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1 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA • SAN DIKGO




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THE WORKS



OP



CHARLES LAMB.



THE



WORKS



OF



CHARLES LAMB, 77i"^



IN FOUR VOLUMES.

VOL. IV.



A NEW EDITION.



BOSTON:
WILLIAM VEAZIE.

NEW YORK:

KURD AND HOUGHTON.

1864.



cameridge;
stereotyped by h. o. houghton.

boston:
printed by john wilson and son.



CONTENTS.



ROSAMUND GRAY, ESSAYS, etc.

PAGB

ROSAMUND GRAY 13

ESSAYS : —

RECOLLECTIONS OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL . . 62

ON THE TRAGEDIES OP SHAKSPEARE, CONSIDERED
WITH REFERENCE TO THEIR FITNESS FOR STAGE-
REPRESENTATION . . 78

CHARACTERS OF DRAMATIC WRITERS, CONTEMPO-
RARY WITH SHAKSPEARE .... 103

SPECIMENS FROM THE WRITINGS OF FULLER, THE

CHURCH HISTORIAN 127

ON THE GENIUS AND CHARACTER OF HOGARTH ;
WITH SOME REMARKS ON A PASSAGE IN THE
WRITINGS OF THE LATE MR. BARRY . . 138

ON THE POETICAL WORKS OF GEORGE WITHER . 164

LETTERS UNDER ASSUMED SIGNATURES, PUBLISHED IN
"THE REFLECTOR": —

THE LONDONER 171

ON BURIAL societies; AND THE CHARACTER OF AN

UNDERTAKER 174

ON THE DANGER OF CONFOUNDING MORAL WITH
PERSONAL deformity; WITH A HINT TO THOSE



Vi CONTENTS.



PAGE



LETTERS UNDER ASSUMED SIGNATURES, ETC. — Continued.
WHO HAVE THE FRAMING OF ADVERTISEMENTS
FOR APPREHENDING OFFENDERS . . • 181

ON THE INCONVENIENCES RESULTING FROM BEING

HANGED 19^

ON THE MELANCHOLY OF TAILORS .... 202

H08PITA ON THE IMMODERATE INDULGENCE OF THE

PLEASURES OF THE PALATE .... 208

ED AX ON APPETITE 212

CURIOUS FRAGMENTS, EXTRACTED FROM A COMMON-
PLACE BOOK WHICH BELONGED TO ROBERT
BURTON, THE FAMOUS AUTHOR OF THE ANAT-
OMY OF MELANCHOLY 222

MR. H , A FARCE, IN TWO ACTS . . • -231



POEMS. .

[Those marked with an asterisk are by the Author'' s Sister.']

HESTER 269

TO CHARLES LLOYD, AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR . . 270

THE THREE FRIENDS 271

TO A RIVER IN WHICH A CHILD WAS DROWNED • 278

THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES 279

* HELEN 280

A VISION OF REPENTANCE 281

♦dialogue BETWEEN A MOTHER AND CHILD . . 284

QUEEN ORIANA'S DREAM 285

A BALLAD, NOTING THE DIFFERENCE OF RICH AND POOR,
IN THE WAYS OF A RICH NOBLE'S PALACE AND

A POOR WORKHOUSE 286



CONTENTS. VU

PAOE

HYPOCHONDRIACUS 288

A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO 289

TO T. L. H., A CHILD 294

BALLAD, FROM THE GERMAN 296

* DAVID IN THE CAVE OF ADULLAM .... 296

* SALOME 297

* LINES SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF TWO FEMALES,

BY LIONARDO DA VINCI .... 299

* LINES ON THE SAME PICTURE BEING REMOVED TO

MAKE PLACE FOR A PORTRAIT OF A LADY BY
TITIAN 300

* LINES ON THE CELEBRATED PICTURE BY LIONARDO DA

VINCI, CALLED THE VIRGIN OF THE ROCKS 301

*ON THE SAME 302

SONNETS : —

I. TO MISS KELLY 303

IL ON THE SIGHT OF SWANS IN KENSINGTON GARDEN . 303

III 304

IV 304

V 305

VI. THE FAMILY NAME 305

VII 306

VIII. 306

IX. TO JOHN LAMB, ESQ., OF THE SOUTH-SEA-HOUSE 307

X 308

XI. .308

BLANK VERSE : —

CHILDHOOD , 309

THE GRANDAME 309

THE SABBATH BELLS 311



viii CONTENTS.

