LETTER 220

CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH [P.M. August 9, 1815.]

9th Aug. 1815.

Dear Wordsworth, We acknowlege with pride the receit of both your hand writings, and desire to be ever had in kindly remembrance by you both and by Dorothy. Miss Hutchinson has just transmitted us a letter containing, among other chearful matter, the annunciation of a child born. Nothing of consequence has turned up in our parts since your departure. Mary and I felt quite queer after your taking leave (you W.

W.) of us in St. Giles's. We wishd we had seen more of you, but felt we had scarce been sufficiently acknowleging for the share we had enjoyed of your company. We felt as if we had been not enough _expressive_ of our pleasure. But our manners _both_ are a little too much on this side of too-much-cordiality. We want presence of mind and presence of heart.

What we feel comes too late, like an after thought impromptu. But perhaps you observed nothing of that which we have been painfully conscious of, and are, every day, in our intercourse with those we stand affected to through all the degrees of love. Robinson is on the Circuit.

Our Panegyrist I thought had forgotten one of the objects of his youthful admiration, but I was agreeably removed from that scruple by the laundress knocking at my door this morning almost before I was up, with a present of fruit from my young friend, &c.--There is something inexpressibly pleasant to me in these _presents_. Be it fruit, or fowl, or brawn, or _what not_. _Books_ are a legitimate cause of acceptance.

If presents be not the soul of friendship, undoubtedly they are the most spiritual part of the body of that intercourse. There is too much narrowness of thinking in this point. The punctilio of acceptance methinks is too confined and straitlaced. I could be content to receive money, or clothes, or a joint of meat from a friend; why should he not send me a dinner as well as a dessert? I would taste him in the beasts of the field, and thro' all creation. Therefore did the basket of fruit of the juvenile Talfourd not displease me. Not that I have any thoughts of bartering or reciprocating these things. To send him any thing in return would be to reflect suspicion of mercenariness upon what I know he meant a freewill offering. Let him overcome me in bounty. In this strife a generous nature loves to be overcome. Alsager (whom you call Alsinger--and indeed he is rather _singer_ than _sager_, no reflection upon his naturals neither) is well and in harmony with himself and the world. I don't know how he and those of his const.i.tution keep their nerves so nicely balanced as they do. Or have they any? or are they made of packthread? He is proof against weather, ingrat.i.tude, meat under done, every weapon of fate. I have just now a jagged end of a tooth p.r.i.c.king against my tongue, which meets it half way in a wantonness of provocation, and there they go at it, the tongue p.r.i.c.king itself like the viper against the file, and the tooth galling all the gum inside and out to torture, tongue and tooth, tooth and tongue, hard at it, and I to pay the reckoning, till all my mouth is as hot as brimstone, and I'd venture the roof of my mouth that at this moment, at which I conjecture my full-happinessed friend is picking his crackers, not one of the double rows of ivory in his privileged mouth has as much as a flaw in it, but all perform their functions, and having performed it, expect to be picked (luxurious steeds!) and rubbed down. I don't think he could be robbed, or could have his house set on fire, or ever want money. I have heard him express a similar opinion of his own impa.s.sibility. I keep acting here Heautontimorumenos. M. Burney has been to Calais and has come home a travelld Monsieur. He speaks nothing but the Gallic Idiom.

