The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb
Chapter 379 : In the contour of scull certainly I discern something paternal. But whether in all res

In the contour of scull certainly I discern something paternal. But whether in all respects the future man shall transcend his father's fame, Time the trier of geniuses must decide. Be it p.r.o.nounced peremptorily at present, that w.i.l.l.y is a well-mannerd child, and though no great student, hath yet a lively eye for things that lie before him.

Given in haste from my desk at Leadenhall. Your's and yours' most sincerely

C. LAMB.

[This letter, which refers to a visit paid to the Lambs in Great Russell Street by Wordsworth's son, William, then nine years old, is remarkable, apart from its charm and humour, for containing more of the absolute method of certain of Lamb's _Elia_ pa.s.sages than anything he had yet written.

"Lord Foppington"--in Vanbrugh's "Relapse." Lamb used this speech as the motto of his _Elia_ essay "Detached Thoughts on Books and Reading."

"Like a sea-beast." Lamb alludes to the preface to the edition of 1815 of Wordsworth's poems, where he quotes ill.u.s.tratively from his "Resolution and Independence":--

Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself.

"If his father had ever been on Westminster Bridge." An allusion to Wordsworth's sonnet "Composed on Westminster Bridge":--

Earth has not anything to show more fair.

"The American boy." This was Zerah Colburn, the mathematical prodigy, born in Vermont State in 1804 and exhibited in America and Europe by his father.]

LETTER 257

CHARLES LAMB TO S. T. COLERIDGE

Jan. 10th, 1820.

Dear Coleridge,--A Letter written in the blood of your poor friend would indeed be of a nature to startle you; but this is nought but harmless red ink, or, as the witty mercantile phrase hath it, Clerk's Blood. d.a.m.n 'em! my brain, guts, skin, flesh, bone, carcase, soul, TIME, is all theirs. The Royal Exchange, Gresham's Folly, hath me body and spirit. I admire some of Lloyd's lines on you, and I admire your postponing reading them. He is a sad Tattler, but this is under the rose. Twenty years ago he estranged one friend from me quite, whom I have been regretting, but never could regain since; he almost alienated you (also) from me, or me from you, I don't know which. But that breach is closed.

The dreary sea is filled up. He has lately been at work "telling again,"

as they call it, a most gratuitous piece of mischief, and has caused a coolness betwixt me and (not a friend exactly, but) [an] intimate acquaintance. I suspect, also, he saps Manning's faith in me, who am to Manning more than an acquaintance. Still I like his writing verses about you. Will your kind host and hostess give us a dinner next Sunday, and better still, _not expect us_ if the weather is very bad. Why you should refuse twenty guineas per sheet for Blackwood's or any other magazine pa.s.ses my poor comprehension. But, as Strap says, you know best. I have no quarrel with you about praeprandial avocations--so don't imagine one.

That Manchester sonnet I think very likely is Capel Lofft's. Another sonnet appeared with the same initials in the same paper, which turned out to be Procter's. What do the rascals mean? Am I to have the fathering of what idle rhymes every beggarly Poetaster pours forth! Who put your marine sonnet and about Browne into "Blackwood"? I did not. So no more, till we meet.

Ever yours,

C. L.

[Charles Lloyd, returned to health, had written _Desultory Thoughts in London_, in which both Coleridge and Lamb appeared, Coleridge as *** and Lamb as **. The poem was published in 1821. Lloyd probably had sent it in ma.n.u.script or proof to Lamb and Coleridge. Some of Lloyd's lines on Coleridge run thus:--

How shall I fitly speak on such a theme?

He is a treasure by the world neglected, Because he hath not, with a prescience dim, Like those whose every aim is self-reflected, Pil'd up some fastuous trophy, that of him Might tell, what mighty powers the age rejected, But taught his lips the office of a _pen_-- By fools he's deem'd a being lost to men.

No! with magnanimous self-sacrifice, And lofty inadvertency of fame, He felt there is a bliss in _being_ wise, Quite independent of the wise man's _name_.

Who now can say how many a soul may rise To a n.o.bility of moral aim It ne'er had known, but for that spirit brave, Which, being freely gifted, freely gave?

Sometimes I think that I'm a blossom blighted; But this I ken, that should it not prove so, If I am not inexorably spited Of all that dignifies mankind below; By him I speak of, I was so excited, While reason's scale was poising to and fro, "To the better cause;" that him I have to bless For that which it is comfort to possess.

No! Those who most have seen me, since the hour When thou and I, in former happier days, Frank converse held, though many an adverse power Have sought the memory of those times to raze, Can vouch that more it stirs me (thus a tower, Sole remnant of vast castle, still betrays Haply its former splendour) to have prov'd Thy love, than by fresh friends to have been lov'd.

The story of one of Lloyd's former indiscretions is told in the earlier letters of this collection. I cannot say what friend he quite alienated, unless it was James White. The nature of the later offence of which Lamb accuses Lloyd is now unknown.