PAQE

BLANK VFRSE — Continued.

FANCY EMPLOYED ON' DIVINE SUBJECTS . . 311

COMPOSED AT MIDNIGHT 312

JOHN WOODVIL; a TRAGEDY 314

THE WITCH, A DRAMATIC SKETCH OF THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY • • 362



ALBUM VERSES, WITH A FEW OTHERS.

IN THE AUTOGRAPH BOOK OF MRS. SERGEANT W . 367

TO DORA W , ON BEING ASKED BY HER FATHER TO

WRITE IN HER ALBUM 368

IN THE ALBUM OF A CLERGYMAN'S LADY . . . 368

IN THE ALBUM OF EDITH S 369

IN THE ALBUM OF ROTHA Q 369

IN THE ALBUM OF CATHERINE ORKNEY . . .370

IN THE ALBUM OF LUCY BARTON 371

IN THE ALBUM OF MRS. JANE TOWERS . . . 372

IN THE ALBUM OF MISS 373

IN MY OWN ALBUM 373

MISCELLANEOUS : —

ANGEL HELP 375

ON AN INFANT DYING AS SOON AS BORN . . 376

THE CHRISTENING 378

THE YOUNG CATECHIST 379

TO A YOUNG FRIEND ON HER TWENTY-FIRST BIRTH-
DAY 380

SHE IS GOING 381



CONTENTS. IX

PAQl

SONNETS : —

HARMONY IN UNLIKENESS 383

WRITTEN AT CAMBRIDGE 383

TO A CELEBRATED FEMALE PERFORMER IN THE

"BLIND boy" 384

WORK 385

LEISURE 385

TO SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ 386

THE gypsy's MALISON 386

COMMENDATORY VERSES, ETC. :

TO J. S. KNOWLES, ESQ., ON HIS TRAGEDY OF VIR-

GINIUS 388

to the author of poems published under the

name of barry cornwall .... 389

to the editor of the " every-day book" . 389

to t. stothard, esq., on his illustrations of

the poems of mr. rogers .... 390

to a friend on his marriage .... 391

"o lift with reverent hand" . . . 392

the self-enchanted 393

to louisa m , whom i used to call " monkey " 394

translations from the latin of vincent bourne: —
the ballad-singers 395

to david cook, of the parish of st. marga-
ret's, westminster, watchman . . . 397

on a sepulchral statue of an infant sleeping 399

epitaph on a dog 399

the rival bells 400

Newton's principia 401

the housekeeper 401



X CONTENTS.

PAGB
TRANSLATIOXS FROM THE LATIN OF VINCENT BOURNE —
Continued.

ON A DEAF AND DUMB ARTIST .... 402

THE FEMALE ORATORS 403

PINDARIC ODE TO THE TREAD-MILL .... 404

GOING OR GONE 407

FREE THOUGHTS ON SEVERAL EMINENT COMPOSERS . 410

THE wife's trial ; OR, THE INTRUDING WIDOW. A

DRAMATIC POEM 412



ROSAMUND GRAY, ESSAYS,

ETC.



TO

MARTIN CHARLES BURNEY, Esq.



Forgive me, Burnet, if to thee these late

And hasty products of a critic pen.

Thyself no common judge of books and men,

In feeling of thy worth I dedicate.

My verse was offered to an older friend ;

The humbler jarose has fallen to thy share:

Nor could I miss the occasion to declare,

What spoken in thy presence must offend —

That, set aside some few caprices wild.

Those humorous clouds that flit o'er brightest days,

In all my threadings of this worldly maze,

(And I have watched thee almost from a child),

Free from self-seeking, envy, low design,

I have not found a whiter soul than thine.



ROSAMUND GRAY.



CHAPTER I.



