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Mary on a visit to Hazlitt. The journey has been of infinite service to her. We have had nothing but sunshiny days, and daily walks from eight to twenty miles a-day; have seen Wilton, Salisbury, Stonehenge, &c. Her illness lasted but six weeks; it left her weak, but the country has made us whole. We came back to our Hogarth Room. I have made several acquisitions since you saw them, and found Nos. 8, 9, 10 of the Friend. The account of Luther in the Warteburg is as fine as any thing I ever read. God forbid that a man who has such things to say should be silenced for want of £100. This Customand-Duty age would have made the Preacher on the Mount take out a licence, and St Paul's Epistles would not have been missible without a stamp. that you may find means to go on!

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of the rich Auditors in Albemarle Street? letter has saddened me.

Your

I am so tired with my journey, being up all night, that I have neither things nor words in my power. I believe I expressed my admiration of the pamphlet. Its power over me was like that which Milton's pamphlets must have had on his contemporaries, who were tuned to them. What a piece of prose ! Do you hear if it is read at all? I am out of the world of readers. I hate all that do read, for they read nothing but reviews and new books. I gather myself up unto the old things.

I have put up shelves. You never saw a bookcase in more true harmony with the contents than what I've nailed up in a room, which, though new, has more aptitudes for growing old than you shall often see as one sometimes gets a friend in the middle of life, who becomes an old friend in a short time. My rooms are luxurious; one is for prints and one for books; a Summer and a Winter parlour. When shall I ever see you in them?

C. L.

BOOK III.—1810-1820

THE PRE-ELIAN DECADE

CHAPTER I

CASUAL ADVENTURES IN HUMOUR AND CRITICISM FROM THE "DEFLECTOR" TO THE

"QUARTERLY"

JANUARY 1810-DECEMBER 1815

CLX.

TO ROBERT LLOYD

[January 1, 1810.]

Dear Robert,-In great haste I write. The Turkey is down at the fire, and some pleasant friends are come in to partake of it. The Sender's Health shall not be forgot-What you tell me of your Father's perseverance in his honorable task gives me great pleasure. Seven Books are a serious earnest of the whole which I hope to see finished.—

We had a delightful month in Wiltshire, four weeks of uniform fine weather, the only fine days which had been all the Summer, saw Salisbury Cathedral, Stonehenge, Wilton &c.-Mary is in excellent health, and sends her Love. Accept of mine with my kind respects to Mrs Ll.-and to your father and mother.

Coleridge's friend is occasionally sublime-What do you think of that Description of Luther in his Study in one of the earlier numbers? The worst is, he is

always promising something which never comes, it is now 18th Number, and continues introductory, the 17th. (that stupid long letter) was nothing better than a Prospectus and ought to have preceded the Ist Number. But I rejoice that it lives.

When you come to London, you will find us at No. 4 Inner Temple Lane, with a few old Books, a few old Hogarths round the room, and the Household Gods at last established. The feeling of Home, which has been slow to come, has come at last. May I never move again, but may my next Lodging be my Coffin.

Yours truly,

C. LAMB.

CLXI.

TO THOMAS MANNING

Jan. 2nd, 1810.

Dear Manning,When I last wrote to you I was in lodgings. I am now in chambers, No. 4, Inner Temple Lane, where I should be happy to see you any evening. Bring any of your friends, the Mandarins, with you. I have two sitting-rooms: I call them so par excellence, for you may stand, or loll, or lean, or try any posture in them, but they are best for sitting; not squatting down Japanese fashion, but the more decorous use of the--which European usage has consecrated. I have two of these rooms on the third floor, and five sleeping, cooking, &c. rooms, on the fourth floor. In my best room is a choice collection of the works of Hogarth, an English painter of some humour. In my next best are shelves containing a small but well-chosen library. My best room commands a court, in which there are trees and a pump, the water of which is excellent cold, with brandy, and not very insipid without. Here I hope to set up my rest, and not

quit till Mr Powell, the undertaker, gives me notice that I may have possession of my last lodging. He lets lodgings for single gentlemen. I sent you a parcel of books by my last, to give you some idea of the state of European literature. There comes with this two volumes, done up as letters, of minor poetry, a sequel to "Mrs Leicester "; the best you may suppose mine; the next best are my coadjutor's. You may amuse yourself in guessing them out; but I must tell you mine are but one-third in quantity of the whole. So much for a very delicate subject. It is hard to speak of one's self, &c. Holcroft had finished his life when I wrote to you, and Hazlitt has since finished his life; I do not mean his own life, but he has finished a life of Holcroft, which is going to press. Tuthill is Dr Tuthill. I continue Mr Lamb. I have published a little book for children on titles of honour; and to give them some idea of the difference of rank and gradual rising, I have made a little scale, supposing myself to receive the following various accessions of dignity from the king, who is the fountain of honour-As at first, 1, Mr C. Lamb; 2, C. Lamb, Esq.; 3, Sir C. Lamb, Bart.; 4, Baron Lamb, of Stamford; 5, Viscount Lamb; 6, Earl Lamb; 7, Marquis Lamb; 8, Duke Lamb. It would look like quibbling to carry it on further, and especially as it is not necessary for children to go beyond the ordinary titles of subregal dignity in our own country; otherwise I have sometimes in my dreams imagined myself still advancing, as 9th, King Lamb; 10th, Emperor Lamb; 11th, Pope Innocent; higher than which is nothing upon earth. Puns I have not made many, (nor punch much,) since the date of my last; one I cannot help relating. A constable in Salisbury Cathedral was telling me that eight people dined at the top of the spire of the cathedral; upon which I remarked, that they must be very sharp set. But

in general I cultivate the reasoning part of my mind more than the imaginative. I am stuffed out so with eating turkey for dinner, and another turkey for supper yesterday, (Turkey in Europe and Turkey in Asia,) that I can't jog on. It is New Year here ; that is, it was New Year half a-year back, when I was writing this. Nothing puzzles me more than time and space; and yet nothing puzzles me less, for I never think about them. The Persian ambassador is the principal thing talked of now. I sent some people to see him worship the sun on Primrose Hill, at half-past six in the morning, 28th November; but he did not come, which makes me think the old fire-worshippers are a sect almost extinct in Persia. The Persian ambassador's name is Shaw Ali Mirza. The common people call him Shaw Nonsense. While I think of it, I have put three letters, besides my own three, into the India post for you, from your brother, sister, and some gentleman whose name I forget. Will they, have they, did they come safe? The distance you are at, cuts up tenses by the root. I think you said you did not know Kate * * * * * * * * *. I express her by nine stars, though she is but one. You must have seen her at her father's. Try and remember her. Coleridge is bringing out a paper in weekly Numbers, called the Friend, which I would send if I could; but the difficulty I had in getting the packets of books out to you before, deters me; and you'll want some thing new to read when you come home. It is chiefly intended to puff off Wordsworth's poetry; but there are some noble things in it by the by. Except Kate, I have had no vision of excellence this year, and she passed by like the Queen on her coronation day; you don't know whether you saw her or not. Kate is fifteen: I go about moping, and sing the old pathetic ballad I used to like in my youth

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