Works of Charles and Mary Lamb. VI-VII. Letters
Charles Lamb to Samuel Taylor Coleridge, [28 January 1798]
YOU have writ me many kind letters, and I have
answered none of them. I don’t deserve your attentions. An unnatural
indifference has been creeping on me since my last misfortunes, or I should
have seized the first opening of a correspondence with you. To you I owe much
under God. In my brief acquaintance with you in London, your conversations won
me to the better cause, and rescued me from the polluting spirit of the world.
I might have been a worthless character without you; as it is, I do possess a
certain improvable portion of devotional feelings, tho’ when I view
myself in the light of divine truth, and not according to the common measures
of human judgment, I am altogether corrupt and sinful. This is no cant. I am
very sincere.
These last afflictions, Coleridge, have failed to soften and bend my will. They found
me unprepared. My former calamities ![]()
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produced in me a spirit of humility and a spirit of prayer. I thought they had
sufficiently disciplined me; but the event ought to humble me. If God’s
judgments now fail to take away from me the heart of stone, what more grievous
trials ought I not to expect? I have been very querulous, impatient under the
rod—full of little jealousies and heartburnings.—I had well nigh quarrelled
with Charles Lloyd; and for no other
reason, I believe, than that the good creature did all he could to make me
happy. The truth is, I thought he tried to force my mind from its natural and
proper bent; he continually wished me to be from home; he was drawing me from the consideration of my poor dear Mary’s situation, rather than assisting
me to gain a proper view of it with religious consolations. I wanted to be left
to the tendency of my own mind in a solitary state which, in times past, I knew
had led to quietness and a patient bearing of the yoke. He was hurt that I was
not more constantly with him; but he was living with White, a man to whom I had never been
accustomed to impart my dearest feelings, tho’
from long habits of friendliness, and many a social and good quality, I loved
him very much. I met company there sometimes—indiscriminate company. Any
society almost, when I am in affliction, is sorely painful to me. I seem to
breathe more freely, to think more collectedly, to feel more properly and
calmly, when alone. All these things the good creature did with the kindest
intentions in the world, but they produced in me nothing but soreness and
discontent. I became, as he complained, “jaundiced” towards him . .
. but he has forgiven me—and his smile, I hope, will draw all such humours from
me. I am recovering, God be praised for it, a healthiness of mind, something
like calmness—but I want more religion—I am jealous of human helps and
leaning-places. I rejoice in your good fortunes. May God at the last settle
you!—You have had many and painful trials; humanly speaking they are going to
end; but we should rather pray that discipline may attend us thro’ the
whole of our lives. . . . A careless and a dissolute spirit has advanced upon
me with large strides—pray God that my present afflictions may be sanctified to
me! Mary is recovering, but I see no opening yet of a
situation for her; your invitation went to my very heart, but you have a power
of exciting interest, of leading all hearts captive, too forcible to admit of
Mary’s being with you. I consider her as
perpetually on the brink of madness. I think you would almost make her dance
within an inch of the precipice: she must be with duller fancies and cooler
intellects, know a young man of this description, who has suited her these
twenty years, and may live to do so still, if we are one day restored to each
other. In answer to your suggestions of occupation for ![]()
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me, I must say that I do not think my capacity altogether suited
for disquisitions of that kind. . . . I have read little, I have a very weak
memory, and retain little of what I read; am unused to composition in which any
methodising is required; but I thank you sincerely for the hint, and shall
receive it as far as I am able: that is, endeavour to engage my mind in some
constant and innocent pursuit. I know my capacities better than you do.
Accept my kindest love, and believe me yours, as ever.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)
English poet and philosopher who projected
Lyrical Ballads (1798)
with William Wordsworth; author of
Biographia Literaria (1817),
On the Constitution of the Church and State (1829) and other
works.
Mary Anne Lamb (1764-1847)
Sister of Charles Lamb with whom she wrote Tales from Shakespeare (1807). She lived with
her brother, having killed their mother in a temporary fit of insanity.
Charles Lloyd (1775-1839)
Quaker poet; a disciple of Coleridge and friend of Charles Lamb, he published
Poetical Essays on the Character of Pope (1821) and other
volumes.
James White (1775-1820)
Educated at Christ's Hospital, where he was for many years a clerk in the treasurer's
office. He founded an advertising agency which operated in Fleet Street.
