C. Lamb.

Mention nothing of poetry, I have destroyed every vestige of past vanities of that kind.  Do as you please, but if you publish, publish mine (I give free leave) without name or initial, and never send me a book, I charge you.

Your own judgment will convince you not to take any notice of this yet to your dear wife.  You look after your family; I have my reason and strength left to take care of mine, I charge you, don’t think of coming to see me.  Write.  I will not see you if you come.  God Almighty love you and all of us!

     C. Lamb.

At the inquest the only possible verdict was returned, that of homicide during temporary insanity, against the young woman who, in her frenzy, had killed her own mother and destroyed a home which she had been working hard, as a mantua maker, to help support.  The awful shock had, perhaps, a steadying effect on Charles Lamb.  Here he was at the age of one-and-twenty suddenly placed in a position that might have tried a strong-minded man in his prime; his brother, a dozen years his senior, so far as we are aware mixed himself as little as might be with the family tragedy; poor Mary had to be placed in an asylum and supported there, and a pledge taken for her future safe-guarding, while in the home a physically feeble old aunt and a mentally feeble old father had to be looked after and companioned.  Humbly and unhesitatingly he who was but little more than a youth in years took up a task which it is painful even to contemplate; the simple spirit in which he did so may be realized from a noble letter which he sent to his friend at the time.  The shattered family removed from Little Queen Street to 45, Chapel Street, Pentonville, and there in the following year Aunt Hetty died.  In the spring of 1799 old John Lamb also passed away, and Mary returned to share her brother’s home, to be tended always with loving solicitude, though ever and again she had to be removed during recurring attacks of her mental malady.  In this brief summary of the story of Charles Lamb’s life it is not necessary to keep referring to this fact, though it should be borne in mind that from time to time throughout their lives, Mary, affected now by solitariness and now by the over-excitement of seeing many friends, had to be placed under restraint for periods varying from a few weeks to several months.  In this spring of 1799, too, with Mary’s return to share her brother’s life, began a new trouble.  They were, as Lamb put it, “in a manner marked,” and had frequently to change their lodgings until they were once more domiciled in the sanctuary of the Temple, where they had been born and where they had passed their childhood and youth.

[Illustration:  Christ’s hospital:  The dining hall.]