s. The germ
of the immortal dissertation on "Roast Pig" is contained in a letter to
Coleridge; the essay entitled "Distant Correspondents" is hardly more
than a transcript of a private letter to Barron Field; and the original
sketch of "The Gentle Giantess" was given in a letter to Miss
Wordsworth.

In the following letter--which is not included in Talfourd's "Life and
Letters of Charles Lamb," and will therefore be new to most
readers--Lamb writes very much in the manner in which Shakspeare's fools
and jesters--in some respects the wisest and thoughtfullest characters
in his works--talk. If his words be "light as air," they vent "truths
deep as the centre." If the Fool in "Lear" had written letters to his
friends and acquaintances, I think they would have marvellously
resembled this epistle to Patmore; and if, in saying this, I compliment
the Fool, I hope I do not derogate from the genius of Elia. Jaques, it
will be remembered, after hearing the "motley fool" moral on the time,
declared that "motley's the only wear"; and I opine that Lamb would
consider it no small praise to be likened, in wit, wisdom, and
eloquence, to Touchstone, or to the Clown in "Twelfth Night."

TO P. G. PATMORE.

DEAR P.,--I am 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 could; for it was not unlike what he makes.

The letter I sent you was directed to the care of E. White, India House,
for Mrs. Hazlitt: _which_ Mrs. Hazlitt I don't yet know; but A. 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 don't know. I wanted to open it;
but it's 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 Beckey, who is gone to town. I took him to Barnet
the other day; and he couldn't eat his victuals after it. Pray God his
intellects be not slipping.

Mary is gone out for some soles. I suppose it's no use to ask you to
come and partake of 'em, else there's a steam-vessel.

I am doing a tragi-comedy in two acts, and have got on tolerably; but it
will be r