customers' measures, which they swore were but I have forgot what church), attesting bank-notes. They did not shoot him, and when they rode off he addrest them with profound gratitude, making a congee 'Gentlemen, I wish you good night, and we are very much obliged to you that you have not used us ill!' And this is the cuckoo that has had the audacity to foist upon me ten buttons on a side, and a black velvet collar. A cursed ninth of a scoundrel! "When you write to Lloyd, he wishes his Jacobin correspondents to address him as Mr. C. L." The following letter-yet richer in funbears date Saturday, July 28th, 1798. In order to make its allusions intelligible, it is only necessary to mention that Southey was then contemplating a calendar illustrative of the remarkable days of the year. TO MR. SOUTHEY. "July 28th, 1798. "I am ashamed that I have not thanked you before this for the 'Joan of Arc,' but I did not know your address, and it did not occur to me to write through Cottle. The poem delighted me, and the notes amused me, but methinks she of Neufchatel, in the print, holds her sword too 'like a dancer.' I sent your notice to Phillips, particularly requesting an immediate insertion, but I suppose it came too late. I am sometimes curious to know what progress you make in that same 'Calendar:' whether you insert the nine worthies and Whittington? what you do or how you can manage when two Saints meet and quarrel for precedency? Martlemas, and Candlemas, and Christmas, are glorious themes for a writer like you, antiquity-bitten, smit with the love of boars' heads and rosemary; but how you can ennoble the 1st of April I know not. By the way I had a thing to say, but a certain false modesty has hitherto prevented me: perhaps I can best communicate my wish by a hint,—my birth-day is on the 10th of February, New Style, but if it interferes with any remarkable event, why rather than my country should lose her fame, I care not if I put my nativity back eleven days. Fine family patronage for your 'Calendar,' if that old lady of prolific memory were living, who lies (or lyes) in some church in London (saints forgive me, that enormous legend of as many children as days in the year. I marvel her impudence did not grasp at a leap-year. Three-hundred and sixty-five dedications, and all in a family you might spit in spirit, on the oneness of Macænas' patronage! "Samuel Taylor Coleridge, to the eternal regret of his native Devonshire, emigrates to Westphalia-' Poor Lamb (these were his last words) if he wants any knowledge, he may apply to me,'—in ordinary cases I thanked him, I have an Encyclopedia' at hand, but on such an occasion as going over to a German university, I could not refrain from sending him the following propositions, to be by him defended or oppugned (or both) at Leipsic or Gottingen. thing in the manner of mortal looking- accept of her bed, which she offered him, and glasses?' offered herself to sleep in the kitchen; and that, in consequence of that severe cold, he is labouring under a bilious disorder, besides a depression of spirits, which incapacitates him from exertion when he most needs it. For God's sake, South y, if it does not go against you to ask favours, do it now; ask it as for me; but do not do a violence to your feelings, because he does not know of this application, and will suffer no disappointment. What I meant to say was this,there are in the India House what are called extra clerks, not on the establishment, like me, but employed in extra business, by-jobs; these get about 50%. a year, or rather more, but never rise; a director can put in at any time a young man in this office, and it is by no means considered so great a favour as making an established clerk. He would think himself as rich as an emperor if he could get such a certain situation, and be relieved from those disquietudes which, I do fear, may one day bring back his distemper. "You know John May better than I do, but I know enough to believe that he is a good man ; he did make me that offer I have mentioned, but you will perceive that such an offer cannot authorise me in applying for another person. "But I cannot help writing to you on the subject, for the young man is perpetually before my eyes, and I shall feel it a crime not to strain all my petty interest to do him service, though I put my own delicacy to the question by so doing. I have made one other unsuccessful attempt already; at all events I will thank you to write, for I am tormented with anxiety. "C. LAMB." "DEAR SOUTHEY, "Dear Southey,-Your friend John May has formerly made kind offers to Lloyd of serving me in the India House, by the interest of his friend Sir Francis Baring. It is not likely that I shall ever put his goodness to the test on my own account, for my prospects are very comfortable. But I know a man, a young man, whom he could serve through the same channel, and, I think, would be disposed to serve if he were acquainted with his case. This poor fellow (whom I know "Poor Sam. Le Grice! I am afraid the just enough of to vouch for his strict integrity world, and the camp, and the university, have and worth) has lost two or three employments spoilt him among them. 