t in the
Temple. It was an old thing, and spoke of the flat-bottoms of our foes
and the possibility of their coming over in darkness, and alluded to
threats of an invasion many years blown over; and when he came to
the part--

"We'll still make 'em run, and we'll still make 'em sweat,
In spite of the devil and 'Brussels Gazette,'"--

his eyes would sparkle as with the freshness of an impending event. And
what is the "Brussels Gazette" now? I cry while I enumerate these
trifles. "How shall we tell them in a stranger's ear?" His poor good
girls will now have to receive their afflicted mother in an inaccessible
hovel in an obscure village in Herts, where they have been long
struggling to make a school without effect; and poor deaf Richard--and
the more helpless for being so--is thrown on the wide world.

My first motive in writing, and, indeed, in calling on you, was to ask
if you were enough acquainted with any of the Benchers to lay a plain
statement before them of the circumstances of the family. I almost
fear not, for you are of another hall. But if you can oblige me and my
poor friend, who is now insensible to any favors, pray exert yourself.
You cannot say too much good of poor Norris and his poor wife.

Yours ever,

CHARLES LAMB.

[1] Randal Norris, sub-treasurer of the Inner Temple, an early friend of
the Lambs.

XCIV.

TO PETER GEORGE PATMORE.

LONDRES, _Julie_ 19_th_, 1827.

Dear P.,--I am so poorly. I have been to a funeral, where I made a pun,
to the consternation of the rest of the mourners. And we had wine. I
can't describe to you the howl which the widow set up at proper
intervals. Dash [1] could; for it was not unlike what he makes.

The letter I sent you was one directed to the care of Edward White,
India House, for Mrs. Hazlitt. _Which_ Mrs. H. I don't yet know; but
Allsop has taken it to France on speculation. Really it is embarrassing.
There is Mrs. present H., Mrs. late H., and Mrs. John H.; and to which
of the three Mrs. Wigginses it appertains, I know not. I wanted to open
it, but 'tis transportation.

I am sorry you are plagued about your book. I would strongly recommend
you to take for one story Massinger's "Old Law." It is exquisite. I can
think of no other.

Dash is frightful this morning. He whines and stands up on his hind
legs. He misses Becky, who is gone to town. I took him to Barnet the
other day, and he couldn't eat his vittles after it. Pray God his
intellect