"That Manchester sonnet." A sonnet ent.i.tled "Manchester," referring to the Luddites, and signed C. L., by Capel Lofft. Procter's "C.L." sonnet was upon Macready.

The marine sonnet was "Fancy in Nubibus" (see page 559).

"About Browne" refers to a note by Coleridge on Sir Thomas Browne in the same number, signed G.J.--possibly James Gillman's initials reversed.

We learn from a letter from Coleridge to J. H. Green (January 14, 1820) that the visit to Highgate which Lamb mentions was a New Year visit of annual occurrence. Lamb's reference to praeprandial avocations touches upon Coleridge's habit of coming down to see his guests only when dinner was ready.]

LETTER 258

MARY LAMB TO MRS. VINCENT NOVELLO

Newington, Monday.

[Spring of 1820.]

My dear Friend,--Since we heard of your sad sorrow, you have been perpetually in our thoughts; therefore, you may well imagine how welcome your kind remembrance of it must be. I know not how enough to thank you for it. You bid me write a long letter; but my mind is so possessed with the idea that you must be occupied with one only thought, that all trivial matters seem impertinent. I have just been reading again Mr.

Hunt's delicious Essay; which I am sure must have come so home to your hearts, I shall always love him for it. I feel that it is all that one can think, but which none but he could have done so prettily. May he lose the memory of his own babies in seeing them all grow old around him! Together with the recollection of your dear baby, the image of a little sister I once had comes as fresh into my mind as if I had seen her as lately. A little cap with white satin ribbon, grown yellow with long keeping, and a lock of light hair, were the only relics left of her. The sight of them always brought her pretty, fair face to my view, that to this day I seem to have a perfect recollection of her features.

I long to see you, and I hope to do so on Tuesday or Wednesday in next week. Percy Street! I love to write the word; what comfortable ideas it brings with it! We have been pleasing ourselves ever since we heard this piece of unexpected good news with the antic.i.p.ation of frequent drop-in visits, and all the social comfort of what seems almost next-door neighbourhood.

Our solitary confinement has answered its purpose even better than I expected. It is so many years since I have been out of town in the Spring, that I scarcely knew of the existence of such a season. I see every day some new flower peeping out of the ground, and watch its growth; so that I have a sort of an intimate friends.h.i.+p with each. I know the effect of every change of weather upon them--have learned all their names, the duration of their lives, and the whole progress of their domestic economy. My landlady, a nice, active old soul that wants but one year of eighty, and her daughter, a rather aged young gentlewoman, are the only labourers in a pretty large garden; for it is a double house, and two long strips of ground are laid into one, well stored with fruit-trees, which will be in full blossom the week after I am gone, and flowers, as many as can be crammed in, of all sorts and kinds. But flowers are flowers still; and I must confess I would rather live in Russell Street all my life, and never set my foot but on the London pavement, than be doomed always to enjoy the silent pleasures I now do. We go to bed at ten o'clock. Late hours are life-shortening things; but I would rather run all risks, and sit every night--at some places I could name--wis.h.i.+ng in vain at eleven o'clock for the entrance of the supper tray, than be always up and alive at eight o'clock breakfast, as I am here. We have a scheme to reconcile these things. We have an offer of a very low-rented lodging a mile nearer town than this.

Our notion is, to divide our time, in alternate weeks, between quiet rest and dear London weariness. We give an answer to-morrow; but what that will be, at this present writing, I am unable to say. In the present state of our undecided opinion, a very heavy rain that is now falling may turn the scale. "Dear rain, do go away," and let us have a fine cheerful sunset to argue the matter fairly in. My brother walked seventeen miles yesterday before dinner. And notwithstanding his long walk to and from the office, we walk every evening; but I by no means perform in this way so well as I used to do. A twelve-mile walk one hot Sunday morning made my feet blister, and they are hardly well now.

Charles is not yet come home; but he bid me, with many thanks, to present his _love_ to you and all yours, to all whom and to each individually, and to Mr. Novello in particular, I beg to add mine. With the sincerest wishes for the health and happiness of all, believe me, ever, dear Mary Sabilla, your most affectionate friend,

MARY ANN LAMB.

[Leigh Hunt's essay "Deaths of Little Children" appeared in _The Indicator_ for April 5, 1820; it was suggested by the same loss as that which prompted Mary Lamb's letter.

The Lambs at this time were staying at Mrs. Bedford's, Church Street, Stoke Newington, as we know from an unpublished letter from Mary Lamb to Miss Kelly, dated March 27, 1820. To this letter I have referred in the Preface. It states that Mary Lamb, who was teaching Miss Kelly Latin at the time, has herself taken to French in the evenings.]

LETTER 259

CHARLES LAMB TO JOSEPH COTTLE

London, India House, [? May 26th, 1820.]

My dear Sir,--I am quite ashamed of not having acknowledged your kind present earlier, but that unknown something, which was never yet discovered, though so often speculated upon, which stands in the way of lazy folks answering letters, has presented its usual obstacle. It is not forgetfulness, nor disrespect, nor incivility, but terribly like all these bad things.