Here should come notes to Allsop, declining an invitation to Highgate, and to a Mr. Tuff, warning him to be quick to use some theatre tickets which Lamb had sent him.]

LETTER 585

CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON

[P.M.  July 14, 1833.]

Dear M. the Hogarths are delicate.  Perhaps it will amuse Emma to tell her, that, a day or two since, Miss Norris (Betsy) call’d to me on the road from London from a gig conveying her to Widford, and engaged me to come down this afternoon.  I think I shall stay only one night; she would have been glad of E’s accompaniment, but I would not disturb her, and Mrs. N. is coming to town on Monday, so it would not have suited.  Also, C.V.  Le Grice gave me a dinner at Johnny Gilpin’s yesterday, where we talk’d of what old friends were taken or left in the 30 years since we had met.

I shall hope to see her on Tuesd’y.

To Bless you both

C.L.

Friday.

[Le Grice we have met.  “Johnny Gilpin’s” was The Bell at Edmonton.

Here should come another note from Lamb to Mrs. Randal Norris, in which Lamb says that he reached home safely and thanks her for three agreeable days.  Also he sends some little books, which were, I take it, copies of Moxon’s private reissue of Poetry for Children.

Mr. W.C.  Hazlitt records that a letter from Lamb to Miss Norris was in existence in which the writer gave “minute and humorous instructions for his own funeral, even specifying the number of nails which he desired to be inserted in his coffin.”]

LETTER 586

CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON

[P.M.  July 24, 1833.]

For god’s sake, give Emma no more watches. One has turn’d her head.  She is arrogant, and insulting.  She said something very unpleasant to our old Clock in the passage, as if he did not keep time, and yet he had made her no appointment.  She takes it out every instant to look at the moment-hand.  She lugs us out into the fields, because there the bird-boys ask you “Pray, Sir, can you tell us what’s a Clock,” and she answers them punctually.  She loses all her time looking “what the time is.”  I overheard her whispering, “Just so many hours, minutes &c. to Tuesday—­I think St. George’s goes too slow”—­This little present of Time, why, ’tis Eternity to her—­

What can make her so fond of a gingerbread watch?

She has spoil’d some of the movements.  Between ourselves, she has kissed away “half past 12,” which I suppose to be the canonical hour in Hanover Sq.

Well, if “love me, love my watch,” answers, she will keep time to you—­

It goes right by the Horse Guards—­

[On the next page:—­]

Emma hast kist this yellow wafer—­a hint.

DEAREST M.

Never mind opposite nonsense.  She does not love you for the watch, but the watch for you.