s an ordinary man might say without all that quaking and
trembling. In the midst of his inspiration,--and the effects of it were
most noisy,--was handed into the midst of the meeting a most terrible
blackguard Wapping sailor; the poor man, I believe, had rather have been
in the hottest part of an engagement, for the congregation of
broad-brims, together with the ravings of the prophet, were too much for
his gravity, though I saw even he had delicacy enough not to laugh out.
And the inspired gentleman, though his manner was so supernatural, yet
neither talked, nor professed to talk anything more than good sober
sense, common morality, with, now and then a declaration of not speaking
from himself. Among other things, looking back to this childhood and
early youth, he told the meeting what a graceless young dog he had been,
that in his youth he had a good share of wit. Reader, if thou hadst seen
the gentleman, thou wouldst have sworn that it must indeed have been
many years ago, for his rueful physiognomy would have scared away the
playful goddess from the meeting, where he presided, forever, A wit! a
wit! what could he mean? Lloyd, it minded me of Falkland in the
"Rivals," "Am I full of wit and humor? No, indeed, you are not. Am I the
life and soul of every company I come into? No, it cannot be said you
are." That hard-faced gentleman a wit! Why, Nature wrote on his fanatic
forehead fifty years ago, "Wit never comes, that comes to all." I should
be as scandalized at a _bon-mot_ issuing from his oracle-looking mouth
as to see Cato go down a country-dance. God love you all! You are very
good to submit to be pleased with reading my nothings. 'T is the
privilege of friendship to talk nonsense and to have her nonsense
respected. Yours ever,

C. LAMB.

[1] See Letter VIII.

XIV.

TO COLERIDGE.

_January_ 28, 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, though
when I view myself in the light of divine tr