ghbor's in this good
borough of Calne, for want of whist-players we fell upon _Commerce:_ the
word awoke me to a remembrance of my professional avocations and the
long-continued strife which I have been these twenty-four years
endeavoring to compose between those grand Irreconcilables, Cash and
Commerce; I instantly called for an almanac, which with some difficulty
was procured at a fortune-teller's in the vicinity (for happy holiday
people here, having nothing to do, keep no account of time), and found
that by dint of duty I must attend in Leadenhall on Wednesy morning
next; and shall attend accordingly. Does Master Hannah give maccaroons
still, and does he fetch the Cobbetts from my attic? Perhaps it wouldn't
be too much trouble for him to drop the enclosed up at my aforesaid
chamber, and any letters, etc., with it; but the enclosed should go
without delay. N.B.--He isn't to fetch Monday's Cobbett, but it is to
wait my reading when I come back. Heigh-ho! Lord have mercy upon me, how
many does two and two make? I am afraid I shall make a poor clerk in
future, I am spoiled with rambling among haycocks and cows and pigs.
Bless me! I had like to have forgot (the air is so temperate and
oblivious here) to say I have seen your brother, and hope he is doing
well in the finest spot of the world. More of these things when I
return. Remember me to the gentlemen,--I forget names. Shall I find all
my letters at my rooms on Tuesday? If you forget to send 'em never mind,
for I don't much care for reading and writing now; I shall come back
again by degrees, I suppose, into my former habits. How is Bruce de
Ponthieu, and Porcher and Co.?--the tears come into my eyes when I think
how long I have neglected--.

Adieu! ye fields, ye shepherds and--herdesses, and dairies and
cream-pots, and fairies and dances upon the green.

I come, I come. Don't drag me so hard by the hair of my head, Genius of
British India! I know my hour is come, Faustus must give up his soul, O
Lucifer, O Mephistopheles! Can you make out what all this letter is
about? I am afraid to look it over.

CH. LAMB.

[1] A fellow-clerk in the India House. This charming letter, written
evidently during a vacation trip, was first published entire in Canon
Ainger's edition (1887) of Lamb's Letters.

LXIII.

TO MRS. WORDSWORTH.

_February_ 18, 1818.

My Dear Mrs. Wordsworth,--I have repeatedly taken pen in hand to answer
your kind letter. My sister should more p