is perfect
trash. Poor Hessey, I suppose you see, has failed. Hunt and Clarke too.
Your "Vulgar truths" will be a good name--and I think your prose must
please--me at least--but 'tis useless to write poetry with no
purchasers. 'Tis cold work Authorship without something to puff one into
fashion. Could you not write something on Quakerism--for Quakers to
read--but nominally addrest to Non Quakers? explaining your
dogmas--waiting on the Spirit--by the analogy of human calmness and
patient waiting on the judgment? I scarcely know what I mean, but to
make Non Quakers reconciled to your doctrines, by shewing something like
them in mere human operations--but I hardly understand myself, so let it
pass for nothing. I pity you for over-work, but I assure you no-work is
worse. The mind preys on itself, the most unwholesome food. I brag'd
formerly that I could not have too much time. I have a surfeit. With few
years to come, the days are wearisome. But weariness is not eternal.
Something will shine out to take the load off, that flags me, which is
at present intolerable. I have killed an hour or two in this poor
scrawl. I am a sanguinary murderer of time, and would kill him inchmeal
just now. But the snake is vital. Well, I shall write merrier
anon.--'Tis the present copy of my countenance I send--and to complain
is a little to alleviate.--May you enjoy yourself as far as the wicked
wood will let you--and think that you are not quite alone, as I am.
Health to Lucia and to Anna and kind rememb'ces.

Yours forlorn.

C.L.

["Out of a life of sixty-four." Mary Lamb was born December 3, 1764.

"Your kind ... Eliza"--Eliza Barton, Bernard's sister.

"Rejected farce." "The Pawnbroker's Daughter" was printed in
_Blackwood_, January, 1830.

"I brag'd formerly." Referring I think to his sonnet "Leisure."]

LETTER 490

CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS ALLSOP

[No date. Late July, 1829.]

My dear Allsop--I thank you for thinking of my recreation. But I am best
here, I feel I am. I have tried town lately, but came back worse. Here I
must wait till my loneliness has its natural cure. Besides that, though
I am not very sanguine, yet I live in hopes of better news from Fulham,
and can not be out of the way. 'Tis ten weeks to-morrow.--I saw Mary a
week since, she was in excellent bodily health, but otherwise far from
well. But a week or so may give a turn. Love to Mrs. A. and children,
and fair weather accomp'y you.

C.L.

Tuesday.