It was noontide. The sun was very hot. An old
gentlewoman sat spinning in a little arbor at the door
of her cottage. She was blind ; and her granddaugh-
ter was reading the Bible to her. The old lady had
just left her work, to attend to the story of Ruth.

" Oi-pah kissed her mother-in-law ; but Ruth clave
unto her." It was a passage she could not let pass
without a comment. The moral she drew from it was
not very new^ to be sure. The girl had heard it a
hundred times before — and a hundred times more she
could have heard it, without suspecting it to be tedious.
Rosamund loved her grandmother.

The old lady loved Rosamund too ; and she had rea-
son for so doino;. Rosamund was to her at once a child
and a servant. She had only her left in the world.
They two lived together.

They had once known better days. The story of
Rosamund's parents, their failure, their folly, and dis-
tresses, may be told another time. Our tale hath grief
enough in it.

It was now about a year and a half since old
Margaret Gray had sold off all her effects, to pay the
debts of Rosamund's father — just after the mothei



14 ROSAMUND GRAY.

liad died of a broken heart ; for her husband had fled
his country to hide his shame in a foreign land. At
that period the old lady retired to a small cottage in
the village of Widford in Hertfordshire.

Rosamund, in her thirteenth year, was left destitute,
without fortune or fi-iends : she went with her grand-
mother. In all this time she had served her faithfully
and lovingly.

Old Margaret Gray, when she first came into these
parts, had eyes, and could see. The neighbors said,
they had been dimmed by weeping : be that as it may,
she was latterly grown quite blind. " God is very
good to us, child ; I can feel you yet." This she
would sometimes say ; and we need not wonder to
hear, that Rosamund clave unto her grandmother.

Margaret retained a spirit unbroken by calamity.
There was a principle witJmi, which it seemed as if no
outward circumstances could reach. It was a religious
principle, and she had taught it to Rosamund ; for the
girl had mostly resided with her grandmother from her
earliest years. Indeed she had taught her all that she
knew herself; and the old lady's knowledge did not
extend a vast way.

Margaret had drawn her maxims from observation ;
and a pretty long experience in life had contributed
to make her, at times, a little positive : but Rosamund
never argued with her grandmother.

Their library consisted chiefly in a large family Bible,
with notes and expositions by various learned exposi-
tors, from Bishop Jewell downwards.

This might never be suffered to lie about hke other
books, but was kept constantly wrapt up in a handsome
case of green velvet, with gold tassels — the only relic



ROSAMUND GRAY. 15

of departed grandeur they had brought with them to
the cottage — everything else of value had been sold
off for the purpose above mentioned.

This Bible Rosamund, when a child, had never
dared to open without permission ; and even yet, from
habit, continued the custom. Margaret had parted
with none of her authority ; indeed it was never ex-
erted with much harshness ; and happy was Rosamund,
though a girl grown, when she could obtain leave to
read her Bible. It was a treasure too valuable for an
indiscriminate use ; and Margaret still pointed out to
her grand-daughter where to read.

Besides this, they had the " Complete Angler, or
Contemplative Man's Recreation," with cuts — " Pil-
grim's Progress," the first part — a Cookery Book,
with a few dry sprigs of rosemary and lavender stuck
here and there between the leaves, (I suppose to point
to some of the old lady's most favorite receipts,) and
there was "Wither's Emblems," an old book, and
quaint. The old-fashioned pictiu-es in this last book
were among the first exciters of the infant Rosamund's
curiosity. Her contemplation had fed upon them in
rather older years.

Rosamund had not read many books besides these ;
or if any, they had been only occasional companions :
these were to Rosamund as old friends, that she had
long known. I know not whether the peculiar cast
of her mind might not be traced, in part, to a tinc-
ture she had received, early in life, from Walton and
Wither, from John Bunyan and her Bible.

Rosamund's mind was pensive and reflective, rather
than what passes usually for clever or acute. From a
cliild she was remarkably shy and thoughtful — this



16 ROSAMUND GRAY.

was taken for stupidity and want of feeling ; and the
child has been sometimes whipt for being a stubborn
thing, when her little heart was almost bursting with
affection.

