see me, was not there a gentleman of the name of Morgan, did he know him, didn't he come to see me, did he know how Mr Morgan lived, she could never make out how they were maintained, was it true he lived out of the profits of a linen draper's shop in Bishopsgate Street? (There she is a little right and a little wrong. M. is a Gentleman tobacconist). In short, she multiplied demands upon him till my friend, who is neither over modest nor nervous, declared he quite shuddered after laying me as bare to her curiosity as an anatomy. He trembled to think what she would ask next, my pursuits, inclinations, aversions, attachments (some, my dear friends, of a most delicate nature), she lugged 'em out of him, or would, had he been privy to them, as you pluck a horse bean from its iron stem, not as such tender rosebuds should be pulled. The fact is, I am come to Kingsland and that is the truth of the matter; and nobody but yourselves should have extorted such a confession from me. I suppose you have seen by the Papers that Manning is arrived in England. He expressed much mortification at not finding Mrs Kenney in England. He looks a good deal sunburnt, and is got a little reserved, but I hope it will wear off. You will see by the Papers also that Dawe is Knighted. He has been painting the Princess of Coborg and her husband. This is all the news I could think of. Write to us, but not by us, for I have near ten correspondents of this latter description, and one or other comes pouring in every day, till my purse strings and heart strings crack. Bad habits are not all broken at once. I am sure that you will excuse the apparent indelicacy of mentioning this, but dear is my shirt but dearer is my skin, and 'tis too late when the steed is stole, to shut the stable door. Well, and does Louisa grown [sic] a fine girl, is she likely to have her mother's complexion, and does Tom Polish in French air?-Henry I mean-and Kenney is-not so fidgety. YOU sit down sometimes for a quiet half hour or so, and all is comfortable, no bills (that you call writs), nor anything else (that you are equally sure to miss-call), to annoy you. Vive la gaite de cœur et la bell pastime, vive la beau France et revive mon cher Empreur. C. LAMB. [Endorsed] Mr Kenney, Saint Valery sur Somme, France. CLXXXI. TO WILLIAM AYRTON Accountant's Office, Dear A.,-I am in your debt for a very delightful evening-I should say two-but Don Giovanni in particular was exquisite, and I am almost inclined to allow Music to be one of the Liberal Arts; which before I doubted. Could you let me have 3 Gallery Tickets -don't be startled-they shall positively be the last— or 2 or 1-for the same, for to-morrow or Tuesday. They will be of no use for to-morrow if not put in the post this day addrest to me, Mr Lamb, India House; if for any other evening, your usual blundering direction, No. 3 Middle Temple instead of 4 Inner Temple Lane will do. Yours, CH. LAMB. For I am a person that shuns And being at the top of the fashion, But in formâ Pauperis. I go to the Play In a very economical sort of way, Than be seen. Though I'm no ill sight By candle light And in some kinds of weather. you might pit me For weight Against Kean. But in a grand tragic scene It would create a kind of loathing There'd be many a damn let At my presumption If I should try Being a fellow of no gumption. By the way tell me candidly how you relish This which they call the lapidary Style? The late Mr Mellish Could never abide it. And coxcombical. My friend the Poet Laureat Was the first who tried it But Mellish could never abide it. But it signifies very little what Mellish said, Because he is dead. For who can confute And stiff as a stone— To convince him with arguments pro and con or Mr Hazlitt the Metaphysician- With all your rare tone— For tell me how should an apparition When his ear itself By which he must hear or not hear at all or put the case It were a female spectre— In long speeches With her tongue as dry as dust Where no peaches Nor lemons nor limes nor oranges hang With their sweet drench The fiery pangs which the worms inflict With their endless nibblings Which the corpse may dislike, but can ne'er contradict My dear Barron,-The bearer of this letter so far across the seas is Mr Lawrey, who comes out to you as a missionary, and whom I have been strongly importuned to recommend to you as a most worthy creature by Mr Fenwick, a very old, honest friend of mine; of whom, if my memory does not deceive me, you have had some knowledge heretofore as editor of the Statesman; a man of talent, and patriotic. If you can show him any facilities in his arduous undertaking, you will oblige us much. Well, and how does the land of thieves use you? and how do you pass your time, in your extra-judicial intervals ? Going about the streets with a lantern, like Diogenes, looking for an honest man? You may look long enough, I fancy. Do give me some notion of the manners of the inhabitants where you are. They don't thieve all day long do they? No human property could stand such continuous battery. And what do they do when they an't stealing? Have you got a theatre? What pieces are performed? Shakspeare's, I suppose; not so much for the poetry, as for his having once been in danger of leaving his country on account of certain "small deer.' Have you poets among you? Damn'd plagiarists, |