By-the-by, where did you pick up that scandalous piece of private history about the angel and the d.u.c.h.ess of Devonshire? If it is a fiction of your own, why truly it is a very modest one _for you_. Now I do affirm that "Lewti" is a very beautiful poem. I _was_ in earnest when I praised it. It describes a silly species of one not the wisest of pa.s.sions. _Therefore_ it cannot deeply affect a disenthralled mind. But such imagery, such novelty, such delicacy, and such versification never got into an "Anthology" before. I am only sorry that the cause of all the pa.s.sionate complaint is not greater than the trifling circ.u.mstance of Lewti being out of temper one day. In sober truth, I cannot see any great merit in the little Dialogue called "Blenheim." It is rather novel and pretty; but the thought is very obvious and children's poor prattle, a thing of easy imitation. _Pauper vult videri et_ EST.

"Gualberto" certainly has considerable originality, but sadly wants finishing. It is, as it is, one of the very best in the book. Next to "Lewti" I like the "Raven," which has a good deal of humour. I was pleased to see it again, for you once sent it me, and I have lost the letter which contained it. Now I am on the subject of Anthologies, I must say I am sorry the old Pastoral way has fallen into disrepute. The Gentry which now indite Sonnets are certainly the legitimate descendants of the ancient shepherds. The same simpering face of description, the old family face, is visibly continued in the line. Some of their ancestors' labours are yet to be found in Allan Ramsay's and Jacob Tonson's _Miscellanies_.

But, miscellanies decaying and the old Pastoral way dying of mere want, their successors (driven from their paternal acres) now-a-days settle and hive upon Magazines and Anthologies. This Race of men are uncommonly addicted to superst.i.tion. Some of them are Idolaters and worship the Moon. Others deify qualities, as love, friendship, sensibility, or bare accidents, as Solitude. Grief and Melancholy have their respective altars and temples among them, as the heathens builded theirs to Mors, Febris, Palloris. They all agree in ascribing a peculiar sanct.i.ty to the number fourteen. One of their own legislators affirmeth, that whatever exceeds that number "encroacheth upon the province of the Elegy"--_vice versa_, whatever "cometh short of that number ab.u.t.teth upon the premises of the Epigram." I have been able to discover but few _Images_ in their temples, which, like the Caves of Delphos of old, are famous for giving _Echoes_. They impute a religious importance to the letter O, whether because by its roundness it is thought to typify the moon, their princ.i.p.al G.o.ddess, or for its a.n.a.logies to their own labours, all ending where they began; or whatever other high and mystical reference, I have never been able to discover, but I observe they never begin their invocations to their G.o.ds without it, except indeed one insignificant sect among them, who use the Doric A, p.r.o.nounced like Ah! broad, instead. These boast to have restored the old Dorian mood.

Now I am on the subject of poetry, I must announce to you, who, doubtless, in your remote part of the Island, have not heard tidings of so great a blessing, that GEORGE DYER hath prepared two ponderous volumes full of Poetry and Criticism. They impend over the town, and are threatened to fall in the winter. The first volume contains every sort of poetry except personal satire, which George, in his truly original prospectus, renounceth for ever, whimsically foisting the intention in between the price of his book and the proposed number of subscribers.

(If I can, I will get you a copy of his _handbill_.) He has tried his _vein_ in every species besides--the Spenserian, Thomsonian, Masonic and Akensidish more especially. The second volume is all criticism; wherein he demonstrates to the entire satisfaction of the literary world, in a way that must silence all reply for ever, that the pastoral was introduced by Theocritus and polished by Virgil and Pope--that Gray and Mason (who always hunt in couples in George's brain) have a good deal of poetical fire and true lyric genius--that Cowley was ruined by excess of wit (a warning to all moderns)--that Charles Lloyd, Charles Lamb, and William Wordsworth, in later days, have struck the true chords of poesy.