Field is on circuit. So now I believe I have given account of most that you saw at our Cabin. Have you seen a curious letter in Morn. Chron., by C. Ll., the genius of absurdity, respecting Bonaparte's suing out his Habeas Corpus. That man is his own moon. He has no need of ascending into that gentle planet for mild influences. You wish me some of your leisure. I have a glimmering aspect, a c.h.i.n.k-light of liberty before me, which I pray G.o.d may prove not fallacious. My remonstrances have stirred up others to remonstrate, and altogether, there is a plan for separating certain parts of business from our department, which if it take place will produce me more time, i.e. my evenings free. It may be a means of placing me in a more conspicuous situation which will knock at my nerves another way, but I wait the issue in submission. If I can but begin my own day at 4 o Clock in the afternoon, I shall think myself to have Eden days of peace and liberty to what I have had. As you say, how a man can fill 3 volumes up with an Essay on the Drama is wonderful. I am sure a very few sheets would hold all I had to say on the subject, and yet I dare say ---- as Von Slagel. Did you ever read Charron on Wisdom? or Patrick's Pilgrim? if neither, you have two great pleasures to come. I mean some day to attack Caryl on Job, six Folios. What any man can write, surely I may read. If I do but get rid of auditing Warehousekeepers Acc'ts. and get no worse-hara.s.sing task in the place of it, what a Lord of Liberty I shall be. I shall dance and skip and make mouths at the invisible event, and pick the thorns out of my pillow and throw 'em at rich men's night caps, and talk blank verse, hoity toity, and sing "A Clerk I was in London Gay," ban, ban, CaCaliban, like the emanc.i.p.ated monster, and go where I like, up this street or down that ally. Adieu, and pray that it may be my luck. Good be to you all.

C. LAMB.

["A child born." This was George Hutchinson, Mrs. Wordsworth's nephew.

"Our Panegyrist"--Thomas Noon Talfourd. This is Lamb's first mention of his future biographer. Talfourd was then just twenty, had published some poems, and was reading law with Chitty, the special pleader. He had met Lamb at the beginning of 1815 through William Evans, owner of _The Pamphleteer_, had scoured London for a copy of _Rosamund Gray_, and had written of Lamb in _The Pamphleteer_ as one of the chief of living poets. He then became an ardent supporter of Wordsworth, his princ.i.p.al criticism of whom was written later for the _New Monthly Magazine_.

"If presents be not the soul of friendship." Lamb's "Thoughts on Presents of Game," written many years later for _The Athenaeum_, carries on this theme (see Vol. I.).

"Alsager." Thomas Ma.s.sa Alsager, a friend of Crabb Robinson, and through him of Lamb, was a strange blend of the financial and the musical critic. He controlled the departments of Money and Music for _The Times_ for many years.

"Field"--Barron Field (see note later).

"C. Ll."--Capell Lofft (see note on page 475). He wrote to the Morning Chronicle for August 2 and 3, 1815, as Lamb says. The gist of his argument was in this sentence:--

[7th para.] Bonaparte with the concurrence of the _Admiralty_, is _within_ the limits of British _local_ allegiance. He is a _temporary_, considered as private, though not a natural born _subject_, and as _such_ within the limits of 31 Car. II. the _Habeas Corpus_ Act, [etc.].

On August 10 he wrote again, quoting the lines from "The Tempest":--

The n.o.bler action is, In virtue than in vengeance:--He being here The sole drift of our purpose, wrath here ends; Not a frown further.

"An Essay on the Drama." This cryptic pa.s.sage refers, I imagine, to a translation by John Black, afterwards the editor of the _Morning Chronicle_, of August Von Schlegel's _Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature_, 2 vols., 1815. Does Lamb mean

"And yet, I dare say, _I know as much_ as Von Slagel _did_"?

"Charron on Wisdom" and "Patrick's Pilgrim." Pierre Charron's _De la Sagesse_, and Bishop Patrick's _Parable of the Pilgrim_, 1664, a curious independent antic.i.p.ation of Bunyan. Lamb had written of both these books in a little essay contributed in 1813 to _The Examiner_, ent.i.tled "Books with One Idea in them" (see Vol. I.).

"A Clerk I was in London Gay." A song sung in Colman's "Inkle and Yarico," which Lamb actually did use as a motto for his _Elia_ essay "The Superannuated Man," dealing with his emanc.i.p.ation, ten years later.]

LETTER 221

MARY LAMB TO SARAH HUTCHINSON [Dated at end: August 20, 1815.]

