Encrustation that we used to pick-axe open about this season in old
Gloster Place. When shall we eat another Goosepye together? The pheasant
too must not be forgotten, twice as big and half as good as a partridge.
You ask about the editor of the Lond. I know of none. This first
specimen is flat and pert enough to justify subscribers who grudge at
t'other shilling. De Quincey's Parody was submitted to him before
printed, and had his Probatum. The "Horns" is in a poor taste,
resembling the most laboured papers in the Spectator. I had sign'd it
"Jack Horner:" but Taylor and Hessey said, it would be thought an
offensive article, unless I put my known signature to it; and wrung from
me my slow consent. But did you read the "Memoir of Liston"? and did you
guess whose it was? Of all the Lies I ever put off, I value this most.
It is from top to toe, every paragraph, Pure Invention; and has passed
for Gospel, has been republished in newspapers, and in the penny
play-bills of the Night, as an authentic Account. I shall certainly go
to the Naughty Man some day for my Fibbings. In the next No. I figure as
a Theologian! and have attacked my late brethren, the Unitarians. What
Jack Pudding tricks I shall play next, I know not. I am almost at the
end of my Tether.
Coleridge is quite blooming; but his Book has not budded yet. I hope I
have spelt Torquay right now, and that this will find you all mending,
and looking forward to a London flight with the Spring. Winter _we_ have
had none, but plenty of foul weather. I have lately pick'd up an Epigram
which pleased me.
Two noble Earls, whom if I quote,
Some folks might call me Sinner;
The one invented half a coat;
The other half a dinner.
The plan was good, as some will say
And fitted to console one:
Because, in this poor starving day,
Few can afford a whole one.
I have made the Lame one still lamer by imperfect memory, but spite of
bald diction, a little done to it might improve it into a good one. You
have nothing else to do at [_"Talk kay" here written and scratched out_]
Torquay. Suppose you try it. Well God bless you all, as wishes Mary,
[most] sincerely, with many thanks for Letter &c. ELIA.
[The Monkhouses' house in London was at 34 Gloucester Place.
Lamb's De Quincey parody was the "Letter to an Old Gentleman, whose
Education has been Neglected."
"Coleridge's book"--the _Aids to Reflection_, published in May or June,
1825.
"I have lately pick'd up an Epigram." This is by Henry Man, an old
South-Sea House clerk, whom in his South-Sea House essay Lamb mentions
as a wit. The epigram, which refers to Lord Spencer and Lord Sandwich,
will be found in Man's _Miscellaneous Works_, 1802.]
LETTER 362
CHARLES LAMB TO VINCENT NOVELLO
[P.M. Jan. 25, 1825.]
Dear Corelli, My sister's cold is as obstinate as an old Handelian, whom
a modern amateur is trying to convert to Mozart-ism. As company must &
always does injure it, Emma and I propose to come to you in the evening
of to-morrow, _instead of meeting here_. An early bread-and-cheese
supper at 1/2 past eight will oblige us.
Loves to the Bearer of many Children. C. LAMB.
Tuesday Colebrooke.
I sign with a black seal, that you may begin to think, her cold has
killed Mary, which will be an agreeable UNSURPRISE when you read the
Note.
[This is the first letter to Novello, who was the peculiar champion of
Mozart and Haydn. Lamb calls him Corelli after Archangelo Corelli
(1653-1713), the violinist and composer. It was part of a joke between
Lamb and Novello that Lamb should affect to know a great deal about
music. See the _Elia_ essay "A Chapter on Ears" for a description of
Novello's playing. Mrs. Novello was the mother of eleven children.]
LETTER 363
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[Dated at end: 10 February, 1825.]
Dear B.B.--I am vexed that ugly paper should have offended. I kept it
as clear from objectionable phrases as possible, and it was Hessey's
fault, and my weakness, that it did not appear anonymous. No more of it
for God's sake.
The Spirit of the Age is by Hazlitt. The characters of Coleridge, &c. he
had done better in former publications, the praise and the abuse much
stronger, &c. but the new ones are capitally done. Horne Tooke is a
matchless portrait. My advice is, to borrow it rather than read [? buy]
it. I have it. He has laid on too many colours on my likeness, but I
have had so much injustice done me in my own name, that I make a rule of
accepting as much over-measure to Elia as Gentlemen think proper to
bestow. Lay it on and spare not.
Your Gentleman Brother sets my mouth a watering after Liberty. O that I
were kicked out of Leadenhall with every mark of indignity, and a
competence in my fob. The birds of the air would not be so free as I
should. How I would prance and curvet it, and pick up cowslips, and
ramble about purposeless as an ideot! The Author-mometer is a good
fancy. I have caused great speculation in the dramatic (not _thy_) world
by a Lying Life of Liston, all pure invention. The Town has swallowed
it, and it is copied into News Papers, Play Bills, etc., as authentic.
