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Lady . . . . .
On K. B. Haydon's “ Jerusalem”: :
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To Cecilia Catherine Lawton .
Lines suggested by a sight of Wal-
tham Cross . . . .
Dreams, Play Teat. Sht. Bei
11. That III-gotten Gain Never use
A CHARACTER OF THE LATE ELIA.
By a Friend . . . . . . . . 448
Reading ..::::: · · 451
On the Inconveniences Resulting from
| Education has been Neglected ..
gence of the Palate . . . . . . 634 In re Squirrels i
“In Christian world Mary the garland wears " .
On Munden's Acting.
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
(The following dedicatory epistle was prefixed to the first collected edition of Charles Lamb's Works, published in two volumes octavo by Charles and J. Ollier, in 1818-not a word of Elia being then written. The asterisks refer to the sign of “The Salutation and Cat," at No. 17, Newgate Street, an old-fashioned tavern, in the wainscoted parlour of which Coleridge and Lamb used often to meet of nights during the former's occasional visits to London while he was yet a student at Cambridge.]
MY DEAR COLERIDGE,You will smile to see the slender labours of your friend designated by the title of Works: but such was the wish of the gentlemen who have kindly undertaken the trouble of collecting them, and from their judgment could be no appeal.
It would be a kind of disloyalty to offer to any one but yourself a volume containing the early pieces, which were first published among your poems, and were fairly derivatives from you and them. My friend Lloyd and myself came into our first battle (authorship is a sort of warfare) under cover of the greater Ajax. How this association, which shall always be a dear and proud recollection to me, came to be broken, --who snapped the threefold cord, -whether yourself (but I know that was not the case) grew ashamed of your former companions,-or whether (which is by much the more probable) some ungracious bookseller was author of the separation, I cannot tell;- but wanting the support of your friendly elm (I speak for myself), my vine has, since that time, put forth few or no fruits; the sap (if ever it had any) has become, in a manner, dried up and extinct : and you will find your old associate, in his second volume, dwindled into prose and criticism.
Am I right in assuming this as the cause? or is it that, as years come upon us (except with some more healthy-happy spirits), life itself loses much of its poetry for us? we transcribe but what we read in the great volume of Nature ; and, as the characters grow dim, we turn off, and look another way. You yourself write no Christabels, nor Ancient Mariners, now.
Some of the Sonnets, which shall be carelessly turned over by the general reader, may happily awaken in you remembrances, which I should be sorry should be ever totally extinct—the memory
Of summer days and, of delightful years—