C. LAMB.

Has Moxon sent you "Elia," second volume? if not, he shall. Taylor and we are at law about it.

["Darley's act." Not now identifiable, I think.

"Taylor and we." The case had apparently not been settled by Procter. I have not found any report of a law-suit.]

LETTER 589

CHARLES AND MARY LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON

[P.M. Sept. 26, 1833.]

Thursday.

We shall be most happy to see Emma, dear to every body. Mary's spirits are much better, and she longs to see again our twelve years' friend.

You shall afternoon sip with me a bottle of superexcellent Port, after deducting a dinner-gla.s.s for them. We rejoyce to have E. come, the _first Visit_, without Miss ----, who, I trust, will yet behave well; but she might perplex Mary with questions. Pindar sadly wants Preface and notes. Pray, E., get to Snow Hill before 12, for we dine before 2.

We will make it 2. By mistake I gave you Miss Betham's letter, with the exquisite verses, which pray return to me, or if it be an improved copy, give me the other, and Alb.u.mize mine, keeping the signature. It is too pretty a family portrait, for you not to cherish.

Your loving friends

C. LAMB.

M. LAMB.

[Pindar was Cary's edition, which Moxon had just published. Miss Betham's verses I am sorry not to be able to give; but the following poem was addressed to Moxon by Lamb and printed in _The Athenaeum_ for December 7, 1833:--

TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE

What makes a happy wedlock? What has fate Not given to thee in thy well-chosen mate?

Good sense--good humour;--these are trivial things, Dear M-----, that each trite encomiast sings.

But she hath these, and more. A mind exempt From every low-bred pa.s.sion, where contempt, Nor envy, nor detraction, ever found A harbour yet; an understanding sound; Just views of right and wrong; perception full Of the deformed, and of the beautiful, In life and manners; wit above her s.e.x, Which, as a gem, her sprightly converse decks; Exuberant fancies, prodigal of mirth, To gladden woodland walk, or winter hearth; A n.o.ble nature, conqueror in the strife Of conflict with a hard discouraging life, Strengthening the veins of virtue, past the power Of those whose days have been one silken hour, Spoil'd fortune's pamper'd offspring; a keen sense Alike of benefit, and of offence, With reconcilement quick, that instant springs From the charged heart with nimble angel wings; While grateful feelings, like a signet sign'd By a strong hand, seem burnt into her mind.

If these, dear friend, a dowry can confer Richer than land, thou hast them all in her; And beauty, which some hold the chiefest boon, Is in thy bargain for a make-weight thrown.]

LETTER 590

CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON

[P.M. Oct. 17, 1833.]

Dear M.--Get me Shirley (there's a dear fellow) and send it soon. We sadly want books, and this will be readable again and again, and pay itself. Tell Emma I grieve for the poor self-punishing self-baffling Lady; with all our hearts we grieve for the pain and vexation she has encounterd; but we do not swerve a pin's-thought from the propriety of your measures. G.o.d comfort her, and there's an end of a painful necessity. But I am glad she goes to see her. Let her keep up all the kindness she can between them. In a week or two I hope Mary will be stout enough to come among ye, but she is not now, and I have scruples of coming alone, as she has no pleasant friend to sit with her in my absence. We are lonely. I fear the visits must be mostly from you. By the way omnibuses are 1's/3'd and coach _insides_ sunk to l/6--a hint.

Without disturbance to yourselves, or upsetting the economy of the dear new mistress of a family, come and see us as often as ever you can. We are so out of the world, that a letter from either of you now and then, detailing any thing, Book or Town news, is as good as a newspaper. I have desperate colds, cramps, megrims &c., but do not despond. My fingers are numb'd, as you see by my writing. Tell E. I am _very good_ also. But we are poor devils, that's the truth of it. I won't apply to Dilke-- just now at least--I sincerely hope the pastoral air of Dover St. will recruit poor Harriet. With best loves to all.

Yours ever

C.L.

