found deeply impressed with your generous notice of him in your
beautiful "Life of Bunyan," which I am just now full of. He has written
to you for leave to publish a certain good-natured letter. I write not
this to enforce his request, for we are fully aware that the refusal of
such publication would be quite consistent with all that is good in your
character. Neither he nor I expect it from you, nor exact it; but if you
would consent to it, you would have me obliged by it, as well as him. He
is just now in a critical situation: kind friends have opened a
coffee-house for him in the City, but their means have not extended to
the purchase of coffee-pots, credit for Reviews, newspapers, and other
paraphernalia. So I am sitting in the skeleton of a possible divan. What
right I have to interfere, you best know. Look on me as a dog who went
once temporarily insane, and bit you, and now begs for a crust. Will you
set your wits to a dog?
Our object is to open a subscription, which my friends of the "Times"
are most willing to forward for him, but think that a leave from you to
publish would aid it.
But not an atom of respect or kindness will or shall it abate in either
of us if you decline it. Have this strongly in your mind.
Those "Every-Day" and "Table" Books will be a treasure a hundred years
hence; but they have failed to make Hone's fortune.
Here his wife and all his children are about me, gaping for coffee
customers; but how should they come in, seeing no pot boiling!
Enough of Hone. I saw Coleridge a day or two since. He has had some
severe attack, not paralytic; but, if I had not heard of it, I should
not have found it out. He looks, and especially speaks, strong. How are
all the Wordsworths and all the Southeys? whom I am obliged to you if
you have not brought up haters of the name of
C. LAMB.
P.S.--I have gone lately into the acrostic line. I find genius (such as
I had) declines with me, but I get clever. Do you know anybody that
wants charades, or such things, for Albums? I do 'em at so much a sheet.
Perhaps an epigram (not a very happy-gram) I did for a school-boy
yesterday may amuse. I pray Jove he may not get a flogging for any false
quantity; but 'tis, with one exception, the only Latin verses I have
made for forty years, and I did it "to order."
SUUM CUIQUE
Adsciscit sibi divitias et opes alienas
Fur, rapiens, spolians, quod mihi, quod-que tibi,
Proprium erat, temnens haec verba, Meum-que, Suum-que;
Omne suum est: tandem Cui-que Suum tribuit.
Dat laqueo collum; vestes, vah! carnifici dat;
Sese Diabolo: sic bene: Cuique Suum.
I write from Hone's, therefore Mary cannot send her love to Mrs.
Southey, but I do.
Yours ever, C.L.
[Major's edition of _The Pilgrim's Progress_, mentioned in a letter to
Barton above, was issued in 1830 with a memoir of Bunyan by Southey. It
was reviewed in _The Times_ for May 7, 1830, I think probably by Lamb,
in the following terms:--
The public is aware that the unexhausted diligence and unwearied pen
of Mr. Southey have produced a new and excellent edition of the
celebrated _Pilgrim's Progress_, with the Life of the Author
prefixed. This Life is, no doubt, an interesting work, though we
wish the author, both in that and in the account, which is
attributed to him, of the founder of the Jesuits, contained in a
recent periodical work, had taken more time. The narrative in both
is hasty and tumultuary, if we may use the latter expression: there
is no time or room for reflection; and when a reflection comes, it
is so mixed and jambed in with the story, or with quotations from
the works or words of the respective heroes of the history, that it
escapes unobserved. Could we, without grievous offence, recommend,
both to Mr. Southey and Sir Walter Scott, to recollect the man
spoken of by Horace?--
quem fama est esse librisque Ambustum propriis."--_Sat_, i., 61.
Yet still, as we said above, the Life of Bunyan is an interesting
work. How different the origin of all the sects and their founders,
from that of our sober, staid, and, we trust, permanent
establishment, and the learned and pious reformers from whom it
sprang!
