The Best Letters of Charles Lamb eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 323 pages of information about The Best Letters of Charles Lamb.

The Best Letters of Charles Lamb eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 323 pages of information about The Best Letters of Charles Lamb.

Our providers are an honest pair, Dame Westwood and her husband,—­he, when the light of prosperity shined on them, a moderately thriving haberdasher within Bow bells, retired since with something under a competence; writes himself parcel-gentleman; hath borne parish offices; sings fine old sea-songs at threescore and ten; sighs only now and then when he thinks that he has a son on his hands about fifteen, whom he finds a difficulty in getting out into the world, and then checks a sigh with muttering, as I once heard him prettily, not meaning to be heard, “I have married my daughter, however;” takes the weather as it comes; outsides it to town in severest season; and o’ winter nights tells old stories not tending to literature (how comfortable to author-rid folks!), and has one ancedote, upon which and about forty pounds a year he seems to have retired in green old age.  It was how he was a rider in his youth, travelling for shops, and once (not to balk his employer’s bargain) on a sweltering day in August, rode foaming into Dunstable [1] upon a mad horse, to the dismay and expostulatory wonderment of inn-keepers, ostlers, etc., who declared they would not have bestrid the beast to win the Derby.  Understand the creature galled to death and desperation by gad-flies, cormorant-winged, worse than beset Inachus’s daughter.  This he tells, this he brindles and burnishes, on a winter’s eve; ’t is his star of set glory, his rejuvenescence to descant upon, Far from me be it (da avertant!) to look a gift-story in the mouth, or cruelly to surmise (as those who doubt the plunge of Curtius) that the inseparate conjuncture of man and beast, the centaur-phenomenon that staggered all Dunstable, might have been the effect of unromantic necessity; that the horse-part carried the reasoning willy-nilly; that needs must when such a devil drove; that certain spiral configurations in the frame of Thomas Westwood, unfriendly to alighting, made the alliance more forcible than voluntary.  Let him enjoy his fame for me, nor let me hint a whisper that shall dismount Bellerophon.  But in case he was an involuntary martyr, yet if in the fiery conflict he buckled the soul of a constant haberdasher to him, and adopted his flames, let accident and him share the glory.  You would all like Thomas Westwood. [2]

How weak is painting to describe a man!  Say that he stands four feet and a nail high by his own yard-measure, which, like the sceptre of Agamemnon, shall never sprout again, still, you have no adequate idea; nor when I tell you that his dear hump, which I have favored in the picture, seems to me of the buffalo,—­indicative and repository of mild qualities, a budget of kindnesses,—­still, you have not the man.  Knew you old Norris of the Temple, sixty years ours and our father’s friend?  He was not more natural to us than this old Westwood, the acquaintance of scarce more weeks.  Under his roof now ought I to take my rest, but that back-looking ambition tells me I might yet be a Londoner! 

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The Best Letters of Charles Lamb from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.