Ryle and Lowe dined here on Sunday; the manners of the latter, so gentlemanly! have attracted the special admiration of our Landlady. She guest R. to be nearly of my age. He always had an old head on young shoulders. I fear I shall always have the opposite. Tell me any thing of Foster [Forster] or any body. Write any thing you think will amuse me. I do dearly hope in a week or two to surprise you with our appearance in Dover St....

[Shirley would be Dyce's edition of James Shirley, the dramatist, in six volumes, 1833.

Harriet was Harriet Isola.

"Ryle and Lowe." Ryle we have met, but I do not identify Lowe.

I have omitted some lines about family matters at the end of the letter.]

LETTER 591

CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD AND EMMA MOXON

Nov. 29th, 1833.

Mary is of opinion with me, that two of these Sonnets are of a higher grade than any poetry you have done yet. The one to Emma is so pretty! I have only allowed myself to transpose a word in the third line. Sacred shall it be for any intermeddling of mine. But we jointly beg that you will make four lines in the room of the four last. Read "Darby and Joan," in Mrs. Moxon's first alb.u.m. There you'll see how beautiful in age the looking back to youthful years in an old couple is. But it is a violence to the feelings to antic.i.p.ate that time in youth. I hope you and Emma will have many a quarrel and many a make-up (and she is beautiful in reconciliation!) before the dark days shall come, in which ye shall say "there is small comfort in them." You have begun a sort of character of Emma in them very sweetly; carry it on, if you can, through the last lines.

I love the sonnet to my heart, and you _shall_ finish it, and I'll be d.a.m.n'd if I furnish a line towards it. So much for that. The next best is

TO THE OCEAN

"Ye gallant winds, if e'er your l.u.s.tY CHEEKS Blew longing lover to his mistress' side, O, puff your loudest, spread the canvas wide,"

is spirited. The last line I altered, and have re-altered it as it stood. It is closer. These two are your best. But take a good deal of time in finishing the first. How proud should Emma be of her poets!

Perhaps "O Ocean" (though I like it) is too much of the open vowels, which Pope objects to. "Great Ocean!" is obvious. "To save sad thoughts"

I think is better (though not good) than for the mind to save herself.

But 'tis a n.o.ble Sonnet. "St. Cloud" I have no fault to find with.

If I return the Sonnets, think it no disrespect; for I look for a printed copy. You have done better than ever. And now for a reason I did not notice 'em earlier. On Wednesday they came, and on Wednesday I was a-gadding. Mary gave me a holiday, and I set off to Snow Hill. From Snow Hill I deliberately was marching down, with n.o.ble Holborn before me, framing in mental cogitation a map of the dear London in prospect, thinking to traverse Wardour-street, &c., when diabolically I was interrupted by

Heigh-ho!

Little Barrow!--

Emma knows him,--and prevailed on to spend the day at his sister's, where was an alb.u.m, and (O march of intellect!) plenty of literary conversation, and more acquaintance with the state of modern poetry than I could keep up with. I was positively distanced. Knowles' play, which, epilogued by me, lay on the PIANO, alone made me hold up my head. When I came home I read your letter, and glimpsed at your beautiful sonnet,

"Fair art them as the morning, my young bride,"

and dwelt upon it in a confused brain, but determined not to open them till next day, being in a state not to be told of at Chatteris. Tell it not in Gath, Emma, lest the daughters triumph! I am at the end of my tether. I wish you could come on Tuesday with your fair bride. Why can't you! Do. We are thankful to your sister for being of the party. Come, and _bring_ a sonnet on Mary's birthday. Love to the whole Moxonry, and tell E. I every day love her more, and miss her less. Tell her so from her loving uncle, as she has let me call myself. I bought a fine embossed card yesterday, and wrote for the p.a.w.nbrokeress's alb.u.m. She is a Miss Brown, engaged to a Mr. White. One of the lines was (I forget the rest--but she had them at twenty-four hours' notice; she is going out to India with her husband):--

"May your fame And fortune, Frances, WHITEN with your name!"