O, George, George, with a head uniformly wrong and a heart uniformly right, that I had power and might equal to my wishes!--then I would call the Gentry of thy native Island, and they should come in troops, flocking at the sound of thy Prospectus Trumpet, and crowding who shall be first to stand in thy List of Subscribers. I can only put twelve shillings into thy pocket (which, I will answer for them, will not stick there long), out of a pocket almost as bare as thine. [_Lamb here erases six lines._]

Is it not a pity so much fine writing should be erased? But, to tell the truth, I began to scent that I was getting into that sort of style which Longinus and Dionysius Halicarna.s.sus aptly call "the affected." But I am suffering from the combined effect of two days' drunkenness, and at such times it is not very easy to think or express in a natural series. The ONLY useful OBJECT of this Letter is to apprize you that on Sat.u.r.day I shall transmit the PENS by the same coach I sent the Parcel. So enquire them out. You had better write to G.o.dwin _here_, directing your letter to be forwarded to him. I don't know his address. You know your letter must at any rate come to London first. C. L.

["Your satire upon me"--"This Lime-tree Bower my Prison" (see above).

"Those nine other wandering maids"--the Muses. A recollection of _The Anti-Jacobin's_ verses on Lamb and his friends (see above).

"Your 141st page." "This Lime-tree Bower" again. By "unintelligible abstraction-fit" Lamb refers to the pa.s.sage:--

Ah! slowly sink Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun!

Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb, Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds!

Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves!

And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my friend Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood, Silent with swimming sense; yea, gazing round On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seem Less gross than bodily; and of such hues As veil the Almighty Spirit, when yet He makes Spirits perceive His presence.

"That scandalous piece of private history." A reference to Coleridge's "Ode to Georgiana, d.u.c.h.ess of Devonshire," reprinted in the _Annual Anthology_ from the _Morning Post_.

"Blenheim"--Southey's ballad, "It was a summer's evening."

"Gualberto." The poem "St. Gualberto" by Southey, in the _Annual Anthology_.

"The Raven" was referred to in Lamb's letter of Feb. 5, 1797.

George Dyer's _Poems_, in two volumes, were published in 1800. See note to Letter 80.

Upon the phrase "the tops of evening bricks" in this letter, editors have been divided. The late Dr. Garnett, who annotated the Boston Bibliophile edition, is convinced that "evening" is the word, and he says that the bricks meant were probably briquettes of compressed coal dust.]

LETTER 65

CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS MANNING

[P.M. August 24, 1800.]

Dear Manning,--I am going to ask a favour of you, and am at a loss how to do it in the most delicate manner. For this purpose I have been looking into Pliny's Letters, who is noted to have had the best grace in begging of all the ancients (I read him in the elegant translation of Mr. Melmoth), but not finding any case there exactly similar with mine, I am constrained to beg in my own barbarian way. To come to the point then, and hasten into the middle of things, have you a copy of your Algebra to give away? I do not ask it for myself; I have too much reverence for the Black Arts ever to approach thy circle, ill.u.s.trious Trismegist! But that worthy man and excellent Poet, George Dyer, made me a visit yesternight, on purpose to borrow one, supposing, rationally enough I must say, that you had made me a present of one before this; the omission of which I take to have proceeded only from negligence; but it is a fault. I could lend him no a.s.sistance. You must know he is just now diverted from the pursuit of BELL LETTERS by a paradox, which he has heard his friend Frend (that learned mathematician) maintain, that the negative quant.i.ties of mathematicians were _merae nugae_, things scarcely _in rerum natura_, and smacking too much of mystery for gentlemen of Mr. Frend's clear Unitarian capacity. However, the dispute once set a-going has seized violently on George's pericranick; and it is necessary for his health that he should speedily come to a resolution of his doubts. He goes about teasing his friends with his new mathematics; he even frantically talks of purchasing Manning's Algebra, which shows him far gone, for, to my knowledge, he has not been master of seven shillings a good time. George's pockets and ----'s brains are two things in nature which do not abhor a vacuum.... Now, if you could step in, in this trembling suspense of his reason, and he should find on Sat.u.r.day morning, lying for him at the Porter's Lodge, Clifford's Inn,--his safest address--Manning's Algebra, with a neat ma.n.u.scriptum in the blank leaf, running thus, FROM THE AUTHOR! it might save his wits and restore the unhappy author to those studies of poetry and criticism, which are at present suspended, to the infinite regret of the whole literary world.

N.B.--Dirty books [?backs], smeared leaves, and dogs' ears, will be rather a recommendation than otherwise.

