Dear Hone,--having occasion to write to Clarke I put in a bit to you. I see no Extracts in this N'o. You should have three sets in hand, one long one in particular from Atreus and Thyestes, terribly fine. Don't spare 'em; with fragments, divided as you please, they'll hold out to Xmas. What I have to say is enjoined me most seriously to say to you by Moxon. Their country customers grieve at getting the Table Book so late.

It is indispensable it should appear on Friday. Do it but _once_, & you'll never know the difference.

FABLE

A boy at my school, a cunning fox, for one penny ensured himself a hot roll & b.u.t.ter every morning for ever. Some favor'd ones were allowed a roll & b.u.t.ter to their breakfasts. He had none. But he bought one one morning. What did he do? He did not eat it, but cutting it in two, sold each one of the halves to a half-breakfasted Blue Boy for _his_ whole roll to-morrow. The next day he had a whole roll to eat, and two halves to swap with other two boys, who had eat their cake & were still not satiated, for whole ones to-morrow. So on ad infinitum. By one morning's abstinence he feasted seven years after.

APPLICATION

Bring out the next N'o. on Friday, for country correspondents' sake.

I[t] will be one piece of exertion, and you will go right ever after, for you will have just the time you had before, to bring it out ever after by the Friday.

You don't know the difference in getting a thing early. Your correspondents are your authors. You don't know how an author frets to know the world has got his contribution, when he finds it not on his breakfast table.

ONCE in this case is EVER without a grain of trouble afterw'ds.

I won't like you or speak to you if you don't try it once.

Yours, on that condition,

C. LAMB.

[This letter is dated by Mr. Hazlitt conjecturally 1826, but I think it more probably October, 1827, as the extracts (pa.s.sages from Crowne's "Thyestes") contributed by Lamb to Hone's _Table Book_ were printed late in 1827.

In Lamb's next note to Hone he says how glad he was to receive the _Table Book_ early on Friday: the result of the fable.]

LETTER 437

CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS HOOD

[No date. ? 1827.]

Dear H.,--Emma has a favour, besides a bed, to ask of Mrs. Hood. Your parcel was gratifying. We have all been pleased with Mrs. Leslie; I speak it most sincerely. There is much manly sense with a feminine expression, which is my definition of ladies' writing.

[_Mrs. Leslie and Her Grandchildren_, 1827, was the t.i.tle of a book for children by Mrs. Reynolds, mother of John Hamilton Reynolds and Mrs.

Hood, and wife of the Writing Master at Christ's Hospital.]

LETTER 438

CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON

[No date. Late 1827.]

My dear B.B.--You will understand my silence when I tell you that my sister, on the very eve of entering into a new house we have taken at Enfield, was surprised with an attack of one of her sad long illnesses, which deprive me of her society, tho' not of her domestication, for eight or nine weeks together. I see her, but it does her no good. But for this, we have the snuggest, most comfortable house, with every thing most compact and desirable. Colebrook is a wilderness. The Books, prints, etc., are come here, and the New River came down with us. The familiar Prints, the Bust, the Milton, seem scarce to have changed their rooms. One of her last observations was "how frightfully like this room is to our room in Islington"--our up-stairs room, she meant. How I hope you will come some better day, and judge of it! We have tried quiet here for four months, and I will answer for the comfort of it enduring.

On emptying my bookshelves I found an Ulysses, which I will send to A.K.

when I go to town, for her acceptance-- unless the Book be out of print.

One likes to have one copy of every thing one does. I neglected to keep one of "Poetry for Children," the joint production of Mary and me, and it is not to be had for love or money. It had in the t.i.tle-page "by the author of Mrs. Lester's School." Know you any one that has it, and would exchange it?

Strolling to Waltham Cross the other day, I hit off these lines. It is one of the Crosses which Edw'd 1st caused to be built for his wife at every town where her corpse rested between Northamptonsh'r and London.

A stately Cross each sad spot doth attest, Whereat the corpse of Elinor did rest, From Herdby fetch'd--her Spouse so honour'd her-- To sleep with royal dust at Westminster.

And, if less pompous obsequies were thine, Duke Brunswick's daughter, princely Caroline, Grudge not, great ghost, nor count thy funeral losses: Thou in thy life-time had'st thy share of crosses.

My dear B.B.--My head akes with this little excursion. Pray accept 2 sides for 3 for once.

And believe me Yours sadly C.L.

Chace side Enfield.

["An Ulysses"--Lamb's book for children, _The Adventures of Ulysses_, 1808.

_The Poetry for Children_. The known copies of the first edition of this work can be counted on the fingers.

"A stately Cross..." These verses were printed in the _Englishman's Magazine_ in September, 1831. Lamb's sympathies were wholly with Caroline of Brunswick, as his epigrams in _The Champion_ show (see Vol.

IV. of this edition).]

LETTER 439

CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON

[P.M. December 4, 1827.]

My dear B.B.--I have scarce spirits to write, yet am hara.s.s'd with not writing. Nine weeks are completed, and Mary does not get any better. It is perfectly exhausting. Enfield and every thing is very gloomy. But for long experience, I should fear her ever getting well.

I feel most thankful for the spinsterly attentions of your sister. Thank the kind "knitter in the sun."

What nonsense seems verse, when one is seriously out of hope and spirits! I mean that at this time I have some nonsense to write, pain of incivility. Would to the fifth heaven no c.o.xcombess had invented Alb.u.ms.

I have not had a Bijoux, nor the slightest notice from Pickering about omitting 4 out of 5 of my things. The best thing is never to hear of such a thing as a bookseller again, or to think there are publishers: second hand Stationers and Old Book Stalls for me. Authorship should be an idea of the Past.

Old Kings, old Bishops, are venerable. All present is hollow.

I cannot make a Letter. I have no straw, not a pennyworth of chaff, only this may stop your kind importunity to know about us.

Here is a comfortable house, but no tenants. One does not make a household.

Do not think I am quite in despair, but in addition to hope protracted, I have a stupifying cold and obstructing headache, and the sun is dead.

I will not fail to apprise you of the revival of a Beam.

Meantime accept this, rather than think I have forgotten you all.