which were then just rising out of the ground, are quite finished, and a noble entrance made that way into Portland Place. I am very sorry for Mr De Quincey. What a blunder the poor man made when he took up his dwelling among the mountains! I long to see my friend Pypos. Coleridge is still at Little Hampton with Mrs Gilman; he has been so ill as to be confined to his room almost the whole time he has been there.

Charles has had all his Hogarths bound in a book; they were sent home yesterday, and now that I have them altogether, and perceive the advantage of peeping close at them through my spectacles, I am reconciled to the loss of them hanging round the room, which has been a great mortification to me-in vain I tried to console myself with looking at our new chairs and carpets, for we have got new chairs, and carpets covering all over our two sitting-rooms; I missed my old friends and could not be comfortedthen I would resolve to learn to look out of the window, a habit I never could attain in my life, and I have given it up as a thing quite impracticable-yet when I was at Brighton, last Summer, the first week I never took my eyes off from the sea, not even to look in a book: I had not seen the sea for sixteen years. Mrs Morgan, who was with us, kept her liking, and continued her seat in the window till the very last, while Charles and I played truants, and wandered among the hills, which we magnified into little mountains, and almost as good as Westmoreland scenery certainly we made discoveries of many pleasant walks, which few of the Brighton visitors have ever dreamed of-for, like as is the case in the neighbourhood of London, after the first two or three miles we were sure to find ourselves in a perfect solitude. I hope we shall meet before the walking faculties of either of us fail; you say you can walk fifteen miles with ease; that is exactly my stint, and

more fatigues me; four or five miles every third or fourth day, keeping very quiet between, was all Mrs Morgan could accomplish.

God bless you and yours. Love to all and each one. I am ever yours most affectionately,

XI.

M. LAMB.

A A

CLXXXV.

TO THE SAME

Nov. 21st, 1817.

Dear Miss Wordsworth,-Here we are, transplanted from our native soil. I thought we never could have been torn up from the Temple. Indeed it was an ugly wrench, but like a tooth, now 'tis out, and I am easy. We never can strike root so deep in any other ground. This, where we are, is a light bit of gardener's mould, and if they take us up from it, it will cost no blood and groans, like man-drakes pulled up. We are in the individual spot I like best, in all this great city. The theatres, with all their noises. Covent Garden, dearer to me than any gardens of Alcinoüs, where we are morally sure of the earliest peas and 'sparagus. Bow Street, where the thieves are examined, within a few yards of us. Mary had not been here four-and-twenty hours before she saw a thief. She sits at the window working; and casually throwing out her eyes, she sees a concourse of people coming this way, with a constable to conduct the solemnity. These little incidents agreeably diversify a female life.

Mary has brought her part of this letter to an orthodox and loving conclusion, which is very well, for I have no room for pansies and remembrances. What a nice holyday I got on Wednesday by favour of a princess dying! C. L.

CLXXXVI.

TO WILLIAM AYRTON

Russell House, Tuesday 25 Nov. 1817. Dear A., We keep our Thursday (which is become a moveable feast) this evening, viz. Tuesday. We need not say that your company will be most acceptable. If you can persuade Mrs A. to accompany you, my sister begs me to say we shall consider the obligation double. Yours truly

my

C. L. N.B.-Is not the above rather neatly worded; above usual cut, I mean. It strikes me so.