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THE LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB.

CHAPTER I.

[1775 to 1796.]

lot, and discharging its duties with the most patient assiduity, he was not without literary

LAMB'S PARENTAGE, SCHOOL-DAYS, AND YOUTH, TO ambition; and having written some occasional

THE COMMENCEMENT OF HIS CORRESPONDENCE WITH COLERIDGE.

CHARLES LAMB was born on 10th February, 1775, in Crown Office Row, in the Inner Temple, where he spent the first seven years of his life. His parents were in a humble station, but they were endued with sentiments and with manners which might well become the gentlest blood; and fortune, which had denied them wealth, enabled them to bestow on their children some of the happiest intellectual advantages which wealth ever confers. His father, Mr. John Lamb, who came up a little boy from Lincoln, fortunately both for himself and his master, entered into the service of Mr. Salt, one of the benchers of the Inner Temple, a widower, who, growing old within its precincts, was enabled to appreciate and to reward his devotedness and intelligence; and to whom he became, in the language of his son, "his clerk, his good servant, his dresser, his friend, his flapper, his guide, stop-watch, auditor, treasurer."* Although contented with his

*Lamb has given characters of his father (under the name of Lovel), and of Mr. Salt, in one of the most exquisite of all the Essays of Elia-"The Old Benchers of the Inner Temple." Of Lovel, he says, "He was a man of an incorrigible and losing honesty. A good fellow withal, and would strike.' In the cause of the oppressed he never considered inequalities, or calculated the number of his opponents. He once wrested a sword out of the hand of a man of quality that had drawn upon him; and pummelled him severely with the hilt of it. The swordsman had offered insult to a female-an occasion upon which no odds against him could have prevented the interference of Lovel. He would stand next day bare-headed to the same person, modestly to excuse his interference-for L. never

verses to grace the festivities of a benefit society of which he was a member, was encouraged by his brother members to publish, in a thin quarto, "Poetical Pieces on several occasions." This volume contains a

lively picture of the life of a lady's footman of the last century; the "History of Joseph," told in well-measured heroic couplets; and a pleasant piece, after the manner of "Gay's Fables," ," entitled the "Sparrow's Wedding," when he fell into the dotage of age, he which was the author's favorite, and which, delighted to hear Charles read.† His wife

forgot rank, where something better was not concerned. L. was the liveliest little fellow breathing; had a face as grey as Garrick's, whom he was said greatly to resemble; (I have a portrait of him which confirms it ;) possessed a fine turn for humorous poetry-next to Swift and Prior; moulded heads in clay or plaster of Paris to admiration, by the dint of natural genius merely; turned cribbageboards and such small cabinet toys to perfection; took a hand at quadrille or bowls with equal facility; made punch better than any man of his degree in England; had the merriest quips and conceits; and was altogether as brimful of rogueries and inventions as you could desire. He was a brother of the angle, moreover; and just such a free, hearty, honest companion as Mr. Izaak Walton would have chosen to go a fishing with."

The following little poem, entitled "A Letter from a Child to its Grandmother," written by Mr. John Lamb for his eldest son, though possessing no merit beyond simplicity of expression, may show the manner in which he endeavoured to discharge his parental duties:

"Dear Grandam,

Pray to God to bless Your grandson dear, with happiness; That, as I do advance each year, I may be taught my God to fear; My little frame from passion free To man's estate from infancy;

was a woman of appearance so matronly and commanding, that, according to the recollection of one of Lamb's dearest schoolmates, "she might be taken for a sister of Mrs. Siddons." This excellent couple were blessed with three children, John, Mary, and Charles; John being twelve and Mary ten years older than Charles. John, who is vividly described in the essay of Elia entitled "My Relations," under the name of James Elia, rose to fill a lucrative office in the South Sea House, and died a few years ago, having to the last fulfilled the affectionate injunction of Charles, to "keep the elder brother up in state." Mary (the Bridget of the same essay) still survives, to mourn the severance of a lifelong association, as free from every alloy of selfishness, as remarkable for moral beauty, as this world ever witnessed in brother and sister.

