mature wights, and sometimes refresh our own fatigues with taking a hand at), not being able to hit a ball he had iterate aimed at, he cried out, "I cannot hit that beast!" Now the balls are usually called men, but he felicitously hit upon a middle term; a term of approximation and imaginative reconciliation; a something where the two ends of the brute matter (ivory), and their human and rather violent personification into men, might meet, as I take it illustrative of that excellent remark, in a certain preface about imagination, explaining "Like a sea-beast that had crawled forth to sun himself!" Not that I accuse William Minor of hereditary plagiary, or conceive the image to have come ex traduce. Rather he seemeth to keep aloof from any source of imitation, and purposely to remain ignorant of what mighty poets have done in this kind before him; for, being asked if his father had ever been on Westminster Bridge, he answered that he did not know! It is hard to discern the oak in the acorn, or a temple like St Paul's in the first stone which is laid; nor can I quite prefigure what destination the genius. of William Minor hath to take. Some few hints I have set down, to guide my future observations. He hath the power of calculation, in no ordinary degree for a chit. He combineth figures, after the first boggle, rapidly; as in the tricktrack board, where the hits are figured. At first he did not perceive that 15 and 7 made 22; but by a little use he could combine 8 with 25, and 33 again with 16, which approacheth something in kind (far let me be from flattering him by saying in degree) to that of the famous American boy. I am sometimes inclined to think I perceive the future satirist in him, for he hath a subsardonic smile which bursteth out upon occasion; as when he was asked if London were as big as Ambleside; and indeed no other answer was given, or proper to XI. 2 D2 be given, to so ensnaring and provoking a question. In the contour of the skull, certainly I discern something paternal. But whether in all respects the future man shall transcend his father's fame, Time, the trier of Geniuses, must decide. Be it pronounced peremptorily at present, that Willy is a well-mannered child, and though no great student, hath yet a lively eye for things that lie before him. Given in haste from my desk at Leadenhall. Yours, and yours most sincerely, C. LAMB. A SERIES OF BRIEF NOTES, MOSTLY OF UNCERTAIN DATE, TO THOMAS ALLSOP CCXIX. Saturday, November 29, 1819. Dear Sir, Many thanks for your offer. I have desired the youth to wait upon you, if you will give him leave, that he may give his own answer to your kind proposal of trying to find something for him. My sister begs you will accept her thanks with mine. We shall be at home at all times, most happy to see you when you are in town. We are mostly to be found in an evening. CCXX. Your obliged, C. LAMB Dear Sir,-We are most sorry to have missed you twice. We are at home to-night, to-morrow, and Thursday, and should be happy to see you any of these nights. Thanks for the shining bird. Yours truly, CCXXI. C. L. Dear Sir, The hairs of our head are numbered, but those which emanate from your heart defy arithmetic. I would send longer thanks, but your young man is blowing his fingers in the Passage. Yours gratefully, C. L. CCXXII. Dear Sir,-Your hare arrived in excellent order Last night, and I hope will prove the precursor of yourself on Sunday. Why you should think it necessary to appease us with so many pleasant presents, I know not. More acknowledgements when we meet; we dine at 3. Thursday. CCXXIII. My Dear Sir,-We shall hope to see you tomorrow evening to a rubber. Thanks for your very kind letter, and intentions respecting a bird. Yours very truly, C. LAMB. CCXXIV. TO SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE January 10, 1820. Dear Coleridge,-A letter written in the blood of your poor friend would indeed be of a nature to startle you; but this is nought but harmless red ink, or, as the witty mercantile phrase hath it, clerk's blood. Hang 'em! my brain, skin, flesh, bone, carcase, soul, time is all theirs. The Royal Exchange, Gresham's Folly, hath me body and spirit. I admire some of Lloyd's lines on you, and I admire your postponing reading them. He is a sad tattler; but this is under the rose. Twenty years ago he estranged one friend from me quite, whom I have been regretting, but never could regain since. He almost alienated you also from me, or me from you, I don't know which; but that breach is closed. "dreary sea" is filled up. He has lately been at work "telling again," as they call it, a most gratuitous piece of mischief, and has caused a coolness betwixt me and (not a friend exactly, but) an The |