Even now her grandmother would often reprove
her, when she found her too grave or melancholy ;
give her spiightly lectures about good-humor and ra-
tional mirth ; and not unfrequently fall a-crying her-
self, to the great discredit of her lecture. Those tears
endeared her the more to Rosamund.

Margaret would say, " Child, I love you to cry,
when I think you are only remembering your poor
dear father and mother ; — I would have you think
about them sometimes — it would be strange if you
did not ; but I fear, Rosamund — I fear, girl, you
sometimes think too deeply about your own situation
and poor prospects in life. When you do so, you do
wrong — remember the naughty rich man in the para-
ble. He never had any good thoughts about God, and
his religion : and that might have been your case."

Rosamund, at these times, could not reply to her ;
she was not in the habit of arguing with her grand-
mother ; so she was quite silent on these occasions —
or else the girl knew well enough herself, that she
had only been sad to think of the desolate condition
of her best friend, to see her, in her old age, so in-
firm and blind. But she had never been used to make
excuses, when the old lady said she was doing wrong.

The neighbors were all very kind to them. The
veriest rustics never passed them without a bow, or a
pulling off of the hat — some show of courtesy, awk-
ward indeed, but affectionate — with a " Good-morrow,
madam," or " young madam," as it might happen.



ROSAMUND GRAY. 17

Rude and savage natures, who seem bom with a
propensity to express contempt fOr anything that looks
like prosperity, yet felt respect for its decHning lustre.

The farmers, and better sort of people, (as they are
called,) all promised to provide for Rosamund when
her grandmother should die. Margaret tnisted in God
and believed them.

She used to say, " I have lived many years in the
world, and have never known people, good people, to
be left without some friend; a relation, a benefactor,
a something. God knows our wants — that it is not
good for man or woman to be alone ; and he always
sends us a helpmate, a leaning place, a somewhat."
Upon this sure ground of experience, did Margaret
build her trust in Providence.



CHAPTER 11.



Rosamund had just made an end of her story, (as
I was about to relate,) and was listening to the appli-
cation of the moral, (which said application she was
old enough to have made herself, but her grandmother
still continued to treat her, in many respects, as a child,
and Rosamund was in no haste to lay claim to the title
of womanhood,) when a young gentleman made his ap-
pearance and interrupted them.

It was young Allan Clare, who had brought a
present of peaches, and some roses for Rosamund.

He laid his little basket down on a seat of the
arbor ; and in a respectful tone of voice, as though

VOL. IV. 2



18 ROSAMUND GRAY.

lie were addressing a parent, inquired of Margaret
" how she did-""

The old lady seemed pleased with his attentions —
answered his inquiries by saying, that " her cough was
less troublesome a-nights, but she had not yet got rid
of it, and probably she never might ; but she did not
like to tease young people with an account of her in-
firmities."

A few kind words passed on either side, when young
Clare, glancing a tender look at the girl, who had all
this time been silent, took leave of them with saying,
" I shall bring Elinor to see you in the evening."

When he was gone, the old lady began to prattle.

" That is a sweet-dispositioned youth, and I do love
him dearly, I must say it — there is such a modesty in
all he says or does — he should not come here so often,
to be sure, but I don't know how to help it ; there is so
much goodness in him, I can't find it in my heart to
forbid him. But, Rosamund, girl, I must tell you be-
forehand ; when you grow older, Mr. Clare must be
no companion for you : while you were both so young
it was all very well — but the time is coming, when
folks will think harm of it, if a rich young gentleman,
like Mr. Clare, comes so often to our poor cottage. —
Dost hear, girl ? Why don't you answer ? Come, I
did not mean to say anything to hurt you — speak to
me, Rosamund — nay, I must not have you be sullen
— I don't love people that are sullen."

And in this manner was this poor soul running on,
unheard and unheeded, when it occurred to her, that
possibly the girl might not be within hearing.

