e, when times were hard, Coleridge's wife worked here making
pencils, while her archangel husband (a little damaged) went with
Wordsworth to study metaphysics at Gottingen. When Coleridge came back and
heard what his wife had done, he reproved her--gently but firmly. Mrs.
Ajax in a pencil-factory wearing a check apron with a bib!--huh!!

Southey had concluded that if Coleridge and Lovell were good samples of
socialism he would stick to individualism. So he joined the Church of
England, became a Monarchist, sang the praises of royalty, got a pension,
became Poet Laureate, and rich--passing rich.

"Wh-wh-when he secured for himself the services of three good women he
made a wise move," said C.L.

And all the time Coleridge and Lamb were in correspondence: and when
Coleridge was in London he kept close run of the Lambs. The father and old
aunt had passed out, and Charles and Mary lived together in rooms. They
seemed to have moved very often--their record followed them. When the
other tenants heard that "she's the one that killed her mother," they
ceased to let their children play in the hallways, and the landlord
apologized, coughed, and raised the rent. Poor Charles saw the point and
did not argue it. He looked for other lodgings and having found 'em went
home and said to Mary, "It's too noisy here. Sister--I can't stand
it--we'll have to go!"

Charles was a literary man now: a bookkeeper by day and a literary man by
night. He wrote to please his sister, and all his jokes were for her.
There is a genuine vein of pathos in all true humor, but think of the fear
and the love and the tenderness that are concealed in Charles Lamb's work
that was designed only to fight off dread calamity! And Mary copied and
read and revised for her brother, and he told it all to her before he
wrote it, and together they discussed it in detail. Charles studied
mathematics, just to keep his genius under, he declared. Mary smiled and
said it wasn't necessary.

Coleridge used to drop in, and the Stoddarts, Hazlitts, Godwin and Lovell,
too. Then Southey was up in London and he called, and so did Wordsworth
and Dorothy, for Coleridge had spread Lamb's fame. And Dorothy and Mary
kissed each other and held hands under the table, and when Dorothy went
back to Grasmere she wrote many beautiful letters to Mary and urged her to
come and visit her--yes, come to Grasmere and live. The one point they
held in common was a love for Coleridge; and as he bel