'Tis certain he had from illness, which he cannot regain; he at one time a strong capacity of turning out was once insane, and, from the distressful something better. I knew him, and that not uncertainty of his livelihood, has reason to long since, when he had a most warm heart. apprehend a return of that malady. He has I am ashamed of the indifference I have been for some time dependent on a woman sometimes felt towards him. I think the whose ledger he formerly was, but who can devil is in one's heart. I am under obligations ill afford to maintain him; and I know that to that man for the warmest friendship, and on Christmas night last he actually walked heartiest sympathy, even for an agony of about the streets all night, rather than sympathy exprest both by word, and deed, and tears for me, when I was in my greatest distress. But I have forgot that! as, I fear, he has nigh forgot the awful scenes which were before his eyes when he served the office of a comforter to me. No service was too mean or troublesome for him to perform. I can't think what but the devil, 'that old spider,' could have suck'd my heart so dry of its sense of all gratitude. If he does come in your way, Southey, fail not to tell him that I retain a most affectionate remembrance of his old friendliness, and an earnest wish to resume our intercourse. In this I am serious. I cannot recommend him to your society, because I am afraid whether he be quite worthy of it. But I have no right to dismiss him from my regard. He was at one time, and in the worst of times, my own familiar friend, and great comfort to me then. I have known him to play at cards with my father, meal-times excepted, literally all day long, in long days too, to save me from being teased by the old man, when I was not able to bear it. "God bless him for it, and God bless you, Southey. "C. L." Lamb now began to write the tragedy of John Woodvil. His admiration of the dramatists of Elizabeth's age was yet young, and had some of the indiscretion of an early love; but there was nothing affected in the antique cast of his language, or the frequent roughness of his verse. His delicate sense of beauty had found a congenial organ in the style which he tasted with rapture; and criticism gave him little encouragement to adapt it to the frigid insipidities of the time. "My tragedy," says he in the first letter to Southey, which alludes to the play, "will be a medley (or I intend it to be a medley) of laughter and tears, prose and verse; and, in some places, rhyme; songs, wit, pathos, humour; and, if possible, sublimity ;-at least, 'tis not a fault in my intention if it does not comprehend most of these discordant atoms-Heaven send they dance not the dance of death!" In another letter he there introduces the delicious rhymed passage in the "Forest Scene," which Godwin, having accidentally seen quoted, took for a choice fragment of an old dramatist, and went to Lamb to assist him in finding the author. TO MR. SOUTHEY. "I just send you a few rhymes from my play, the only rhymes in it. A forest-liver giving an account of his amusements. 'What sports have you in the forest? To see the sun to bed, and see him rise, To view the graceful deer come trooping by, To mark the structure of a plant or tree; "I love to anticipate charges of unoriginality: the first line is almost Shakspeare's:— 'To have my love to bed and to arise.' Midsummer Night's Dream. his purse' in my curse, (which, for a Chris- the cheap merriment, the welcomings, and tian witch in a Christian country, is not too the secret envyings of the maidens-then mild, I hope,) do you object? I think there dropping all this, recur to her present lot. is a strangeness in the idea, as well as I do not know that I can suggest anything 'shaking the poor like snakes from his door,' else, or that I have suggested anything new which suits the speaker. Witches illustrate, or material. I shall be very glad to see some as fine ladies do, from their own familiar more poetry, though, I fear, your trouble in objects, and snakes and shutting up of transcribing will be greater than the service wombs are in their way. I don't know that my remarks may do them. this last charge has been before brought against 'em, nor either the sour milk or the mandrake babe; but I affirm these be things a witch would do if she could.” Here is a specimen of Lamb's criticism on Southey's poetical communications : TO MR. SOUTHEY. "I have read your Eclogue repeatedly, and cannot call it bald, or without interest; the cast of it, and the design, are completely original, and may set people upon thinking: it is as poetical as the subject requires, which asks no poetry; but it is defective in pathos. The woman's own story is the tamest part of it-I should like you to remould that it too much resembles the young maid's history, both had been in service. Even the omission would not injure the poem; after the words 'growing wants,' you might, not unconnectedly, introduce 'look at that little chub' down to 'welcome one.' And, decidedly, I would have you end it somehow thus, 'Give them at least this evening a