On the 9th of October, 1782, when Charles Lamb had attained the age of seven, he was presented to the school of Christ's Hospital, by Timothy Yeates, Esq., Governor, as "the son of John Lamb, scrivener, and Elizabeth his wife," and remained a scholar of that noble establishment till he had entered into his fifteenth year. Small of stature, delicate of frame, and constitutionally nervous and timid, he would seem unfitted to encounter the discipline of a school formed to restrain some hundreds of lads in the heart of the metropolis, or to fight his way among them. But the sweetness of his disposition won him favour from all; and although the antique peculiarities of the school tinged his opening imagination, they did not sadden his childhood. One of his schoolfellows, of whose genial qualities he has made affectionate mention in his "Recollections of Christ's Hospital," Charles V. Le Grice, now of Treriefe, near Penzance, has supplied me with some particulars of his school-days, for which friends of a later date will be grateful. "Lamb," says Mr. Le Grice, "was an amiable gentle boy, very sensible and keenly observing, indulged by his schoolfellows and by his

From vice, that turns a youth aside,
And to have wisdom for my guide;
That I may neither lie nor swear,
But in the path of virtue steer;
My actions generous, firm, and just,
Be always faithful to my trust;
And thee the Lord will ever bless.
Your grandson dear,

JouN L, the Less.

master on account of his infirmity of speech. His countenance was mild; his complexion clear brown, with an expression which might lead you to think that he was of Jewish descent. His eyes were not each of the same colour, one was hazel, the other had specks of grey in the iris, mingled as we see red spots in the blood - stone. His step was plantigrade, which made his walk slow and peculiar, adding to the staid appearance of his figure. I never heard his name mentioned without the addition of Charles, although, as there was no other boy of the name of Lamb, the addition was unnecessary; but there was an implied kindness in it, and it was a proof that his gentle manners excited that kindness."

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"His delicate frame and his difficulty of utterance, which was increased by agitation, unfitted him for joining in any boisterous sport. The description which he gives, in his Recollections of Christ's Hospital,' of the habits and feelings of the schoolboy, is a true one in general, but is more particularly a delineation of himself - the feelings were all in his own heart- the portrait was his own: While others were all fire and play, he stole along with all the self-concentration of a young monk.' These habits and feelings were awakened and cherished in him by peculiar circumstances: he had been born and bred in the Inner Temple; and his parents continued to reside there while he was at school, so that he passed from cloister to cloister, and this was all the change his young mind ever knew. On every halfholiday (and there were two in the week) in ten minutes he was in the gardens, on the terrace, or at the fountain of the Temple; here was his home, here his recreation; and the influence they had on his infant mind is vividly shown in his description of the Old Benchers. He says, 'I was born and passed the first seven years of my life in the Temple;' he might have added, that here he passed a great portion of the second seven years of his life, a portion which mixed itself with all his habits and enjoyments, and gave a bias to the whole. Here he found a happy home, affectionate parents, and a sister who watched over him to the latest hour of his existence (God be with her!) with the tenderest solicitude and here he had access to the library of Mr. Salt, one of the Benchers, to whose

memory his pen has given, in return for this and greater favours-I do not think it extravagant to say-immortality. To use his own language, here he was tumbled into a spacious closet of good old English reading, where he browsed at will upon that fair and wholesome pasturage.' He applied these words to his sister; but there is no doubt they browsed' together; they had walked hand in hand from a time ‘extending beyond the period of their memory.'

When Lamb quitted school, he was in the lower division of the second class-which in the language of the school is termed "being in Greek Form, but not Deputy Grecian." He had read Virgil. Sallust, Terence, selections from Lucian's Dialogues, and Xenophon; and had evinced considerable skill in the niceties of Latin composition, both in prose and verse. His docility and aptitude for the attainment of classical knowledge would have insured him an exhibition; but to this the impediment in his speech proved an insuperable obstacle. The exhibitions were given under the implied, if not expressed, condition of entering into the Church; the whole course of education was preparatory to that end; and therefore Lamb, who was unfitted by nature for the clerical profession, was not adopted into the class which led to it, and quitted school to pursue the uncongenial labour of the "desk's dull wood." To this apparently hard lot he submitted with cheerfulness, and saw his schoolfellows of his own standing depart, one after another, for the University without a murmur. This acquiescence in his different fortune must have been a hard trial for the sweetness of his disposition; as he always, in after life, regarded the ancient seats of learning with the fondness of one who had been hardly divorced from them. He delighted, when other duties did not hinder, to pass his vacations in their neighbourhood, and indulge in that fancied association with them which he has so beautifully mirrored in his "Sonnet written at Cambridge."* What worldly

* I was not train'd in academic bowers,
And to those learned streams I nothing owe
Which copious from those twin fair founts do flow;
Mine have been anything but studious hours.
Yet can I fancy. wandering 'mid thy towers,
Myself a nursing. Granta. of thy lap;

My brow seems tightening with the doctor's cap,
And I walk gowned; feel unusual powers.

