pleases, or to do nothing,--to go about
soothing his particular fancies. I have lived to a time of life to have
outlived the good hours, the nine-o'clock suppers, with a bright hour or
two to clear up in afterwards. Now you cannot get tea before that hour,
and then sit gaping, music bothered perhaps, till half-past twelve
brings up the tray; and what you steal of convivial enjoyment after, is
heavily paid for in the disquiet of to-morrow's head.

I am pleased with your liking "John Woodvil," and amused with your
knowledge of our drama being confined to Shakspeare and Miss Baillie.
What a world of fine territory between Land's End and Johnny Groat's
have you missed traversing! I could almost envy you to have so much to
read. I feel as if I had read all the books I want to read. Oh, to
forget Fielding, Steele, etc., and read 'em new!

Can you tell me a likely place where I could pick up cheap Fox's
Journal? There are no Quaker circulating libraries? Elwood, too, I must
have. I rather grudge that Southey has taken up the history of your
people; I am afraid he will put in some levity. I am afraid I am not
quite exempt from that fault in certain magazine articles, where I have
introduced mention of them. Were they to do again, I would reform them.
Why should not you write a poetical account of your old worthies,
deducing them from Fox to Woolman? But I remember you did talk of
something of that kind, as a counterpart to the "Ecclesiastical
Sketches." But would not a poem be more consecutive than a string of
sonnets? You have no martyrs _quite to the fire,_ I think, among you,
but plenty of heroic confessors, spirit-martyrs, lamb-lions. Think of
it; it would be better than a series of sonnets on "Eminent Bankers." I
like a hit at our way of life, though it does well for me,--better than
anything short of _all one's time to one's self;_ for which alone I
rankle with envy at the rich. Books are good, and pictures are good, and
money to buy them therefore good; but to buy _time,_--in other
words, life!

The "compliments of the time" to you, should end my letter; to a Friend,
I suppose, I must say the "sincerity of the season:" I hope they both
mean the same. With excuses for this hastily penned note, believe me,
with great respect,

C. LAMB.

LXXIII.

TO MISS WORDSWORTH.

Mary perfectly approves of the appropriation of the _feathers,_ and
wishes them peacock's for your fair niece's sake.

_Christmas_, 1822.

D