[No date. End of 1827.]

My dear B.--We are all pretty well again and comfortable, and I take a first opportunity of sending the Adventures of Ulysses, hoping that among us--Homer, Chapman, and _C'o_.--we shall afford you some pleasure.

I fear, it is out of print, if not, A.K. will accept it, with wishes it were bigger; if another copy is not to be had, it reverts to me and my heirs _for ever_. With it I send a trumpery book; to which, without my knowledge, the Editor of the Bijoux has contributed Lucy's verses: I am asham'd to ask her acceptance of the trash accompanying it. Adieu to Alb.u.ms--for a great while, I said when I came here, and had not been fixed two days but my Landlord's daughter (not at the Pot house) requested me to write in her female friend's, and in her own; if I go to [blank s.p.a.ce: something seems to be missing] thou art there also, O all pervading ALb.u.m! All over the Leeward Islands, in Newfoundland, and the Back Settlements, I understand there is no other reading. They haunt me.

I die of Albo-phobia!

["A trumpery book." I have not found it. Writing in the _Englishman's Magazine_ in 1831, in a review of his own _Alb.u.m Verses_, Lamb amplifies his sentiments on alb.u.ms (see Vol. I.).]

LETTER 446

CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP

[January 9, 1828.]

Dear Allsop--I have been very poorly and nervous lately, but am recovering sleep, &c. I do not invite or make engagements for particular days; but I need not say how pleasant your dropping in _any_ Sunday morn'g would be. Perhaps Jameson would accompany you. Pray beg him to keep an accurate record of the warning I sent by him to old Pan, for I dread lest he should at the 12 months' end deny the warning. The house is his daughter's, but we took it through him, and have paid the rent to his receipts for his daughter's. Consult J. if he thinks the warning sufficient. I am very nervous, or have been, about the house; lost my sleep, & expected to be ill; but slumbered gloriously last night golden slumbers. I shall not relapse. You fright me with your inserted slips in the most welcome Atlas. They begin to charge double for it, & call it two sheets. How can I confute them by opening it, when a note of yours might slip out, & we get in a hobble? When you write, write real letters. Mary's best love & mine to Mrs. A.

Yours ever, C. LAMB.

[I cannot explain the business part of this letter.]

LETTER 447

CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON

[P.M. (? January, Sunday) 1828.]

Dear Moxon I have to thank you for despatching so much business for me.

I am uneasy respecting the enclosed receipts which you sent me and are dated Jan. 1827. Pray get them chang'd by Mr. Henshall to 182_8_. I have been in a very nervous way since I saw you. Pray excuse me to the Hoods for not answering his very pleasant letter. I am very poorly. The "Keepsake" I hope is return'd. I sent it back by Mrs. Hazlitt on Thursday. 'Twas blotted outside when it came. The rest I think are mine.

My heart bleeds about poor Hone, that such an agreeable book, and a Book there seem'd no reason should not go on for ever, should be given up, and a thing subst.i.tuted which in its Nature cannot last. Don't send me any more "Companions," for it only vexes me about the Table Book. This is not weather to hope to see any body _to day_, but without any particular invitations, pray consider that we are _at any time_ most glad to see you, You (with Hunt's "Lord Byron" or Hazlitt's "Napoleon"

in your hand) or You simply with your switch &c. The night was d.a.m.nable and the morning is not too bless-able. If you get my dates changed, I will not trouble you with business for some time. Best of all rememb'ces to the Hoods, with a malicious congratulation on their friend Rice's advancem't.

Yours truly C. LAMB.

[Hone's _Table Book_ ceased with 1827: it was succeeded by a reprint, in monthly parts, of Strutt's _Sports and Pastimes_.

_The Companion_ would be the periodical started by Leigh Hunt in 1828.

"Hazlitt's 'Napoleon.'" Of this work the first two volumes appeared in 1828, and the next two in 1830.

"Their friend Rice's advancement." I cannot say to what this would refer. Rice was Edward Rice.]

LETTER 448

CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON

[P.M. Feb. 18, 1828.]