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success can, indeed, ever compensate for the want of timely nurture beneath the shade of one of these venerable institutions-for the sense of antiquity shading, not checking, the joyous impulses of opening manhood — for the refinement and the grace there interfused into the long labour of ambitious study-for young friendships consecrated by the associations of long past time; and for liberal emulation, crowned by successes restrained from ungenerous and selfish pride by palpable symbols of the genius and the learning of ages?

On 23rd November, 1789, Lamb finally quitted Christ's Hospital for the abode of his parents, who still resided in the Temple. At first he was employed in the South Sea House, under his brother John; but on the 5th April, 1792, he obtained an appointment in the accountant's office of the East India Company. His salary, though then small, was a welcome addition to the scanty means of his parents; who now were unable, by their own exertions, to increase it, his mother being in ill health, which confined her to her bed, and his father sinking into dotage. On their comfort, however, this, and what was more precious to him, his little leisure, were freely bestowed; and his recreations were confined to a delightful visit to the twoshilling gallery of the theatre, in company with his sister, and an occasional supper with some of his schoolmates, when in town, from Cambridge. On one of these latter occasions he obtained the appellation of Guy, by which he was always called among them; but of which few of his late friends heard till after his death. "In the first year of his clerkship," says Mr. Le Grice, in the communication with which he favoured me, “Lamb spent the evening of the 5th November with some of his former schoolfellows, who being amused with the particularly large and flapping brim of his round hat, pinned it up on the sides in the form of a cocked-hat. Lamb made no alteration in it, but walked home in his usual sauntering gait towards the Temple. As he was going down Ludgate

Strange forms of logic clothe my admiring speech;
Old Ramus' ghost is busy at my brain;.
And my skull teems with notions infinite.
Be still, ye reeds of Camus, while I teach
Truths which transcend the searching schoolmen's

vein,

And half had stagger'd that stout Stagyrite!

bill, some gay young men, who seemed not to rare fancies, all deftly masked like hoar have passed the London Tavern without antiquity'-much superior to Dr. Kenrick's resting, exclaimed, 'The veritable Guy!—'Falstaff's Wedding.'” The work was no man of straw!' and with this exclamation neglected, although Lamb exerted all the they took him up, making a chair with their influence he subsequently acquired with arms, carried him, seated him on a post in more popular writers to obtain for it favourSt. Paul's-churchyard, and there left him. able notices, as will be seen from various This story Lamb told 'so seriously, that the passages in his letters. He stuck, however, truth of it was never doubted. He wore gallantly by his favourite protégé; and even his three-cornered hat many evenings, and when he could little afford to disburse retained the name of Guy ever after. Like sixpence, he made a point of buying a copy Nym, he quietly sympathized in the fun, and of the book whenever he discovered one seemed to say, 'that was the humour of it.' amidst the refuse of a bookseller's stall, and A clergyman of the City lately wrote to me, would present it to a friend in the hope of I have no recollection of Lamb. There was making a convert. He gave me one of these a gentleman called Guy, to whom you once copies soon after I became acquainted with introduced me, and with whom I have occa- him, stating that he had purchased it in the sionally interchanged nods for more than morning for sixpence, and assuring me I thirty years; but how is it that I never met should enjoy a rare treat in the perusal; Mr. Lamb? If I was ever introduced to but if I must confess the truth, the mask of him, I wonder that we never came in contact quaintness was so closely worn, that it during my residence for ten years in Edmon- nearly concealed the humour. To Lamb it ton.' Imagine this gentleman's surprise was, doubtless, vivified by the eye and voice when I informed him that his nods to Mr. of his old boon companion, forming to him Guy had been constantly reciprocated by an undying commentary; without which it Mr. Lamb!" was comparatively spiritless. Alas! how many even of his own most delicate fancies, rich as they are in feeling and in wisdom, will be lost to those who have not present to them the sweet broken accents, and the half playful, half melancholy smile of the writer!

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During these years, Lamb's most frequent companion was James White, or rather, Jem White, as he always called him. Lamb always insisted that for hearty joyous humour, tinged with Shaksperian fancy, Jem never had an equal. "Jem White!" said he, to Mr. Le Grice, when they met for the last time, after many years' absence, at the Bell at Edmonton, in June, 1833, there never was his like! We never shall see such days as those in which Jem flourished!" All that now remains of Jem is the celebration of the suppers which he gave the young chimney-sweepers in the Elia of his friend, and a thin duodecimo volume, which he published in 1796, under the title of the "Letters of Sir John Falstaff, with a dedication (printed in black letter) to Master Samuel Irelaunde," which those who knew Lamb at the time believed to be his. White's Letters," said Lamb, in a letter to a friend about this time, "are near publication. His frontispiece is a good conceit; Sir John learning to dance, to please Madame Page, in dress of doublet, &c., from the upper half, and modern pantaloons, with shoes of the eighteenth century, from the lower half, and the whole work is full of goodly quips and