You do not know the Droll, and possibly missed reading the article (in
our 1st No., New Series). A life more improbable for him to have lived
would not be easily invented. But your rebuke, coupled with "Dream on J.
Bunyan," checks me. I'd rather do more in my favorite way, but feel dry.
I must laugh sometimes. I am poor Hypochondriacus, and _not_ Liston.
Our 2'nd N'o is all trash. What are T. and H. about? It is whip
syllabub, "thin sown with aught of profit or delight." Thin sown! not a
germ of fruit or corn. Why did poor Scott die! There was comfort in
writing with such associates as were his little band of Scribblers, some
gone away, some affronted away, and I am left as the solitary widow
looking for water cresses.
The only clever hand they have is Darley, who has written on the
Dramatists, under name of John Lacy. But his function seems suspended.
I have been harassed more than usually at office, which has stopt my
correspondence lately. I write with a confused aching head, and you must
accept this apology for a Letter.
I will do something soon if I can as a peace offering to the Queen of
the East Angles. Something she shan't scold about.
For the Present, farewell.
Thine C.L.
10 Feb. 1825.
I am fifty years old this day. Drink my health.
["That ugly paper" was "A Vision of Horns."
Hazlitt's _Spirit of the Age_ had just been published, containing
criticisms, among others, of Coleridge, Horne Tooke, and Lamb. Lamb was
very highly praised. Here is a passage from the article:--
How admirably he has sketched the former inmates of the South-Sea
House; what "fine fretwork he makes of their double and single
entries!" With what a firm yet subtle pencil he has embodied "Mrs.
Battle's Opinions on Whist!" How notably he embalms a battered
_beau_; how delightfully an amour, that was cold forty years ago,
revives in his pages! With what well-disguised humour he introduces
us to his relations, and how freely he serves up his friends!
Certainly, some of his portraits are _fixtures_, and will do to hang
up as lasting and lively emblems of human infirmity. Then there is
no one who has so sure an ear for "the chimes at midnight," not even
excepting Mr. Justice Shallow; nor could Master Silence himself take
his "cheese and pippins" with a more significant and satisfactory
air. With what a gusto Mr. Lamb describes the Inns and Courts of
law, the Temple and Gray's Inn, as if he had been a student there
for the last two hundred years, and had been as well acquainted with
the person of Sir Francis Bacon as he is with his portrait or
writings! It is hard to say whether St. John's Gate is connected
with more intense and authentic associations in his mind, as a part
of old London Wall, or as the frontispiece (time out of mind) of the
_Gentleman's Magazine_. He hunts Watling Street like a gentle
spirit; the avenues to the play-houses are thick with panting
recollections; and Christ's Hospital still breathes the balmy breath
of infancy in his description of it!
"Your Gentleman Brother"--John Barton, Bernard's younger half-brother.
"The Author-mometer." I have not discovered to what Lamb refers.
"Dream on J. Bunyan." Probably a poem by Barton, but I have not traced
it.
"T. and H."--Taylor & Hessey.
"Poor Scott"--John Scott, who founded the _London Magazine_.
"Darley"--George Darley (1795-1846), author of _Sylvia; or, The May
Queen_, 1827.
"The Queen of the East Angles." Possibly Lucy Barton, possibly Anne
Knight, a friend of Barton's.]
LETTER 364
CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS MANNING
[Not dated. ? February, 1825.]
My dear M.,--You might have come inopportunely a week since, when we had
an inmate. At present and for as long as _ever_ you like, our castle is
at your service. I saw Tuthill yesternight, who has done for me what may
"To all my nights and days to come,
Give solely sovran sway and masterdom."
But I dare not hope, for fear of disappointment. I cannot be more
explicit at present. But I have it under his own hand, that I am
_non_-capacitated (I cannot write it _in_-) for business. O joyous
imbecility! Not a susurration of this to _anybody!_
Mary's love.
C. LAMB.
[Lamb had just taken a most momentous step in his career and had
consulted Tuthill as to his health, in the hope of perhaps obtaining
release and a pension from the East India House. We learn more of this
soon.
Here might come two brief notes to Dibdin, of no importance.]
LETTER 365
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HUTCHINSON
[Dated at end: March 1, 1825.]
