The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb

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“Against Thursday.” Coleridge was “at home” on Thursday evenings. Possibly on this occasion some one interested in Gray was to be there, or the allusion may be a punning one to Miss Gray.

“Your latest theory.” I cannot explain this.]

LETTER 392

CHARLES LAMB TO H.F. CARY

April 3, 1826.

Dear Sir,—It is whispered me that you will not be unwilling to look into our doleful hermitage. Without more preface, you will gladden our cell by accompanying our old chums of the London, Darley and Allan Cunningham, to Enfield on Wednesday. You shall have hermit’s fare, with talk as seraphical as the novelty of the divine life will permit, with an innocent retrospect to the world which we have left, when I will thank you for your hospitable offer at Chiswick, and with plain hermit reasons evince the necessity of abiding here.

Without hearing from you, then, you shall give us leave to expect you. I have long had it on my conscience to invite you, but spirits have been low; and I am indebted to chance for this awkward but most sincere invitation.

Yours, with best love to Mrs. Cary, C. LAMB.

Darley knows all about the coaches. Oh, for a Museum in the wilderness!

[Cary, who had been afternoon lecturer at Chiswick and curate of the Savoy, this year took up his post as Assistant Keeper of the Printed Books at the British Museum. George Darley, who wrote some notes to Gary’s Dante, we have met. Allan Cunningham was the Scotch poet and the author of the Lives of the Painters, the “Giant” of the London Magazine. The Lambs seem to have been spending some days at Enfield.

Here should come a note from Lamb to Ollier asking for a copy of the April New Monthly Magazine for himself, and one for his Chinese friend (Manning) if his jests are in.]

LETTER 393

CHARLES LAMB TO VINCENT NOVELLO

[P.M. May 9, 1826.]

Dear N. You will not expect us to-morrow, I am sure, while these damn’d North Easters continue. We must wait the Zephyrs’ pleasures. By the bye, I was at Highgate on Wensday, the only one of the Party.

Yours truly C. LAMB.

Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with its usual severity.

Kind rememb’ces to Mrs. Novello &c.