ely a week since, when we had
an inmate. At present and for as long as _ever_ you like, our castle is
at your service. I saw Tuthill yesternight, who has done for me what may

"To all my nights and days to come,
Give solely sovran sway and masterdom."

But I dare not hope, for fear of disappointment. I cannot be more
explicit at present. But I have it under his own hand, that I am
_non_-capacitated (I cannot write it _in_-) for business. O joyous
imbecility! Not a susurration of this to _anybody!_

Mary's love.

C. LAMB.

[Lamb had just taken a most momentous step in his career and had
consulted Tuthill as to his health, in the hope of perhaps obtaining
release and a pension from the East India House. We learn more of this
soon.

Here might come two brief notes to Dibdin, of no importance.]

LETTER 365

CHARLES LAMB TO SARAH HUTCHINSON

[Dated at end: March 1, 1825.]

Dear Miss Hutchinson Your news has made us all very sad. I had my hopes
to the last. I seem as if I were disturbing you at such an awful time
even by a reply. But I must acknowledge your kindness in presuming upon
the interest we shall all feel on the subject. No one will more feel it
than Robinson, to whom I have written. No one more than he and we
acknowleged the nobleness and worth of what we have lost. Words are
perfectly idle. We can only pray for resignation to the Survivors. Our
dearest expressions of condolence to Mrs. M------ at this time in
particular. God bless you both. I have nothing of ourselves to tell you,
and if I had, I could not be so unreverent as to trouble you with it. We
are all well, that is all. Farewell, the departed--and the left. Your's
and his, while memory survives, cordially

C. LAMB.

1 Mar. 1825.

[The letter refers to the death of Thomas Monkhouse.

Here should come an undated note from Lamb to Procter, in which Lamb
refers to the same loss: "We shall be most glad to see you, though more
glad to have seen double _you_."]

LETTER 366

CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON

[P.M. March 23, 1825.]

Wednesday.

Dear B.B.--I have had no impulse to write, or attend to any single
object but myself, for weeks past. My single self. I by myself I. I am
sick of hope deferred. The grand wheel is in agitation that is to turn
up my Fortune, but round it rolls and will turn up nothing. I have a
glimpse of Freedom, of becoming a Gentleman at large, but I am put off
from day to day. I