This poor fellow (whom I know just enough of to vouch for his strict integrity & worth) has lost two or three employments from illness, which he cannot regain; he was once insane, & from the distressful uncertainty of his livelihood has reason to apprehend a return of that malady--He has been for some time dependant on a woman whose lodger he formerly was, but who can ill afford to maintain him, and I know that on Christmas night last he actually walk'd about the streets all night, rather than accept of her Bed, which she offer'd him, and offer'd herself to sleep in the kitchen, and that in consequence of that severe cold he is labouring under a bilious disorder, besides a depression of spirits, which incapacitates him from exertion when he most needs it--For G.o.d's sake, Southey, if it does not go against you to ask favors, do it now--ask it as for me--but do not do a violence to your feelings, because he does not know of this application, and will suffer no disappointment--What I meant to say was this--there are in the India house what are called _Extra Clerks_, not on the Establishment, like me, but employed in Extra business, by-jobs--these get about 50 a year, or rather more, but never rise--a Director can put in at any time a young man in this office, and it is by no means consider'd so great a favor as making an established Clerk. He would think himself as rich as an Emperor if he could get such a certain situation, and be relieved from those disquietudes which I do fear may one day bring back his distemper--

You know John May better than I do, but I know enough to believe that he is a good man--he did make me that offer I have mention'd, but you will perceive that such an offer cannot authorize me in applying for another Person.

But I cannot help writing to you on the subject, for the young man is perpetually before my eyes, and I should feel it a crime not to strain all my petty interest to do him service, tho' I put my own delicacy to the question by so doing--I have made one other unsuccessful attempt already--

At all events I will thank you to write, for I am tormented with anxiety--

I suppose you have somewhere heard that poor Mary Dollin has poisoned herself, after some interviews with John Reid, the ci-devant Alphonso of her days of hope.

How is Edith?

C. LAMB.

[John May was a friend and correspondent of Southey whom he had met at Lisbon: not to be confounded with Coleridge's inn-keeping May.

Sir Francis Baring was a director of the East India Company. 1 have no knowledge as to who the young man was; nor have I any regarding Mary Dollin and John Reid.]

LETTER 42

CHARLES LAMB TO ROBERT SOUTHEY

Jan. 21st, 1799.

I am requested by Lloyd to excuse his not replying to a kind letter received from you. He is at present situated in most distressful family perplexities, which I am not at liberty to explain; but they are such as to demand all the strength of his mind, and quite exclude any attention to foreign objects. His brother Robert (the flower of his family) hath eloped from the persecutions of his father, and has taken shelter with me. What the issue of his adventure will be, I know not. He hath the sweetness of an angel in his heart, combined with admirable firmness of purpose: an uncultivated, but very original, and, I think, superior genius. But this step of his is but a small part of their family troubles.

I am to blame for not writing to you before on _my own account_; but I know you can dispense with the expressions of grat.i.tude, or I should have thanked you before for all May's kindness. He has liberally supplied the person I spoke to you of with money, and had procured him a situation just after himself had lighted upon a similar one and engaged too far to recede. But May's kindness was the same, and my thanks to you and him are the same. May went about on this business as if it had been his own. But you knew John May before this: so I will be silent.

I shall be very glad to hear from you when convenient. I do not know how your Calendar and other affairs thrive; but, above all, I have not heard a great while of your "Madoc"--the _opus magnum_. I would willingly send you something to give a value to this letter; but I have only one slight pa.s.sage to send you, scarce worth the sending, which I want to edge in somewhere into my play, which, by the way, hath not received the addition of ten lines, besides, since I saw you. A father, old Walter Woodvil (the witch's PROTeGe) relates this of his son John, who "fought in adverse armies," being a royalist, and his father a parliamentary man:--

"I saw him in the day of Worcester fight, Whither he came at twice seven years, Under the discipline of the Lord Falkland (His uncle by the mother's side, Who gave his youthful politics a bent Quite _from_ the principles of his father's house;) There did I see this valiant Lamb of Mars, This sprig of honour, this unbearded John, This veteran in green years, this sprout, this Woodvil, (With dreadless ease guiding a fire-hot steed, Which seem'd to scorn the manage of a boy), p.r.i.c.k forth with such a _mirth_ into the field, To mingle rivalship and acts of war Even with the sinewy masters of the art,-- You would have thought the work of blood had been A play-game merely, and the rabid Mars Had put his harmful hostile nature off, To instruct raw youth in images of war, And practice of the unedged players' foils.

The rough fanatic and blood-practised soldiery Seeing such hope and virtue in the boy, Disclosed their ranks to let him pa.s.s unhurt, Checking their swords' uncivil injuries, As loth to mar that curious workmanship Of Valour's beauty pourtray'd in his face."