But that for which we chiefly notice this work of Mr. Southey, is
the very last sentence in it, wherein is contained his frank and
honourable recommendation (though not more than they deserve) of the
works of one whom the iron hand of oppression would have levelled
with the dust:--
"In one of the volumes collected from various quarters, which were
sent to me for this purpose, I observe the name of W. Hone, and
notice it that I may take the opportunity of recommending his
_Every-Day Book_ and _Table Book_ to those who are interested in the
preservation of our national and local customs. By these very
curious publications their compiler has rendered good service in an
important department of literature; and he may render yet more, if
he obtain the encouragement which he well deserves."
Not only we, and the person mentioned in this paragraph, but all the
friends of pure English literature,--all the curious in old English
customs,--in short, all intelligent men, with the hearts of
Englishmen in them,--owe Mr. Southey their gratitude for this
recommendation: it springs from a just taste and right feeling
united.
Hone wrote to _The Times_ at once to thank both the paper and Southey
for the compliment. A few days later, on May 21, appeared an article in
_The Times_ containing correspondence between Hone and Southey. I quote
the introduction, again probably the work of Lamb, and Southey's letter
(see Lamb's letter to Hone below):--
We alluded some days ago to the handsome notice of Mr. Hone in Mr.
Southey's _Life of Bunyan_. The following correspondence has since
been sent to us: it displays in an advantageous light the modesty of
Mr. Hone and the amiable and candid disposition of Mr. Southey. The
business, wholly foreign to Mr. Hone's former pursuits, which is
alluded to in the letter, is explained in an advertisement in this
day's paper.
* * * * *
"To Mr. Hone, 13, Gracechurch-Street,
"Keswick, April 26.
"Sir,--Your letter has given me both pain and pleasure. I am sorry
to learn that you are still, in the worldly sense of the word, an
unfortunate man,--that you are withdrawn from pursuits which were
consonant to your habits and inclinations, and that a public
expression of respect and good-will, made in the hope that it might
have been serviceable to you, can have no such effect.
"When I observed your autograph in the little book, I wrote to
inquire of Mr. Major whether it had come to his hands from you,
directly or indirectly, for my use, that, in that case, I might
thank you for it. It proved otherwise, but I would not lose an
opportunity which I had wished for.
"Judging of you (as I would myself be judged) by your works, I saw
in the editor of the _Every-Day_ and _Table Books_ a man who had
applied himself with great diligence to useful and meritorious
pursuits. I thought that time, and reflection, and affliction, (of
which it was there seen that he had had his share,) had contributed
to lead him into this direction, which was also that of his better
mind. What alteration had been produced in his opinions it concerned
not me to inquire; here there were none but what were
unexceptionable,--no feelings but what were to be approved. From all
that appeared, I supposed he had become 'a sadder and a wiser man:'
I therefore wished him success in his literary undertakings.
"The little parcel which you mention I shall receive with pleasure.
"I wish you success in your present undertaking, whatever it be, and
that you may one day, under happier circumstances, resume a pen
which has, of late years, been so meritoriously employed. If your
new attempt prosper, you will yet find leisure for intellectual
gratification, and for that self-improvement which may be carried on
even in the busiest concerns of life.
"I remain, Sir, yours with sincere good will,
"ROBERT SOUTHEY."
In the advertisement columns of the same issue of _The Times_ (May 21)
was the following notice, drawn up, I assume, by Lamb:--
THE FAMILY OF WILLIAM HONE, in the course of last winter, were
kindly assisted by private friends to take and alter the premises
they now reside in, No. 13, Gracechurch-street, for the purpose of a
coffeehouse, to be managed by Mrs. Hone and her elder daughters; but
they are in a painful exigency which increases hourly, and renders a
public appeal indispensable. The wellwishers to Mr. Hone throughout
the kingdom, especially the gratified readers of his literary
productions (in all of which he has long ceased to have an interest,
and from none of which can he derive advantage), are earnestly
solicited to afford the means of completing the fittings and opening
the house in a manner suited to its proposed respectability. If this
aid be yielded without loss of time, it will be of indescribable
benefit, inasmuch as it will put an end to many grievous anxieties
and expenses, inseparable from the lengthened delay which has
hitherto been inevitable, and will enable the family to immediately
commence the business, which alone they look forward to for support.
