Lamb's landlord in Russell Street.

"My kind old aunt... the Borough." This is rather perplexing. Lamb, to
the best of our knowledge, never as a child lived anywhere but in the
Temple. His only aunt of whom we know anything lived with the family
also in the Temple. But John Lamb's will proves Lamb to have had two
aunts. The reference to the Borough suggests therefore that the aunt in
question was not Sarah Lamb (Aunt Hetty) but her sister.]

LETTER 284

CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

20th March, 1822.

My dear Wordsworth--A letter from you is very grateful, I have not seen
a Kendal postmark so long! We are pretty well save colds and rheumatics,
and a certain deadness to every thing, which I think I may date from
poor John's Loss, and another accident or two at the same time, that has
made me almost bury myself at Dalston, where yet I see more faces than I
could wish. Deaths over-set one and put one out long after the recent
grief. Two or three have died within this last two twelvem'ths, and so
many parts of me have been numbed. One sees a picture, reads an
anecdote, starts a casual fancy, and thinks to tell of it to this person
in preference to every other--the person is gone whom it would have
peculiarly suited. It won't do for _another_. Every departure destroys a
class of sympathies. There's Capt. Burney gone!--what fun has whist now?
what matters it what you lead, if you can no longer fancy him looking
over you? One never hears any thing, but the image of the particular
person occurs with whom alone almost you would care to share the
intelligence. Thus one distributes oneself about--and now for so many
parts of me I have lost the market. Common natures do not suffice me.
Good people, as they are called, won't serve. I want individuals. I am
made up of queer points and I want so many answering needles. The going
away of friends does not make the remainder more precious. It takes so
much from them as there was a common link. A. B. and C. make a party. A.
dies. B. not only loses A. but all A.'s part in C. C. loses A.'s part in
B., and so the alphabet sickens by subtraction of interchangeables. I
express myself muddily, capite dolente. I have a dulling cold. My theory
is to enjoy life, but the practice is against it. I grow ominously tired
of official confinement. Thirty years have I served the Philistines, and
my neck is not subdued to the yoke. You don't know how wearisome it is
to breathe the air of fou