C.L.

["I saved nothing.”  Lamb, however, according to Procter, left L2000 at his death eight years later.  He must have saved L200 a year from his pension of L441, living at the rate of L241 per annum, plus small earnings, for the rest of his life, and investing the L200 at 5 per cent, compound interest.

“Colburn had something of mine.”  The Popular Fallacy “That a Deformed Person is a Lord,” not included by Lamb with the others when he reprinted them.  Printed in Vol.  I. of this edition.

“Reading at the Museum.”  Lamb had begun to visit the Museum every day to collect extracts from the Garrick plays for Hone’s Table Book, 1827.

“A.K.”—­Anne Knight again.

The pleasant Yorkshire lad whom Mitford’s secular air surprised was probably Moxon.

Here might come a business letter, from Lamb to Barton, preserved in the British Museum, relating to Mitford’s jars.]

LETTER 403

CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON

[No date. ?  Sept., 1826.]

I have had much trouble to find Field to-day.  No matter.  He was packing up for out of town.  He has writ a handsomest letter, which you will transmit to Murry with your proof-sheets.  Seal it.—­

Yours C. L——.

Mrs. Hood will drink tea with us on Thursday at 1/2 past 5 at Latest.

N.B.  I have lost my Museum reading today:  a day with Titus:  owing to your dam’d bisness.—­I am the last to reproach anybody.  I scorn it.

If you shall have the whole book ready soon, it will be best for Murry to see.

[I am not clear as to what proof-sheets of Moxon’s Lamb refers.  His second book, Christmas, 1829, was issued through Hurst, Chance & Co.

Barton Field and John Murray were friends.

“A day with Titus.”  Can this (a friend suggests) have any connection with the phrase Amici! diem perdidi? There is no Titus play among the Garrick Extracts.]

LETTER 404

CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON

[No postmark or date.  Soon after preceding letter to Barton. 1826.]

Dear B.B.—­the Busy Bee, as Hood after Dr. Watts apostrophises thee, and well dost thou deserve it for thy labors in the Muses’ gardens, wandering over parterres of Think-on-me’s and Forget-me-nots, to a total impossibility of forgetting thee,—­thy letter was acceptable, thy scruples may be dismissed, thou art Rectus in Curia, not a word more to be said, Verbum Sapienti and so forth, the matter is decided with a white stone, Classically, mark me, and the apparitions vanishd which haunted me, only the Cramp, Caliban’s distemper, clawing me in the calvish part of my nature, makes me ever and anon roar Bullishly, squeak cowardishly, and limp cripple-ishly.  Do I write quakerly and simply, ’tis my most Master Mathew-like intention to