Subscriptions will be received by the following bankers:--Messrs.
Ransom and Co., Pall-mall east; Messrs. Dixon, Sons, and Brookes,
Chancery-lane; Messrs. Ladbroke and Co., Bank-buildings, Cornhill;
and by Mr. Clowes, printer, 14, Charing-cross; Mr. Thomas Rodd,
bookseller, 2, Great Newport-street; Mr. Griffiths, bookseller, 13,
Wellington-street, Strand; Mr. Effingham Wilson, bookseller, Royal
Exchange; and Messrs. Fisher and Moxhay, biscuit-bakers, 55,
Threadneedle-street.
The first list of subscriptions, headed by "Charles Lamb, Esq., Enfield,
£10," came to £103. This was Monday, May 31. The next list was published
on June 10, accompanied by the following note in the body of the
paper:--
The subscriptions for Mr. Hone, it will be perceived, are going on
favourably. In the list now published is the name of the Duke of
Bedford, who has sent 20_l_. His cause has been warmly espoused by
the provincial journals, more than 20 of which have inserted his
appeal gratuitously, with offers to receive and remit subscriptions.
The aphorism, "he gives twice who gives quickly," could not receive
a more cogent application than in the present instance, for the
funds are required to enable Mr. Hone to commence business in his
new undertaking, where he is already placed with his family, liable
to rent and taxes, and other claims, but gaining nothing until his
outfit is completed.
Hone, however, did not prosper, in spite of his friends, who were
not sufficiently numerous to find the requisite capital.
"Suum Cuique." The boy for whom this epigram was composed was a son
of Hessey, the publisher, afterwards Archdeacon Hessey. He was at
the Merchant Taylors' School, where it was a custom to compose Latin
and English epigrams for speech day, the boys being permitted to get
help. Archdeacon Hessey wrote as follows in the Taylorian a few
years ago:--
The subjects for 1830 were _Suum Cuique_ and _Brevis esse laboro_.
After some three or four exercise nights I confess that I was
literally "at my wits' end." But a brilliant idea struck me. I had
frequently, boy as I was, seen Charles Lamb at my father's house,
and once, in 1825 or 1826, I had been taken to have tea with him and
his sister, Mary Lamb, at their little house, Colebrook Cottage, a
whitish-brown tenement, standing by itself, close to the New River,
at Islington. He was very kind, as he always was to young people,
and very quaint. I told him that I had devoured his "Roast Pig"; he
congratulated me on possessing a thorough schoolboy's appetite. And
he was pleased when I mentioned my having seen the boys at Christ's
Hospital at their public suppers, which then took place on the
Sunday evenings in Lent. "Could this good-natured and humorous old
gentleman be prevailed upon to give me an Epigram?" "I don't know,"
said my father, to whom I put the question, "but I will ask him at
any rate, and send him the mottoes." In a day or two there arrived
from Enfield, to which Lamb had removed some time in 1827, not one,
but two epigrams, one on each subject. That on _Suum Cuique_ was in
Latin, and was suggested by the grim satisfaction which had recently
been expressed by the public at the capture and execution of some
notorious highwayman.
See also Vol. IV. of this edition for a slightly differing version. Lamb
had many years before, he says in a letter to Godwin, written similar
epigrams.
"With one exception." Perhaps the Latin verses on Haydon's picture. See
Vol. IV.]
LETTER 515
CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON
Enfield, Tuesday. [P.M. May 12, 1830.]
