need to invent. Nature
romances it for him. Dinner plates rattle, and I positively shall incur
indigestion by carrying it half concocted to the Post House. Let me
congratulate you on the Spring coming in, and do you in return condole
with me for the Winter going out. When the old one goes, seldome comes a
better. I dread the prospect of Summer, with his all day long days. No
need of his assistance to make country places dull. With fire and candle
light, I can dream myself in Holborn. With lightsome skies shining in to
bed time, I can not. This Meseck, and these tents of Kedar--I would
dwell in the skirts of Jericho rather, and think every blast of the
coming in Mail a Ram's Horn. Give me old London at Fire and Plague
times, rather than these tepid gales, healthy country air, and
purposeless exercise. Leg of mutton absolutely on the table.

Take our hasty loves and short farewell.

C.L.

[A.C. was Allan Cunningham, who wanted Lamb's letter on Blake (see
above) for his _Lives of the Painters_. It was not, however, used there
until included in Mrs. Charles Heaton's edition in Bohn's Library.

"Bruce"--the Abyssinian explorer, whom the Christ's Hospital boys used
to emulate, as Lamb tells us in the _Elia_ essay on Newspapers.

"Joseph Paice"--a Director of the South-Sea Company and Lamb's first
employer, of whom he writes in the _Elia_ essay on "Modern Gallantry"
(see notes to Vol. II.).

Here should come a letter to Moxon, February 21, 1830, saying that a
letter has just arrived from Mrs. Williams indicating that Miss Isola
was not well and must have a long holiday. The illness increased very
rapidly, becoming a serious attack of brain fever.]

LETTER 501

CHARLCHARLES TO MRS. WILLIAMS

[February 26, 1830.]

Dear Madam,--May God bless you for your attention to our poor Emma! I am
so shaken with your sad news I can scarce write. She is too ill to be
removed at present; but we can only say that if she is spared, when that
can be practicable, we have always a home for her. Speak to her of it,
when she is capable of understanding, and let me conjure you to let us
know from day to day, the state she is in. But one line is all we crave.
Nothing we can do for her, that shall not be done. We shall be in the
terriblest suspense. We had no notion she was going to be ill. A line
from anybody in your house will much oblige us. I feel for the situation
this trouble places you in.

Can I go to her aunt, or do anythin