My dear friend, It is less fatigue to me to write upon lines, and I want to fill up as much of my paper as I can in grat.i.tude for the pleasure your very kind letter has given me. I began to think I should not hear from you; knowing you were not fond of letter-writing I quite forgave you, but I was very sorry. Do not make a point of conscience of it, but if ever you feel an inclination you cannot think how much a few lines would delight me. I am happy to hear so good an account of your sister and child, and sincerely wish her a perfect recovery. I am glad you did not arrive sooner, you escaped much anxiety. I have just received a very chearful letter from Mrs. Morgan--the following I have picked out as I think it will interest you. "Hartley Coleridge has been with us for two months. Morgan invited him to pa.s.s the long vacation here in the hope that his father would be of great service to him in his studies: he seems to be extremely amiable. I believe he is to spend the next vacation at Lady Beaumont's. Your old friend Coleridge is very hard at work at the preface to a new Edition which he is just going to publish in the same form as Mr. Wordsworth's--at first the preface was not to exceed five or six pages, it has however grown into a work of great importance. I believe Morgan has already written nearly two hundred pages. The t.i.tle of it is '_Autobiographia Literaria_' to which are added '_Sybilline Leaves_,' a collection of Poems by the same author.

Calne has lately been much enlivened by an excellent company of players--last week they performed the 'Remorse' to a very crowded and brilliant audience; two of the characters were admirably well supported; at the request of the actors Morgan was behind the scenes all the time and a.s.sisted in the music &c."

Thanks to your kind interference we have had a very nice letter from Mr.

Wordsworth. Of them and of you we think and talk quite with a painful regret that we did not see more of you, and that it may be so long before we meet again.

I am going to do a queer thing--I have wearied myself with writing a long letter to Mrs. Morgan, a part of which is an incoherent rambling account of a jaunt we have just been taking. I want to tell you all about it, for we so seldom do such things that it runs strangely in my head, and I feel too tired to give you other than the mere copy of the nonsense I have just been writing.

"Last Sat.u.r.day was the grand feast day of the India House Clerks. I think you must have heard Charles talk of his yearly turtle feast. He has been lately much wearied with work, and, glad to get rid of all connected with it, he _used_ Sat.u.r.day, the feast day being a holiday, _borrowed_ the Monday following, and we set off on the outside of the Cambridge Coach from Fetter Lane at eight o'clock, and were driven into Cambridge in great triumph by h.e.l.l Fire d.i.c.k five minutes before three.

Richard is in high reputation, he is private tutor to the Whip Club.

Journeys used to be tedious torments to me, but seated out in the open air I enjoyed every mile of the way--the first twenty miles was particularly pleasing to me, having been accustomed to go so far on that road in the Ware Stage Coach to visit my Grandmother in the days of other times.

"In my life I never spent so many pleasant hours together as I did at Cambridge. We were walking the whole time--out of one College into another. If you ask me which I like best I must make the children's traditionary unoffending reply to all curious enquirers--'_Both_.' I liked them all best. The little gloomy ones, because they were little gloomy ones. I felt as if I could live and die in them and never wish to speak again. And the fine grand Trinity College, Oh how fine it was! And King's College Chapel, what a place! I heard the Cathedral service there, and having been no great church goer of late years, _that_ and the painted windows and the general effect of the whole thing affected me wonderfully.

"I certainly like St. John's College best. I had seen least of it, having only been over it once, so, on the morning we returned, I got up at six o'clock and wandered into it by myself--by myself indeed, for there was nothing alive to be seen but one cat, who followed me about like a dog. Then I went over Trinity, but nothing hailed me there, not even a cat.