Dear M. I dined with your and my Rogers at Mr. Gary's yesterday. Gary
consulted me on the proper bookseller to offer a Lady's MS novel to. I
said I would write to you. But I wish you would call on the Translator
of Dante at the British Museum, and talk with him. He is the pleasantest
of clergymen. I told him of all Rogers's handsome behaviour to you, and
you are already no stranger. Go. I made Rogers laugh about your
Nightingale sonnet, not having heard one. 'Tis a good sonnet
notwithstanding. You shall have the books shortly.
C.L.
[Samuel Rogers had just lent Moxon £500 on which to commence publisher.
Moxon had dedicated his first book to Rogers. This is Moxon's "Sonnet to
the Nightingale," but I cannot explain why Rogers laughed:--
Lone midnight-soothing melancholy bird,
That send'st such music to my sleepless soul,
Chaining her faculties in fast controul,
Few listen to thy song; yet I have heard,
When Man and Nature slept, nor aspen stirred,
Thy mournful voice, sweet vigil of the sleeping
And liken'd thee to some angelic mind,
That sits and mourns for erring mortals weeping.
The genius, not of groves, but of mankind,
Watch at this solemn hour o'er millions keeping.
In Eden's bowers, as mighty poets tell,
Did'st thou repeat, as now that wailing call--
Those sorrowing notes might seem, sad Philomel,
Prophetic to have mourned of _man_ the _fall_.]
LETTER 516
CHARLES LAMB TO VINCENT NOVELLO
Friday. [P.M. May 14, 1830.]
Dear Novello, Mary hopes you have not forgot you are to spend a day with
us on Wednesday. That it may be a long one, cannot you secure places now
for Mrs. Novello yourself and the Clarkes? We have just table room for
four. Five make my good Landlady fidgetty; six, to begin to fret; seven,
to approximate to fever point. But seriously we shall prefer four to two
or three; we shall have from 1/2 past 10 to six, when the coach goes
off, to scent the country. And pray write _now_, to say you do so come,
for dear Mrs. Westwood else will be on the tenters of incertitude.
C. LAMB.
LETTER 517
CHARLES LAMB TO VINCENT NOVELLO
[May 20, 1830.]
Dear N.--pray write immediately to say "The book has come safe." I am
anxious, not so much for the autographs, as for that bit of the hair
brush. I enclose a cinder, which belonged to _Shield_, when he was poor,
and lit his own fires. Any memorial of a great Musical Genius, I know,
is acceptable; and Shield has his merits, though Clementi, in my
opinion, is far above him in the Sostenuto. Mr. Westwood desires his
compliments, and begs to present you with a nail that came out of
Jomelli's coffin, who is buried at Naples.
[Vincent Novello writes on this: "A very characteristic note from Dear
Charles Lamb, who always pretended to Rate all kinds of memorials and
_Relics_, and assumed a look of fright and horror whenever he reproached
me with being a _Papist_, instead of a _Quaker_, which sect he pretended
to doat upon." The book would be Novello's album, with Lamb's "Free
Thoughts on Eminent Composers" in it (see next letter but one).
Shield was William Shield (1748-1829), the composer. He was buried in
Westminster Abbey in the same grave as Clementi. Nicolo Jomelli
(1714-1774) was a Neapolitan composer.]
LETTER 518
CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM HONE
May 21, 1830.
Dear Hone--I thought you would be pleased to see this letter. Pray if
you have time to, call on Novello, No. 66, Great Queen St. I am anxious
to learn whether he received his album I sent on Friday by our nine
o'clock morning stage. If not, beg inquire at the _Old Bell_, Holborn.
CHARLES LAMB.
Southey will see in the _Times_ all we proposed omitting is omitted.
[See notes to the letter to Southey above.]
LETTER 519
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HAZLITT
[Enfield, Saturday, May 24th, 1830.]
Mary's love? Yes. Mary Lamb quite well.