Dear M. I had rather thought to have seen you yesterday, or I should have written to thank you for your attentions in the Book way &c. Hone's address is, _22_ Belvidere Place, Southwark. 'Tis near the Obelisk. I can only say we shall be most glad to see you, when weather suits, and that it will be a joyful surprisal to see the Hoods. I should write to them, but am poorly and nervous. Emma is very proud of her Valentine. Mary does not immediately want Books, having a d.a.m.n'd consignment of Novels in MS. from Malta: which I wish the Mediterranean had in its guts. Believe me yours truly C.L.

Monday.

[Emma's valentine probably came from Moxon, who, I feel sure, in spite of Lamb's utterance in a previous letter, had not yet told his love, if it had really budded.

"Novels in MS."--Lady Stoddart's, we may suppose (see letter above).]

LETTER 449

CHARLES LAMB TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE

Enfield, 25 Feb. [1828].

My dear Clarke,--You have been acc.u.mulating on me such a heap of pleasant obligations that I feel uneasy in writing as to a Benefactor.

Your smaller contributions, the little weekly rills, are refreshments in the Desart, but your large books were feasts. I hope Mrs. Hazlitt, to whom I encharged it, has taken Hunt's Lord B. to the Novellos. His picture of Literary Lordship is as pleasant as a disagreeable subject can be made, his own poor man's Education at dear Christ's is as good and hearty as the subject. Hazlitt's speculative episodes are capital; I skip the Battles. But how did I deserve to have the Book? The _Companion_ has too much of Madam Pasta. Theatricals have ceased to be popular attractions. His walk home after the Play is as good as the best of the old Indicators. The watchmen are emboxed in a niche of fame, save the skaiting one that must be still fugitive. I wish I could send a sc.r.a.p for good will. But I have been most seriously unwell and nervous a long long time. I have scarce mustered courage to begin this short note, but conscience duns me.

I had a pleasant letter from your sister, greatly over-acknowledging my poor sonnet. I think I should have replied to it, but tell her I think so. Alas for sonnetting, 'tis as the nerves are; all the summer I was dawdling among green lanes, and verses came as thick as fancies. I am sunk winterly below prose and zero.

But I trust the vital principle is only as under snow. That I shall yet laugh again.

I suppose the great change of place affects me, but I could not have lived in Town, I could not bear company.

I see Novello flourishes in the Del Capo line, and dedications are not forgotten. I read the _Atlas_. When I pitched on the Ded'n I looked for the Broom of "_Cowden_ knows" to be harmonized, but 'twas summat of Rossini's.

I want to hear about Hone, does he stand above water, how is his son? I have delay'd writing to him, till it seems impossible. Break the ice for me.

The wet ground here is intolerable, the sky above clear and delusive, but under foot quagmires from night showers, and I am cold-footed and moisture-abhorring as a cat; nevertheless I yesterday tramped to Waltham Cross; perhaps the poor bit of exertion necessary to scribble this was owing to that unusual bracing.

If I get out, I shall get stout, and then something will out --I mean for the _Companion_--you see I rhyme insensibly.

Traditions are rife here of one Clarke a schoolmaster, and a runaway pickle named Holmes, but much obscurity hangs over it. Is it possible they can be any relations?

'Tis worth the research, when you can find a sunny day, with ground firm, &c. Master s.e.xton is intelligent, and for half-a-crown he'll pick you up a Father.

In truth we shall be most glad to see any of the Novellian circle, middle of the week such as can come, or Sunday, as can't. But Spring will burgeon out quickly, and then, we'll talk more.

You'd like to see the improvements on the Chase, the new Cross in the market-place, the Chandler's shop from whence the rods were fetch'd.

They are raised a farthing since the spread of Education. But perhaps you don't care to be reminded of the Holofernes' days, and nothing remains of the old laudable profession, but the clear, firm, impossible-to-be-mistaken schoolmaster text hand with which is subscribed the ever-welcome name of Chas. Cowden C. Let me crowd in both our loves to all. C.L.