"On the Sunday we met with a pleasant thing. We had been congratulating each other that we had come alone to enjoy, as the miser his feast, all our sights greedily to ourselves, but having seen all we began to grow flat and wish for this and tother body with us, when we were accosted by a young gownsman whose face we knew, but where or how we had seen him we could not tell, and were obliged to ask his name. He proved to be a young man we had seen twice at Alsager's. He turned out a very pleasant fellow--shewed us the insides of places--we took him to our Inn to dinner, and drank tea with him in such a delicious college room, and then again he supped with us. We made our meals as short as possible, to lose no time, and walked our young conductor almost off his legs. Even when the fried eels were ready for supper and coming up, having a message from a man who we had bribed for the purpose, that then we might see Oliver Cromwell, who was not at home when we called to see him, we sallied out again and made him a visit by candlelight--and so ended our sights. When we were setting out in the morning our new friend came to bid us good bye, and rode with us as far as Trompington. I never saw a creature so happy as he was the whole time he was with us, he said we had put him in such good spirits that [he] should certainly pa.s.s an examination well that he is to go through in six weeks in order to qualify himself to obtain a fellowship.

"Returning home down old Fetter Lane I could hardly keep from crying to think it was all over. With what pleasure [Charles] shewed me Jesus College where Coleridge was--the barbe[r's shop] where Manning was--the house where Lloyd lived--Franklin's rooms, a young schoolfellow with whom Charles was the first time he went to Cambridge: I peeped in at his window, the room looked quite deserted--old chairs standing about in disorder that seemed to have stood there ever since they had sate in them. I write sad nonsense about these things, but I wish you had heard Charles talk his nonsense over and over again about his visit to Franklin, and how he then first felt himself commencing gentleman and had eggs for his breakfast." Charles Lamb commencing gentleman!

A lady who is sitting by me seeing what I am doing says I remind her of her husband, who acknowledged that the first love letter he wrote to her was a copy of one he had made use of on a former occasion.

This is no letter, but if you give me any encouragement to write again you shall have one entirely to yourself: a little encouragement will do, a few lines to say you are well and remember us. I will keep this tomorrow, maybe Charles will put a few lines to it--I always send off a humdrum letter of mine with great satisfaction if I can get him to freshen it up a little at the end. Let me beg my love to your sister Johanna with many thanks. I have much pleasure in looking forward to her nice bacon, the maker of which I long have had a great desire to see.

G.o.d bless you, my dear Miss Hutchinson, I remain ever Your affectionate friend M. LAMB.

Aug'st. 20.

LETTER 222

CHARLES LAMB TO Miss HUTCHINSON (_Added to same letter_)

Dear Miss Hutchinson, I subscribe most willingly to all my sister says of her Enjoyment at Cambridge. She was in silent raptures all the while _there_ and came home riding thro' the air (her 1st long outside journey) triumphing as if she had been _graduated_. I remember one foolish-pretty expression she made use of, "Bless the little churches how pretty they are," as those symbols of civilized life opened upon her view one after the other on this side Cambridge. You cannot proceed a mile without starting a steeple, with its little patch of villagery round it, enverduring the waste. I don't know how you will pardon part of her letter being a transcript, but writing to another Lady first (probably as the _easiest task_ *) it was unnatural not to give you an acco't of what had so freshly delighted her, and would have been a piece of transcendant rhetorick (above her modesty) to have given two different accounts of a simple and univocal pleasure. Bless me how learned I write! but I always forget myself when I write to Ladies. One cannot tame one's erudition down to their merely English apprehensions.

But this and all other faults you will excuse from yours truly

C. LAMB.

Our kindest loves to Joanna, if she will accept it from us who are merely NOMINAL to her, and to the child and child's parent. Yours again

C. L.

[_Mary Lamb adds this footnote:_--]

* "_Easiest Task_." Not the true reason, but Charles had so connected Coleridge & Cambridge in my mind, by talking so much of him there, and a letter coming so fresh from _him_, in a manner _that was the reason_ I wrote to them first. I make this apology perhaps quite unnecessarily, but I am of a very jealous temper myself, and more than once recollect having been offended at seeing kind expressions which had particularly pleased me in a friend's letter repeated word for word to another--Farewell once more.

[I have no idea why this charming letter was held back when Talfourd copied the Lamb-Wordsworth correspondence. The name of the young man who showed the Lambs such courtesy is not known.