What a

no reading or rehearsal, made no interest. contrast to the usual parade of authors! But it is peculiar to modesty to do all things without noise or pomp. I have some suspicion it will appear in public on Wednesday next, for Wroughton says in his note, it is so forward that if wanted it may come out next week, and a new melodrame is announced for every day till then; and "a new farce is in rehearsal," is put up in the bills. Now you'd like to know the subject. The title is Mr H., no more. How simple, how taking! A great H. sprawling over the play-bill and attracting eyes at every corner. The story is a coxcomb appearing at Bath, vastly rich-all the ladies dying for him-all bursting to know who he is; but he goes by no other name than Mr H.-a curiosity like that of the dames of Strasburg about the man with the great nose. But I won't tell you any more about it. Yes, I will; but I can't give you an idea how I have done it. I'll just tell you that after much vehement admiration, when his true name comes out, "Hogsflesh," all the women shun him, avoid him, and not one can be found to change their name for him. That's the idea. How flat it is here -but how whimsical in the farce! And only think how hard upon me it is that the ship is despatched tomorrow, and my triumph cannot be ascertained till the Wednesday after; but all China will ring of it by and by. N.B. (But this is a secret.) The Professor has got a tragedy coming out, with the young Roscius in it, in January next, as we say-January last it will be with you—and though it is a profound secret now, as all his affairs are, it cannot be much of one by the time you read this. However, don't let it go any further. I understand there are dramatic exhibitions in China. One would not like to be forestalled. you find in all this stuff I have written any thing like those feelings which one should send my old adventuring friend, that is gone to wander among Tartars and

Do

may never come again? I don't; but your going away, and all about you, is a threadbare topic. I have worn it out with thinking: it has come to me when I have been dull with any thing, till my sadness has seemed more to have come from it than to have introduced it. I want you, you don't know how much; but if I had you here in my European garret, we should but talk over such stuff as have written -So. Those Tales from Shakspeare are near coming out, and Mary has begun a new work. Mr Dawe is turned author; he has been in such a way latelyDawe, the painter, I mean—he sits and stands about at Holcroft's and says nothing; then sighs and leans his head on his hand. I took him to be in love; but it seems he was only meditating a work,-" The Life of Moreland." The young man is not used to composition. Rickman and Captain Burney are well; they assemble at my house pretty regularly of a Wednesday -a new institution. Like other great men I have a public day, cribbage and pipes, with Phillips and noisy Martin.

Good God! what a bit only I've got left! How shall I squeeze all I know into this morsel! Coleridge is come home, and is going to turn lecturer on taste at the Royal Institution. I shall get £200 from the theatre if Mr H. has a good run, and I hope £100 for the copyright. Nothing if it fails; and there never was a more ticklish thing. The whole depends on the manner in which the name is brought out, which I value myself on, as a chef-d'œuvre. How the paper grows less and less! In less than two minutes I shall cease to talk to you, and you may rave to the great wall of China. N.B. Is there such a wall? Is it as big as Old London Wall, by Bedlam? Have you met with a friend of mine, named Ball, at Canton? If you are acquainted, remember me kindly to him. May be you'll think I have not said enough of Tuthill and the Holcrofts.

Tuthill is a noble fellow, as far as I can judge. The H.'s bear their disappointment pretty well, but indeed they are sadly mortified. Mrs H. is cast down. It was well, if it were but on this account, that T. is come home. N.B. If my little thing don't succeed I shall easily survive, having, as it were, compared to 'H.'s venture, but a sixteenth in the lottery. Mary and I are to sit next the orchestra in the pit, next the tweedledees. She remembers you. You are more to us than five hundred farces, clappings, &c. Come back one day.

C. LAMB.

CXLIII.

TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

December 11th, 1806.

Mary's love to all of you-I wouldn't let her write.

Dear Wordsworth,-Mr H. came out last night, and failed. I had many fears; the subject was not substantial enough. John Bull must have solider fare than a letter. We are pretty stout about it; have had plenty of condoling friends; but, after all, we had rather it should have succeeded. You will see the prologue in most of the morning papers. It was received with such shouts as I never witnessed to a prologue. It was attempted to be encored. How harda thing I did merely as a task, because it was wanted, and set no great store by; and Mr H.!! The number of friends we had in the house-my brother and I being in public offices, &c. was astonishing, but they yielded at length to a few hisses.

A hundred hisses! (Damn the word, I write it like kisses-how different!)-a hundred hisses outweigh a thousand claps. The former come more

directly from the heart. Well, 'tis withdrawn, and there is an end.

[Turn over.]

Better luck to us.

C. LAMB.

P.S. Pray, when any of you write to the Clarksons, give our kind loves, and say we shall not be able to come and see them at Christmas, as I shall have but a day or two, and tell them we bear our mortification pretty well.

CXLIV.

TO SARAH STODDART

11th Dec. [1806.]

Don't mind this being a queer letter. I am in haste, and taken up by visitors, condolers, &c. God bless you.

Dear Sarah,-Mary is a little cut at the ill success of Mr H. which came out last night and failed. I know you'll be sorry, but never mind. We are determined not to be cast down. I am going to leave off tobacco, and then we must thrive. A smoking man must write smoky farces.

Mary is pretty well, but I persuaded her to let me write. We did not apprise you of the coming out of Mr H. for fear of ill luck. You were much better out of the house. If it had taken, your partaking of our good luck would have been one of our greatest joys. As it is, we shall expect you at the time you mentioned. But whenever you come you shall be most welcome.

God bless

you, dear Sarah, Yours most truly, C. L. Mary is by no means unwell, but I made her let me write.

CXLV.

MISS LAMB TO MRS CLARKSON

Tuesday Decr. 23. 1806. My dear Mrs Clarkson,-You are very kind to say you are out of humour with yourself for not writing before, but I beg you will never be so again. I know so well, and often feel so badly, how tiresome writing sometimes is, that I intreat you will never write but when you will feel yourself quite inclined— I tried the morning after the failure of our little farce to write a line, but you know its ill success and how stoutly we meant to bear it, but I found myself utterly incapable of writing one connected sentence, so that was the philosophy I wished to boast of.

I do not love to throw the blame of the ill success of a piece upon the actors—it is a common trick with unsuccessful dramatists. The blame rested chiefly with Charles, and yet should not be called blame, for is was mere ignorance of stage effect and I am mistaken if he has not gained much useful knowledge, more than he would have learned from a constant attendance at the representations of other people's pieces, by seeing his own fail; he seems perfectly aware why, and from what cause it failed.

He

intends to write one more with all his dear bought experience in his head, and should that share the same fate, he will then turn his mind to some other pursuit.

I am happy to hear so good an account of your health; go on improving as fast as you can, that I may find you quite well. At Easter, or a few weeks after I hope to spend a delightful holliday with you at Bury; if we come at Easter we cannot stay longer than one week; if we defer our journey, we can make a much longer visit, but at present I know not how it will be settled, for my brother sometimes threatens to pass his hollidays in town hunting over old plays at the Museum to extract passages for a