Lloyd objects to "pourtray'd in his face,"--do you? I like the line.

I shall clap this in somewhere. I think there is a spirit through the lines; perhaps the 7th, 8th, and 9th owe their origin to Shakspeare, though no image is borrowed.

He says in "Henry the Fourth"--

"This infant Hotspur, Mars in swathing clothes."

[See Pt. I., III., 2, 111, 112.]

But pray did Lord Falkland die before Worcester fight? In that case I must make bold to unclify some other n.o.bleman.

Kind love and respects to Edith.

C. LAMB.

[Charles Lloyd's perplexities turned probably once again on the question of his marriage. How long Robert Lloyd was with Lamb we do not know; nor of what nature were the "persecutions" to which he was subjected.

According to the evidence at our disposal, Charles Lloyd, sen., was a good father.

Southey's _Madoc_ was not published until 1805.

The pa.s.sage from the play was not printed in _John Woodvil_. This, together with "The Dying Lover" are to be found only in the discarded version, printed in the Notes to Vol. IV. of the present edition. Lord Falkland had been killed at Newbury eight years before Worcester fight.

Lamb altered the names to Ashley and Naseby, although Sir Anthony Cooper was not made Lord Ashley until sixteen years after Naseby was fought.]

LETTER 43

CHARLES LAMB TO ROBERT SOUTHEY

[Late January or early February, 1799.]

Dr. Southey,--Lloyd will now be able to give you an account of himself, so to him I leave you for satisfaction. Great part of his troubles are lightened by the partial recovery of his sister, who had been alarmingly ill with similar diseases to his own. The other part of the family troubles sleeps for the present, but I fear will awake at some future time to _confound_ and _disunite_. He will probably tell you all about it. Robert still continues here with me, his father has proposed nothing, but would willingly lure him back with fair professions. But Robert is endowed with a wise fort.i.tude, and in this business has acted quite from himself, and wisely acted. His parents must come forward in the End. I like reducing parents to a sense of undutifulness. I like confounding the relations of life. Pray let me see you when you come to town, and contrive to give me some of your company.

I thank you heartily for your intended presents, but do by no means see the necessity you are under of burthening yourself thereby. You have read old Wither's Supersedeas to small purpose. You object to my pauses being at the end of my lines. I do not know any great difficulty I should find in diversifying or changing my blank verse; but I go upon the model of Shakspere in my Play, and endeavour after a colloquial ease and spirit, something like him. I could so easily imitate Milton's versification; but my ear & feeling would reject it, or any approaches to it, in the _drama_. I do not know whether to be glad or sorry that witches have been detected aforetimes in shutting up of wombs. I certainly invented that conceit, and its coincidence with fact is incidental [? accidental], for I never heard it. I have not seen those verses on Col. Despard--I do not read any newspapers. Are they short, to copy without much trouble? I should like to see them.

I just send you a few rhymes from my play, the only rhymes in it--a forest-liver giving an account of his amus.e.m.e.nts:--

What sports have you in the forest?

Not many,--some few,--as thus.

To see the sun to bed, and see him rise, Like some hot amourist with glowing eyes, Bursting the lazy bands of sleep that bound him: With all his fires and travelling glories round him: Sometimes the moon on soft night-clouds to rest, Like beauty nestling in a young man's breast, And all the winking stars, her handmaids, keep Admiring silence, while those lovers sleep: Sometimes outstretch'd in very idleness, Nought doing, saying little, thinking less, To view the leaves, thin dancers upon air, Go eddying round; and small birds how they fare, When mother Autumn fills their beaks with corn, Filch'd from the careless Amalthea's horn; And how the woods berries and worms provide, Without their pains, when earth hath nought beside To answer their small wants; To view the graceful deer come trooping by, Then pause, and gaze, then turn they know not why, Like bashful younkers in society; To mark the structure of a plant or tree; And all fair things of earth, how fair they be! &c. &c.

I love to antic.i.p.ate charges of unoriginality: the first line is almost Shakspere's:--

"To have my love to bed & to arise."

_Midsummer Nights Dream_ [III., I, 174].

I think there is a sweetness in the versification not unlike some rhymes in that exquisite play, and the last line but three is yours:

"An eye That met the gaze, or turn'd it knew not why."

_Rosamund's Epistle_.

I shall antic.i.p.ate all my play, and have nothing to shew you. An idea for Leviathan:--

Commentators on Job have been puzzled to find out a meaning for Leviathan,--'tis a whale, say some; a crocodile, say others. In my simple conjecture, Leviathan is neither more nor less than the Lord Mayor of London for the time being.

"Rosamund" sells well in London, maugre the non-reviewal of it.

I sincerely wish you better health, & better health to Edith, Kind remembrances to her.

C. LAMB.