rm house two thirds of the way to the Lover's Seat, with
incomparable plum cake, ginger beer, etc. Mary bids me warn you not to
read the Anatomy of Melancholy in your present _low way_. You'll fancy
yourself a pipkin, or a headless bear, as Burton speaks of. You'll be
lost in a maze of remedies for a labyrinth of diseasements, a plethora
of cures. Read Fletcher; above all the Spanish Curate, the Thief or
Little Nightwalker, the Wit Without Money, and the Lover's Pilgrimage.
Laugh and come home fat. Neither do we think Sir T. Browne quite the
thing for you just at present. Fletcher is as light as Soda water.
Browne and Burton are too strong potions for an Invalid. And don't thumb
or dirt the books. Take care of the bindings. Lay a leaf of silver paper
under 'em, as you read them. And don't smoke tobacco over 'em, the
leaves will fall in and burn or dirty their namesakes. If you find any
dusty atoms of the Indian Weed crumbled up in the Beaum't and Fletcher,
they are _mine_. But then, you know, so is the Folio also. A pipe and a
comedy of Fletcher's the last thing of a night is the best recipe for
light dreams and to scatter away Nightmares. Probatum est. But do as you
like about the former. Only cut the Baker's. You will come home else all
crust; Rankings must chip you before you can appear in his counting
house. And my dear Peter Fin Junr., do contrive to see the sea at least
once before you return. You'll be ask'd about it in the Old Jewry. It
will appear singular not to have seen it. And rub up your Muse, the
family Muse, and send us a rhyme or so. Don't waste your wit upon that
damn'd Dry Salter. I never knew but one Dry Salter, who could relish
those mellow effusions, and he broke. You knew Tommy Hill, the wettest
of dry salters. Dry Salters, what a word for this thirsty weather! I
must drink after it. Here's to thee, my dear Dibdin, and to our having
you again snug and well at Colebrooke. But our nearest hopes are to hear
again from you shortly. An epistle only a quarter as agreeable as your
last, would be a treat.

Yours most truly C. LAMB

Timothy B. Dibdin, Esq., No. 9, Blucher Row, Priory, Hastings.

[Dibdin, who was in delicate health, had gone to Hastings to recruit,
with a parcel of Lamb's books for company. He seems to have been lodged
above the oven at a baker's. This letter contains Lamb's crowning
description of Hollingdon Rural church.

"A Caledonian Chapel.