good meal. [Gives her money. Now, fare thee well; hereafter you have taught me To give sad meaning to the village-bells,' &c. I "Yours affectionately, "C. LAMB. "I cut my letter short because I am called off to business." The following, of the same character, is further interesting, as tracing the origin of his "Rosamund," and exhibiting his young enthusiasm for the old English drama, so nobly developed in his "Specimens:" TO MR. SOUTHEY. "Dear Southey,-I thank you heartily for the Eclogue; it pleases me mightily, being so full of picture-work and circumstances. I find no fault in it, unless perhaps that Joanna's ruin is a catastrophe too trite: and this is not the first or second time you have clothed your indignation, in verse, in a tale of ruined innocence. The old lady, spinning in the sun, I hope would not disdain to claim some kindred with old Margaret. I could almost wish you to vary some circumstances in the conclusion. A gentleman seducer has so often been described in prose and verse; what if you had accomplished Joanna's ruin by the clumsy arts and rustic gifts of some country-fellow? I am thinking, I believe, of the song, An old woman clothed in grey, Whose daughter was charming and young, And she was deluded away By Roger's false flattering tongue.' which would leave a stronger impression, (as well as more pleasingly recall the beginning of the Eclogue,) than the present commonplace reference to a better world, which the woman 'must have heard at church.' should like you too a good deal to enlarge A Roger-Lothario would be a novel character the most striking part, as it might have been, I think you might paint him very well. You of the poem-'Is it idleness?' &c., that may think this a very silly suggestion, and affords a good field for dwelling on sickness, so, indeed, it is; but, in good truth, nothing and inabilities, and old age. And you might else but the first words of that foolish ballad also a good deal enrich the piece with a put me upon scribbling my 'Rosamund.' picture of a country wedding: the woman But I thank you heartily for the poem. Not might very well, in a transient fit of oblivion, having anything of my own to send you in dwell upon the ceremony and circumstances return-though, to tell truth, I am at work of her own nuptials six years ago, the upon something, which, if I were to cut away snugness of the bridegroom, the feastings, and garble, perhaps I might send you an D extract or two that might not displease you; but I will not do that; and whether it will come to anything, I know not, for I am as slow as a Fleming painter when I compose anything I will crave leave to put down a few lines of old Christopher Marlow's; I take them from his tragedy, 'The Jew of Malta.' The Jew is a famous character, quite out of nature; but, when we consider the terrible idea our simple ancestors had of a Jew, not more to be discommended for a certain discolouring (I think Addison calls it) than the witches and fairies of Marlow's mighty successor. The scene is betwixt Barabas, the Jew, and Ithamore, a Turkish captive, exposed to sale for a slave. BARABAS. (A precious rascal.) As for myself, I walk abroad a-nights, And kill sick people groaning under walls : To practise first upon the Italian : There I enriched the priests with burials, And in the wars 'twixt France and Germany I fill'd the jails with bankrupts in a year, and antique invention, that at first reminded me of your old description of cruelty in hell, which was in the true Hogarthian style. I need not tell you that Marlow was author of that pretty madrigal, 'Come live with me and be my Love,' and of the tragedy of Edward II., in which are certain lines unequalled in our English tongue. Honest Walton mentions the said madrigal under the denomination of 'certain smooth verses made long since by Kit Marlow.' "I am glad you have put me on the scent after old Quarles. If I do not put up those eclogues, and that shortly, say I am no truenosed hound. I have had a letter from Lloyd; the young metaphysician of Caius is well, and is busy recanting the new heresy, metaphysics, for the old dogma, Greek. My sister, I thank you, is quite well. "Yours sincerely, "C. LAMB." (Now hear Ithamore, the other gentle I have seen. Some child, the curse of antinature.) ITHAMORE. (A comical dog.) Faith, master, and I have spent my time BARABAS. Why, this is something "There is a mixture of the ludicrous and the terrible in these lines, brimful of genius quaries and bane of bibliopical rarities, hath been dabbling in some of them with its paint and dirty fingers; and, in particular, hath a little sullied the author's own portraiture, which I think valuable, as the poem that accompanies it is no common one; this last excepted, the Emblems are far inferior to old Quarles. I once told you otherwise, but I had not then read old Q. with attention. I have picked up, too, another copy of Quarles for ninepence!!! O tempora! O lectores! so that if you have lost or parted with your own copy, say so, and I can furnish you, for you prize these things more than I do. You will be amused, I think, with honest Wither's 'Supersedeas to all them |