But if Jem White was the companion of his lighter moods, the friend of his serious thoughts was a person of far nobler powers -Samuel Taylor Coleridge. It was his good fortune to be the schoolfellow of that extraordinary man; and if no particular intimacy had been formed between them at Christ's Hospital, a foundation was there laid for a friendship to which the world is probably indebted for all that Lamb has added to its sources of pleasure. Junior to Coleridge by two years, and far inferior to him in all scholastic acquirements, Lamb had listened to the rich discourse of "the inspired charityboy" with a wondering delight, pure from all envy, and, it may be, enhanced by his sense of his own feebleness and difficulty of expression. While Coleridge remained at the University, they met occasionally on his visits to London; and when he quitted it, and came to town, full of mantling hopes and glorious schemes, Lamb became his

admiring disciple. The scene of these happy expanded into forms and hues of its own. meetings was a little public-house, called the Lamb's earliest poetry was not a faint Salutation and Cat, in the neighbourhood of reflection of Coleridge's, such as the young Smithfield, where they used to sup, and lustre of original genius may cast on a remain long after they had "heard the chimes polished and sensitive mind, to glow and at midnight." There they discoursed of tremble for a season, but was streaked with Bowles, who was the god of Coleridge's delicate yet distinct traits, which proved it poetical idolatry, and of Burns and Cowper, an emanation from within. There was, who, of recent poets, in that season of com- indeed, little resemblance between the two, parative barrenness, had made the deepest except in the affection which they bore impression on Lamb. There Coleridge talked towards each other. Coleridge's mind, not of "Fate, free-will, fore-knowledge absolute," laden as yet with the spoils of all systems to one who desired "to find no end" of the and of all times, glowed with the ardour of golden maze; and there he recited his early uncontrollable purpose, and thirsted for poems with that deep sweetness of intonation glorious achievement and universal knowwhich sunk into the heart of his hearer. To ledge. The imagination, which afterwards these meetings Lamb was accustomed at all struggled gloriously but perhaps vainly to periods of his life to revert, as the season overmaster the stupendous clouds of German when his finer intellects were quickened into philosophies, breaking them into huge masses, action Shortly after they had terminated, and tinting them with heavenly hues, then with Coleridge's departure from London, he shone through the simple articles of Unitarian thus recalled them in a letter:* "When I faith, the graceful architecture of Hartley's read in your little volume your nineteenth theory, and the well-compacted chain by effusion, or what you call the Sigh,' I think which Priestley and Edwards seemed to I hear you again. I imagine to myself the bind all things in necessary connexion, as little smoky room at the Salutation and Cat, through transparencies of thought; and, where we have sat together through the finding no opposition worthy of its activity winter nights beguiling the cares of life with in this poor foreground of the mind, opened Poesy." This was early in 1796! and in for itself a bright succession of fairy visions, 1818, when dedicating his works, then first which it sought to realise on earth. In its collected, to his earliest friend, he thus spoke light, oppression and force seemed to vanish of the same meetings: "Some of the sonnets, like the phantoms of a feverish dream; which shall be carelessly turned over by the mankind were disposed in the picturesque general reader, may happily awaken in you groups of universal brotherhood; and, in remembrances which I should be sorry should far distance, the ladder which Jacob saw in be ever totally extinct, the memory of solemn vision connected earth with heaven, summer days and of delightful years,' even "and the angels of God were ascending and so far back as those old suppers at our old descending upon it." Lamb had no sympathy Inn, - when life was fresh, and topics with these radiant hopes, except as they were exhaustless, — and you first kindled in me, part of his friend. He clung to the realities if not the power, yet the love of poetry, of life; to things nearest to him, which the and beauty, and kindliness." And so he force of habit had made dear; and caught talked of these unforgotten hours in that tremblingly hold of the past. He delighted, short interval during which death divided indeed, to hear Coleridge talk of the distant them! and future; to see the palm-trees wave, and The warmth of Coleridge's friendship the pyramids tower in the long perspective supplied the quickening impulse to Lamb's of his style; and to catch the prophetic notes genius; but the germ enfolding all its nice of a universal harmony trembling in his peculiarities lay ready for the influence, and

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voice; but the pleasure was only that of admiration unalloyed by envy, and of the generous pride of friendship. The tendency of his mind to detect the beautiful and good in surrounding things, to nestle rather than ito roam, was cherished by all the circum

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