Dear Miss Hutchinson Your news has made us all very sad. I had my hopes
to the last. I seem as if I were disturbing you at such an awful time
even by a reply. But I must acknowledge your kindness in presuming upon
the interest we shall all feel on the subject. No one will more feel it
than Robinson, to whom I have written. No one more than he and we
acknowleged the nobleness and worth of what we have lost. Words are
perfectly idle. We can only pray for resignation to the Survivors. Our
dearest expressions of condolence to Mrs. M------ at this time in
particular. God bless you both. I have nothing of ourselves to tell you,
and if I had, I could not be so unreverent as to trouble you with it. We
are all well, that is all. Farewell, the departed--and the left. Your's
and his, while memory survives, cordially
C. LAMB.
1 Mar. 1825.
[The letter refers to the death of Thomas Monkhouse.
Here should come an undated note from Lamb to Procter, in which Lamb
refers to the same loss: "We shall be most glad to see you, though more
glad to have seen double _you_."]
LETTER 366
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. March 23, 1825.]
Wednesday.
Dear B.B.--I have had no impulse to write, or attend to any single
object but myself, for weeks past. My single self. I by myself I. I am
sick of hope deferred. The grand wheel is in agitation that is to turn
up my Fortune, but round it rolls and will turn up nothing. I have a
glimpse of Freedom, of becoming a Gentleman at large, but I am put off
from day to day. I have offered my resignation, and it is neither
accepted nor rejected. Eight weeks am I kept in this fearful suspence.
Guess what an absorbing stake I feel it. I am not conscious of the
existence of friends present or absent. The E.I. Directors alone can be
that thing to me--or not.--
I have just learn'd that nothing will be decided this week. Why the
next? Why any week? It has fretted me into an itch of the fingers, I rub
'em against Paper and write to you, rather than not allay this Scorbuta.
While I can write, let me adjure you to have no doubts of Irving. Let
Mr. Mitford drop his disrespect. Irving has prefixed a dedication (of a
Missionary Subject 1st part) to Coleridge, the most beautiful cordial
and sincere. He there acknowledges his obligation to S.T.C. for his
knowledge of Gospel truths, the nature of a Xtian Church, etc., to the
talk of S.T.C. (at whose Gamaliel feet he sits weekly) [more] than to
that of all the men living. This from him--The great dandled and petted
Sectarian--to a religious character so equivocal in the world's Eye as
that of S.T.C., so foreign to the Kirk's estimate!--Can this man be a
Quack? The language is as affecting as the Spirit of the Dedication.
Some friend told him, "This dedication will do you no Good," _i.e._ not
in the world's repute, or with your own People. "That is a reason for
doing it," quoth Irving.
I am thoroughly pleased with him. He is firm, outspeaking, intrepid--and
docile as a pupil of Pythagoras.
You must like him.
Yours, in tremors of painful hope,
C. LAMB.
[In the first paragraphs Lamb refers to the great question of his
release from the India House.
In a letter dated February 19, 1825, of Mary Russell Mitford, who looked
upon Irving as quack absolute, we find her discussing the preacher with
Charles Lamb.]
LETTER 367
CHARLES LAMB TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON
[March 29], 1825.
I have left the d------d India House for Ever!
Give me great joy.
C. LAMB.
[Robinson states in his Reminiscences of Coleridge, Wordsworth and Lamb,
preserved in MS. at Dr. Williams' Library: "A most important incident in
Lamb's life, tho' in the end not so happy for him as he anticipated, was
his obtaining his discharge, with a pension of almost £400 a year, from
the India House. This he announced to me by a note put into my letter
box: 'I have left the India House. D------ Time. I'm all for eternity.'
He was rather more than 50 years of age. I found him and his Sister in
high spirits when I called to wish them joy on the 22 of April. 'I never
saw him so calmly cheerful,' says my journal, 'as he seemed then.'" See
the next letters for Lamb's own account of the event.]
LETTER 368
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Colebrook Cottage,
6 April, 1825.
Dear Wordsworth, I have been several times meditating a letter to you
concerning the good thing which has befallen me, but the thought of poor
Monkhouse came across me. He was one that I had exulted in the prospect
of congratulating me. He and you were to have been the first
participators, for indeed it has been ten weeks since the first motion
of it.
Here I am then after 33 years slavery, sitting in my own room at 11
o'Clock this finest of all April mornings a freed man, with £441 a year
for the remainder of my life, live I as long as John Dennis, who
outlived his annuity and starved at 90. £441, i.e. £450, with a
deduction of £9 for a provision secured to my sister, she being
survivor, the Pension guaranteed by Act Georgii Tertii, &c.