And true it was, that Rosamund had slunk away at
the first mention of Mr. Clare's good qualities: and



ROSAMUND GRAY. 19

when she returned, which was not till a few minutes
after Margaret had made an end of her fine harangue,
it is certain her cheeks did look very rosy. That might
have been from the heat of the day or from exercise,
for she had been walking in the garden.

Margaret, we know, was bUnd ; and, in this case, it
was lucky for Rosamund that she was so, or she might
have made some not unlikely surmises.

I must not have my reader infer from this, that I at
all think it likely, a young maid of fourteen would fall
in love without asking her grandmother's leave — the
tliino; itself is not to be conceived.

To obviate all suspicions, I am disposed to commu-
nicate a little anecdote of Rosamund.

A month or two back her grandmother had been
giving her the strictest prohibitions, in her walks,
not to go near a certain spot, which was dangerous
from the circumstance of a huge overgrown oak-tree
spreading its prodigious arms across a deep chalk-pit,
which they partly concealed.

To this fatal place Rosamund came one day —
female curiosity, we know, is older than the flood —
let us not think hardly of the girl, if she partook of
the sexual failing.

Rosamund ventured further and further — climbed
along one of the branches — approached the forbidden
chasm — her foot slipped — she was not killed — but it
was by a mercy she escaped — other branches inter-
cepted her fall — and with a palpitating heart she
made her way back to the cottage.

It happened that evening, that her grandmother was
in one of her best humors, caressed Rosamund, talked
of old times, and what a blessmg it was they two found



•20 ROSAMUND GRAY.

a shelter in their little cottage, and in conclusion told
Rosamund, " she was a good girl, and God would one
day reward her for her kindness to her old blind grand-
mother."

This was more than Rosamund could bear. Her
morning's disobedience came fresh into her mind ; she
felt she did not deserve all this from Margaret, and at
last burst into a fit of crjang, and made confession of
her fault. The old gentlewoman kissed and forgave her.

Rosamund never went near that naughty chasm
again.

Margaret would never have heard of this, if Rosa-
mund had not told of it herself. But this young maid
had a delicate moral sense, which would not suffer her
to take advantage of her grandmother, to deceive her,
or conceal anything from her, though Margaret was
old, and blind, and easy to be imposed upon.

Another virtuous trait I recollect of Rosamund, and
now I am in the vein will tell it.

Some, I know, will think these things trifles — and
they are so — but if these minutice make my reader
better acquainted with Rosamund, I am content to
abide the imputation.

These promises of character, hints, and early indica-
tions of a sweet nature, are to me more dear, and choice
in the selection, than any of those pretty wild flowers,
which this young maid, this virtuous Rosamund, has
ever gathered in a fine May morning, to make a posy
to place in the bosom of her old blind friend.

Rosamund had a very just notion of drawing, and
would often employ her talent in making sketches of
the surrounding scenery.

On a landscape, a larger piece than she had ever



ROSAMUND GRAY. 21

yet attempted, she had now been working for three or
four months. She had taken great pains with it, given
rauch^time to it, and it was nearly finished. For whose
particular inspection it was designed, I will not venture
to conjecture. We know it could not have been for
her grandmother's.

One day she went out on a short errand, and left
her landscape on the table. When she returned, she
found it gone.

Rosamund from the first suspected some mischief,
but held her tongue. At length she made the fatal
discovery. Margaret, in her absence, had laid violent
hands on it ; not knowing what it was, but taking it
for some waste-paper, had torn it in half, and with one
half of this elaborate composition had twisted herself
up — a thread-paper !

Rosamund spread out her hands at sight of the dis-
aster, gave her grandmother a roguish smile, but said
not a word. She knew the poor soul would only fret,
if she told her of it, — and when once Margaret was
set a fretting for other people's misfortunes, the fit held
her pretty long.

So Rosamund that very afternoon began another
piece of the same size and subject; and Margaret, to
her dying day, never dreamed of the mischief she had
unconsciously done.



CHAPTER III.



Rosamund Gray was the most beautiful young
creature that eyes ever beheld. Her face had the



22 ROSAMUND GRAY.

sweetest expression in it — a gentleness — a modesty
— a timidity — a certain charm — a grace without a
name.