Dear Sarah,--I found my way to Northaw on Thursday and a very good woman
behind a counter, who says also that you are a very good lady but that
the woman who was with you was naught. These things may be so or not. I
did not accept her offered glass of wine (home-made, I take it) but
craved a cup of ale, with which I seasoned a slice of cold Lamb from a
sandwich box, which I ate in her back parlour, and proceeded for
Berkhampstead, &c.; lost myself over a heath, and had a day's pleasure.
I wish you could walk as I do, and as you used to do. I am sorry to find
you are so poorly; and, now I have found my way, I wish you back at
Goody Tomlinson's. What a pretty village 'tis! I should have come
sooner, but was waiting a summons to Bury. Well, it came, and I found
the good parson's lady (he was from home) exceedingly hospitable.
Poor Emma, the first moment we were alone, took me into a corner, and
said, "Now, pray, don't _drink_; do check yourself after dinner, for my
sake, and when we get home to Enfield, you shall drink as much as ever
you please, and I won't say a word about it." How I behaved, you may
guess, when I tell you that Mrs. Williams and I have written acrostics
on each other, and she hoped that she should have "no reason to regret
Miss Isola's recovery, by its depriving _her_ of our begun
correspondence." Emma stayed a month with us, and has gone back (in
tolerable health) to her long home, for _she_ comes not again for a
twelvemonth. I amused Mrs. Williams with an occurrence on our road to
Enfield. We travelled with one of those troublesome fellow-passengers in
a stage-coach, that is called a well-informed man. For twenty miles we
discoursed about the properties of steam, probabilities of carriages by
ditto, till all my science, and more than all, was exhausted, and I was
thinking of escaping my torment by getting up on the outside, when,
getting into Bishops Stortford, my gentleman, spying some farming land,
put an unlucky question to me: "What sort of a crop of turnips I thought
we should have this year?" Emma's eyes turned to me, to know what in the
world I could have to say; and she burst into a violent fit of laughter,
maugre her pale, serious cheeks, when, with the greatest gravity, I
replied, that "it depended, I believed, upon boiled legs of mutton."
This clench'd our conversation; and my Gentleman, with a face half wise,
half in scorn, troubled us with no more conversation, scientific or
philosophical, for the remainder of the journey. Ayrton was here
yesterday, and as _learned_ to the full as my fellow-traveller. What a
pity that he will spoil a wit and a devilish pleasant fellow (as he is)
by wisdom! He talk'd on Music; and by having read Hawkins and Burney
recently I was enabled to talk of Names, and show more knowledge than he
had suspected I possessed; and in the end he begg'd me to shape my
thoughts upon paper, which I did after he was gone, and sent him.
FREE THOUGHTS ON SOME EMINENT COMPOSERS
Some cry up Haydn, some Mozart,
Just as the whim bites. For my part,
I do not care a farthing candle
For either of them, or for Handel.
Cannot a man live free and easy,
Without admiring Pergolesi!
Or thro' the world with comfort go
That never heard of Doctor Blow!
So help me God, I hardly have;
And yet I eat, and drink, and shave,
Like other people, (if you watch it,)
And know no more of stave and crotchet
Than did the un-Spaniardised Peruvians;
Or those old ante-queer-Diluvians
That lived in the unwash'd world with Jubal,
Before that dirty Blacksmith Tubal,
By stroke on anvil, or by summ'at,
Found out, to his great surprise, the gamut.
I care no more for Cimerosa
Than he did for Salvator Rosa,
Being no Painter; and bad luck
Be mine, if I can bear that Gluck!
Old Tycho Brahe and modern Herschel
Had something in them; but who's Purcel?
The devil, with his foot so cloven,
For aught I care, may take Beethoven;
And, if the bargain does not suit,
I'll throw him Weber in to boot!
There's not the splitting of a splinter
To chuse 'twixt _him last named_, and Winter.
Of Doctor Pepusch old queen Dido
Knew just as much, God knows, as I do.
I would not go four miles to visit
Sebastian Bach-or Batch-which is it?
No more I would for Bononcini.