N.B.--He must have the book as soon as possible, or nothing can withhold him from madly purchasing the book on tick.... Then shall we see him sweetly restored to the chair of Longinus--to dictate in smooth and modest phrase the laws of verse; to prove that Theocritus first introduced the Pastoral, and Virgil and Pope brought it to its perfection; that Gray and Mason (who always hunt in couples in George's brain) have shown a great deal of poetical fire in their lyric poetry; that Aristotle's rules are not to be servilely followed, which George has shown to have imposed great shackles upon modern genius. His poems, I find, are to consist of two vols.--reasonable octavo; and a third book will exclusively contain criticisms, in which he a.s.serts he has gone _pretty deeply_ into the laws of blank verse and rhyme--epic poetry, dramatic and pastoral ditto--all which is to come out before Christmas.

But above all he has _touched_ most _deeply_ upon the Drama, comparing the English with the modern German stage, their merits and defects.

Apprehending that his _studies_ (not to mention his _turn_, which I take to be chiefly towards the lyrical poetry) hardly qualified him for these disquisitions, I modestly inquired what plays he had read? I found by George's reply that he _had_ read Shakspeare, but that was a good while since: he calls him a great but irregular genius, which I think to be an original and just remark. (Beaumont and Fletcher, Ma.s.singer, Ben Jonson, Shirley, Marlowe, Ford, and the worthies of Dodsley's Collection--he confessed he had read none of them, but professed his intention of looking through them all, so as to be able to touch upon them in his book.)

So Shakspeare, Otway, and I believe Rowe, to whom he was naturally directed by Johnson's Lives, and these not read lately, are to stand him in stead of a general knowledge of the subject. G.o.d bless his dear absurd head!

By the by, did I not write you a letter with something about an invitation in it?--but let that pa.s.s; I suppose it is not agreeable.

N.B. It would not be amiss if you were to accompany your present with a dissertation on negative quant.i.ties.

C. L.

[Mr. Melmoth. A translation of the _Letters_ of Pliny the Younger was made by William Melmoth in 1746.

Trismegistus--thrice greatest--was the term applied to Hermes, the Egyptian philosopher. Manning had written _An Introduction to Arithmetic and Algebra_, 1796, 1798.

William Frend (1757-1841), the mathematician and Unitarian, who had been prosecuted in the Vice-Chancellor's Court at Cambridge for a tract ent.i.tled "Peace and Union Recommended to the a.s.sociated Bodies of Republicans and Anti-Republicans," in which he attacked much of the Liturgy of the Church of England. He was found guilty and banished from the University of Cambridge. He had been a friend of Robert Robinson, whose life Dyer wrote, and remained a friend of Dyer to the end of his life. Coleridge had been among the undergraduates who supported Frend at his trial.

"...'s brain." In a later letter Lamb uses Judge Park's wig, when his head is in it, as a simile for emptiness.]

LETTER 66

CHARLES LAMB TO S. T. COLERIDGE

August 26th, 1800.

How do you like this little epigram? It is not my writing, nor had I any finger in it. If you concur with me in thinking it very elegant and very original, I shall be tempted to name the author to you. I will just hint that it is almost or quite a first attempt.

HELEN REPENTANT TOO LATE

1 High-born Helen, round your dwelling These twenty years I've paced in vain: Haughty beauty, your lover's duty Has been to glory in his pain.

2 High-born Helen! proudly telling Stories of your cold disdain; I starve, I die, now you comply, And I no longer can complain.

3 These twenty years I've lived on tears, Dwelling for ever on a frown; On sighs I've fed, your scorn my bread; I perish now you kind are grown.

4 Can I, who loved my Beloved But for the "scorn was in her eye,"

Can I be moved for my Beloved, When she "returns me sigh for sigh?"

5 In stately pride, by my bed-side, High-born Helen's portrait's hung; Deaf to my praise; my mournful lays Are nightly to the portrait sung.

6 To that I weep, nor ever sleep, Complaining all night long to her!

_Helen, grown old, no longer cold, Said_, "You to all men I prefer."

G.o.dwin returned from Wicklow the week before last, tho' he did not reach home till the Sunday after. He might much better have spent that time with you.--But you see your invitation would have been too late. He greatly regrets the occasion he mist of visiting you, but he intends to revisit Ireland in the next summer, and then he will certainly take Keswick in his way. I dined with the Heathen on Sunday.