I came home for ever on Tuesday in last week. The incomprehensibleness
of my condition overwhelm'd me. It was like passing from life into
Eternity. Every year to be as long as three, i.e. to have three times as
much real time, time that is my own, in it! I wandered about thinking I
was happy, but feeling I was not. But that tumultuousness is passing
off, and I begin to understand the nature of the gift. Holydays, even
the annual month, were always uneasy joys: their conscious
fugitiveness--the craving after making the most of them. Now, when all
is holyday, there are no holydays. I can sit at home in rain or shine
without a restless impulse for walkings. I am daily steadying, and shall
soon find it as natural to me to be my own master, as it has been
irksome to have had a master. Mary wakes every morning with an obscure
feeling that some good has happened to us.
Leigh Hunt and Montgomery after their releasements describe the shock of
their emancipation much as I feel mine. But it hurt their frames. I eat,
drink, and sleep sound as ever. I lay no anxious schemes for going
hither and thither, but take things as they occur. Yesterday I
excursioned 20 miles, to day I write a few letters. Pleasuring was for
fugitive play days, mine are fugitive only in the sense that life is
fugitive. Freedom and life co-existent.
At the foot of such a call upon you for gratulation, I am ashamd to
advert to that melancholy event. Monkhouse was a character I learnd to
love slowly, but it grew upon me, yearly, monthly, daily. What a chasm
has it made in our pleasant parties! His noble friendly face was always
coming before me, till this hurrying event in my life came, and for the
time has absorpt all interests. In fact it has shaken me a little. My
old desk companions with whom I have had such merry hours seem to
reproach me for removing my lot from among them. They were pleasant
creatures, but to the anxieties of business, and a weight of possible
worse ever impending, I was not equal. Tuthill and Gilman gave me my
certificates. I laughed at the friendly lie implied in them, but my
sister shook her head and said it was all true. Indeed this last winter
I was jaded out, winters were always worse than other parts of the year,
because the spirits are worse, and I had no daylight. In summer I had
daylight evenings. The relief was hinted to me from a superior power,
when I poor slave had not a hope but that I must wait another 7 years
with Jacob--and lo! the Rachel which I coveted is bro't to me--
Have you read the noble dedication of Irving's "Missionary Orations" to
S.T.C. Who shall call this man a Quack hereafter? What the Kirk will
think of it neither I nor Irving care. When somebody suggested to him
that it would not be likely to do him good, videlicet among his own
people, "That is a reason for doing it" was his noble answer.
That Irving thinks he has profited mainly by S.T.C., I have no doubt.
The very style of the Ded. shows it.
Communicate my news to Southey, and beg his pardon for my being so long
acknowledging his kind present of the "Church," which circumstances I do
not wish to explain, but having no reference to himself, prevented at
the time. Assure him of my deep respect and friendliest feelings.
Divide the same, or rather each take the whole to you, I mean you and
all yours. To Miss Hutchinson I must write separate. What's her address?
I want to know about Mrs. M.
Farewell! and end at last, long selfish Letter!
C. LAMB.
[Lamb expanded the first portion of this letter into the _Elia_ essay
"The Superannuated Man," which ought to be read in connection with it
(see Vol. II. of the present edition).
Leigh Hunt and James Montgomery, the poet, had both undergone
imprisonment for libel.
At a Court of Directors of the India House held on March 29, 1825, it
was resolved "that the resignation of Mr. Charles Lamb of the Accountant
General's Office, on account of certified ill-health, be accepted, and,
it appearing that he has served the Company faithfully for 33 years, and
is now in the receipt of an income of £730 per annum, he be allowed a
pension of £450 (four hundred and fifty pounds) per annum, under the
provisions of the act of the 53 Geo. III., cap. 155, to commence from
this day."]
LETTER 369
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. April 6, 1825.]
Dear B.B.--My spirits are so tumultuary with the novelty of my recent
emancipation, that I have scarce steadiness of hand, much more mind, to
compose a letter.
I am free, B.B.--free as air.
The little bird that wings the sky
Knows no such Liberty!
I was set free on Tuesday in last week at 4 o'Clock.
I came home for ever!
I have been describing my feelings as well as I can to Wordsw'th. in a
long letter, and don't care to repeat. Take it briefly that for a few
days I was painfully oppressed by so mighty a change, but it is becoming
daily more natural to me.
I went and sat among 'em all at my old 33 years desk yester morning; and
deuce take me if I had not yearnings at leaving all my old pen and ink
fellows, merry sociable lads, at leaving them in the Lurch, fag, fag,
fag.
The comparison of my own superior felicity gave me any thing but
pleasure.
B.B., I would not serve another 7 years for seven hundred thousand
pounds!
I have got £441 net for life, sanctioned by Act of Parliament, with a
provision for Mary if she survives me.