As for Novello and Rossini,
I shall not say a word about [to grieve] 'em,
Because they're living. So I leave 'em.
Martin Burney is as odd as ever. We had a dispute about the word "heir,"
which I contended was pronounced like "air;" he said that might be in
common parlance; or that we might so use it, speaking of the
"Heir-at-Law," a comedy; but that in the Law Courts it was necessary to
give it a full aspiration, and to say _Hayer_; he thought it might even
vitiate a cause, if a Counsel pronounced it otherwise. In conclusion, he
"would consult Serjeant Wilde;" who gave it against him. Sometimes he
falleth into the water, sometimes into the fire. He came down here, and
insisted on reading Virgil's "Eneid" all through with me (which he did,)
because a Counsel must know Latin. Another time he read out all the
Gospel of St. John, because Biblical quotations are very emphatic in a
Court of Justice. A third time, he would carve a fowl, which he did very
ill-favoredly, because "we did not know how indispensable it was for a
Barrister to do all those sort of things well. Those little things were
of more consequence than we supposed." So he goes on, harassing about
the way to prosperity, and losing it. With a long head, but somewhat a
wrong one--harum-scarum. Why does not his guardian angel look to him? He
deserves one--: may be, he has tired him out.
I am----with this long scrawl, but I thought in your exile, you might
like a letter. Commend me to all the wonders in Derbyshire, and tell the
devil I humbly kiss--my hand to him. Yours ever,
C. LAMB.
["Free Thoughts." The version in Ayrton's album differs a little from
this, the principal difference being in line 13, "primitive" for
"un-Spaniardised." Lamb's story of the origin of the verses is not
necessarily correct. I fancy that he had written them for Novello before
he produced them in reply to Ayrton's challenge. When sending the poem
to Ayrton in a letter at this time, not available for this edition
(written apparently just after Novello had paid the visit, referred to
above), Lamb wrote that it was written to gratify Novello.
Mary Lamb (or Charles Lamb, personating her) appended the following
postscript to the verses in Novello's album:--
The reason why my brother's so severe,
Vincentio is--my brother has no ear:
And Caradori her mellifluous throat
Might stretch in vain to make him learn a note.
Of common tunes he knows not anything,
Nor "Rule, Britannia" from "God save the King."
He rail at Handel! He the gamut quiz!
I'd lay my life he knows not what it is.
His spite at music is a pretty whim--
He loves not it, because it loves not him.
M. LAMB.
"Serjeant Wilde"-Thomas Wilde (1782-1855), afterwards Lord Truro, a
friend of Lamb's, who is said to have helped him with squibs in the
Newark election in 1829, when Martin Burney was among his supporters
(see Vol. V. of my large edition, page 341).
Here had I permission, I would print Lamb's letter to Ayrton, given in
the Boston Bibliophile edition, incorporating the same poem.]
LETTER 520
CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HAZLITT
June 3, 1830.
Dear Sarah,--I named your thought about William to his father, who
expressed such horror and aversion to the idea of his singing in public,
that I cannot meddle in it directly or indirectly. Ayrton is a kind
fellow, and if you chuse to consult him by Letter, or otherwise, he will
give you the best advice, I am sure, very readily. _I have no doubt that
M. Burney's objection to interfering was the same--with mine._ With
thanks for your pleasant long letter, which is not that of an Invalid,
and sympathy for your sad sufferings, I remain, in haste,
Yours Truly,
Mary's kindest Love.
[There was some talk of William Hazlitt Junr. becoming a pupil of Braham
and taking up music seriously. He did not do so.
Here should come a note from Lamb to Hone, dated Enfield, June 17, 1830,
in which Lamb offers Hone £1 per quarter for yesterday's Times, after
the Coffee-House customers have done with it. He ends with the wish,
"Vivant Coffee, Coffee-potque!"]
LETTER 521
CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON
[P.M. June 28, 1830.]