CCCXCIV.] February 11, 1833.

I wish you would omit " by the Author of Elia " now,
in advertising that damn'd "Devil's Wedding." I had
sneaking hopes you would have dropt in to-day, 'tis my
poor birthday. Don't stay away so. Give Forster a
hint. You are to bring your brother some day — sisters
in better weather. Pray give me one line to say if you
receiv'd and forwarded Emma's pacquet to Miss Adams —
and how Dover Street looks. Adieu. Is there no
Blackwood this month 1 What separation will there be
between the Friend's preface and the Essays 1 Should
not " Last Essays," etc. etc., head them 1 If 'tis too late,
don't mind. I don't care a farthing about it.

Mr. Moxon.


Letter CCCXCV.] March 6, 1833.

Dear Friend — Thee hast sent a Christian epistle to
me, and I should not feel dear if I neglected to reply to


it, which would have been sooner if that vain young man,
to whom thou didst intrust it, had not kept it back.
We should rejoice to see thy outward man here, especially
on a day which should not be a first day, being liable
to worldly callers-in on that day. Our little book is
delayed by a heathenish injunction, threatened by the
man Taylor. Canst thou copy and send, or bring with
thee, a vanity in verse which in my younger days I wrote
on friend Aders's pictures 1 Thou wilt find it in the book
called the Table Book.

Tryphena and Tryphosa, whom the world calleth
Mary and Emma, greet you with me. Ch. Lamb.

6th of 3d month, 4th day.

W. Hone, Esq.,

Grasshopper Hotel,

Gracechurch Street.


Letter CCCXCVI.] March 19, 1833.

I shall expect Forster and two Moxons on Sunday,
and hope for Procter. I am obliged to be in town next
Monday. Could we contrive to make a party (paying or
not is immaterial) for Miss Kelly's that night ; and can
you shelter us after the play — I mean Emma and me.
I fear I cannot persuade Mary to join us.

N.B. — / can sleep at a public house. Send an Elia
(mind I insist on buying it), to T. Manning, Esq., at
Sir G-. Tuthill's, Cavendish Square. Do write.

E. Moxon.

Letter CCCXCVII.] April 27, 1833.

Dear M. — Mary and I are very poorly. We have had
a sick child, who, sleeping or not sleeping, next me, with
a pasteboard partition between, killed my sleep. The


little bastard is gone. My bedfellows are cough and
cramp ; we sleep three in a bed. Domestic arrangements
(baker, butcher, and all) devolve on Mary. Don't come
yet to this house of pest and age ! We propose, when
you and E. agree on the time, to come up and meet you

at the B 's, say a week hence, but do you make

the appointment.

Mind, our spirits are good, and we are happy in your
happinesses. C. L.

Our old and ever loves to dear Emma.


Mr. Waldcrfs, Church Street,
Letter CCCXCVIIL] Edmonton, May 31, 1833.

Dear Mrs. Hazlitt — I will assuredly come and find
you out when I am better. I am driven from house to
house by Mary's illness. I took a sudden resolution to
take my sister to Edmonton, where she was under medical
treatment last time, and have arranged to board and
lodge with the people. Thank God, I have repudiated
Enfield. I have got out of hell, despair of heaven, and
must sit down contented in a half-way purgatory. Thus
ends this strange eventful history. But I am nearer
town, and will get up to you somehow before long.

I repent not of my resolution. 'Tis late, and my hand
is unsteady ; so good-bye till we meet,

Your old C. L.

Mrs. Hazlitt,

No. 4, Palace Street, Pimlico.


Letter CCCXCIX.] [End of May nearly] 1833.

Dear Wordsworth — Your letter, save in what respects
your dear sister's health, cheered me in my new solitude.


Mary is ill again. Her illnesses encroach yearly. The
last was three months, followed by two of depression
most dreadful. I look back upon her earlier attacks
with longing : nice little durations of six weeks or so,
followed by complete restoration, — shocking as they were
to me then. In short, half her life she is dead to me,
and the other half is made anxious with fears and lookings
forward to the next shock. With such prospects, it
seemed to me necessary that she should no longer live
with me, and be fluttered with continued removals ; so I
am come to live with her, at a Mr. Walden's and his wife,
who take in patients, and have arranged to lodge and
board us only. They have had the care of her before.
I see little of her : alas ! I too often hear her. Sunt
lachrymal rerum ! and you and I must bear it.

To lay a little more load on it, a circumstance has
happened, cujus pars magna fui, and which, at another
crisis, I should have more rejoiced in. I am about to
lose my old and only walk- companion, whose mirthful

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