I will live another 50 years; or, if I live but 10, they will be thirty,
reckoning the quantity of real time in them, _i.e._ the time that is a
man's own.
Tell me how you like "Barbara S."--will it be received in atonement for
the foolish Vision, I mean by the Lady?
_Apropos_, I never saw Mrs. Crawford in my life, nevertheless 'tis all
true of Somebody.
Address me in future Colebrook Cottage, Islington.
I am really nervous (but that will wear off) so take this brief
announcement.
Yours truly C.L.
["Barbara S----," the _Elia_ essay, was printed in the _London
Magazine_, April, 1825 (see Vol II. of this edition). It purports to be
an incident in the life of Mrs. Crawford, the actress, but had really
happened to Fanny Kelly.]
LETTER 370
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HUTCHINSON
[P.M. April 18, 1825.]
Dear Miss Hutchinson--You want to know all about my gaol delivery. Take
it then. About 12 weeks since I had a sort of intimation that a
resignation might be well accepted from me. This was a kind bird's
whisper. On that hint I spake. Gilman and Tuthill furnishd me with
certificates of wasted health and sore spirits--not much more than the
truth, I promise you--and for 9 weeks I was kept in a fright-- I had
gone too far to recede, and they might take advantage and dismiss me
with a much less sum than I had reckoned on. However Liberty came at
last with a liberal provision. I have given up what I could have lived
on in the country, but have enough to live here by managem't and
scribbling occasionally. I would not go back to my prison for seven
years longer for £10000 a year. 7 years after one is 50 is no trifle to
give up. Still I am a young _Pensioner_, and have served but 33 years,
very few I assure you retire before 40, 45, or 50 years' service.
You will ask how I bear my freedom. Faith, for some days I was
staggered. Could not comprehend the magnitude of my deliverance, was
confused, giddy, knew not whether I was on my head or my heel as they
say. But those giddy feelings have gone away, and my weather glass
stands at a degree or two above
CONTENT
I go about quiet, and have none of that restless hunting after
recreation which made holydays formerly uneasy joys. All being holydays,
I feel as if I had none, as they do in heaven, where 'tis all red letter
days.
I have a kind letter from the Words'wths _congratulatory_ not a little.
It is a damp, I do assure you, amid all my prospects that I can receive
_none_ from a quarter upon which I had calculated, almost more than from
any, upon receiving congratulations. I had grown to like poor M. more
and more. I do not esteem a soul living or not living more warmly than I
had grown to esteem and value him. But words are vain. We have none of
us to count upon many years. That is the only cure for sad thoughts. If
only some died, and the rest were permanent on earth, what a thing a
friend's death would be then!
I must take leave, having put off answering [a load] of letters to this
morning, and this, alas! is the 1st. Our kindest remembrances to Mrs.
Monkhouse and believe us
Yours most Truly, C. LAMB.
LETTER 371
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HORNE
[P.M. May 2, 1825.]
Dear Hone,--I send you a trifle; you have seen my lines, I suppose, in
the "London." I cannot tell you how much I like the "St. Chad Wells."
Yours truly
C. LAMB.
P.S. Why did you not stay, or come again, yesterday?
[These words accompany Lamb's contribution, "Remarkable Correspondent,"
to Hone's _Every-Day Book_ (see Vol. I. of this edition). Lamb was
helping Hone in his new venture as much as he was able; and Hone in
return dedicated the first volume to him. "St. Chad's Wells" was an
article by Hone in the number for March 2.]
LETTER 372
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
[No date. May, 1825.]
Dear W. I write post-hoste to ensure a frank. Thanks for your hearty
congratulations. I may now date from the 6th week of my Hegira or Flight
from Leadenhall. I have lived so much in it, that a Summer seems already
past, and 'tis but early May yet with you and other people. How I look
down on the Slaves and drudges of the world! its inhabitants are a vast
cotton-web of spin spin spinners. O the carking cares! O the
money-grubbers-sempiternal muckworms!
Your Virgil I have lost sight of, but suspect it is in the hands of Sir
G. Beaumont. I think that circumstances made me shy of procuring it
before. Will you write to him about it? and your commands shall be
obeyed to a tittle.
Coleridge has just finishd his prize Essay, which if it get the Prize
he'll touch an additional £100 I fancy. His Book too (commentary on
Bishop Leighton) is quite finished and _penes_ Taylor and Hessey.
In the London which is just out (1st May) are 2 papers entitled the
_Superannuated Man_, which I wish you to see, and also 1st Apr. a little
thing called Barbara S------ a story gleaned from Miss Kelly. The L.M.
if you can get it will save my enlargement upon the topic of my
manumission.