There was a sort of melancholy mingled in her
smile. It was not the thoughtless levity of a girl —
it was not the restrained simper of premature woman-
hood — it was something which the poet Young might
have remembered, when he composed that perfect line,

" Soft, modest, melancholy, female, fair."

She was a mild-eyed maid, and everybody loved
her. Young Allan Clare, when but a boy, sighed for
her.

Her yellow hair fell in bright and curling clusters,
like

" Thoi?e hanging locks
Of young Apollo."

Her voice was trembling and musical. A graceful
diffidence pleaded for her whenever she spake — and,
if she said but little, that little foimd its way to the
heart.

Young, and artless, and innocent, meaning no harm,
and thinking none; affectionate as a smiling infant —
playful, yet inobtrusive, as a weaned Jamb — every-
body loved her. Young Allan Clare, when but a boy,
sighed for her.



to'



The moon is shining in so brightly at my window,
where I write, that I feel it a crime not to suspend my
emploA^ment awhile to gaze at her.

See how she glideth, in maiden honor, through the
clouds, who divide on either side to do her homage.

Beautiful vision ! — as I contemplate thee, an inter-



ROSAMUND GRAY. 23

nal harmony is communicated to my mind, a moral
brightness, a tacit analogy of mental purity ; a calm
like that we ascribe in fancy to the favored inhabitants
of thy fairy regions, " argent fields."

I marvel not, O moon, that heathen people, in the
" olden times," did worship thy deity — Cynthia,
Diana, Hecate. Christian Europe invokes thee not
by these names now — her idolatry is of a blacker
stain : Belial is her God — she worships Mammon.

False things are told concerning thee, fair planet —
for I will ne'er believe that thou canst take a perverse
pleasure in distorting the brains of us, poor mortals.
Lunatics ! moonstruck ! Calumny invented, and folly
took up, these names. I would hope better things
from thy mild aspect and benign influences.

Lady of Heaven, thou lendest thy pure lamp to light
the way to the virgin mourner, when she goes to seek
the tomb where her warrior lover lies.

Friend of the distressed, thou speakest only peace
to the lonely sufferer, who walks forth in the placid
evening, beneath thy gentle light, to chide at for-
tune, or to complain of changed friends, or unhappy
loves.

Do I dream, or doth not even now a heavenly calm
descend from thee into my bosom, as I meditate on the
chaste loves of Rosamund and her Clare !



CHAPTER IV.



Allan Clare was just two years older than Ros-
amund. He was a boy of fourteen, when he first



24 ROSAMUND GRAY.

became acquainted with her — it was soon after she
had come to reside with her grandmother at Widfoi'd.

He met her by chance one day, carrying a pitcher
in her hand, which she had been filHng from a neigh-
boring well — the pitcher was heavy, and she seemed
to be bending with its weight.

Allan insisted on cariying it for her — for he thought
it a sin that a delicate young maid, like her, should be
so employed, and he stand idle by.

Allan had a propensity to do little kind offices for
everybody — but at the sight of Rosamund Gray, his
first fire was kindled — his young mind seemed to have
found an object, and his enthusiasm was from that time
forth awakened. His visits, from that day, were pretty
frequent at the cottage.

He w^as never happier than when he could get Rosa-
mimd to walk out with him. He would make her
admire the scenes he admired — fancy the wild flowers
he fancied — watch the clouds he was watching — and
not unfrequently repeat to her poetry which he loved,
and make her love it.

On their return, the old lady, who considered them
yet as but children, would bid Rosamund fetch Mr.
Clare a glass of her currant-wine, a bowl of new milk,
or some cheap dainty which was more welcome to
Allan than the costliest delicacies of a prince's court.

The boy and girl, for they were no more at that
age, grew fond of each other — more fond than either
of them suspected.

" They would sit, and sigh,
And look upon each other, and conceive
Not what they ail'd ; yet something they did ail.
And yet were well — and yet they were not well;
And what was their disease, they could not tell."



ROSAMUND GRAY. 25

And thus,

" In this first garden of their simpleness
They spent their childhood."

A circumstance had lately happened, which in some



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