Another time, I may notice more particularly Lloyd's, Southey's,
Dermody's Sonnets. I shrink from them now: my teazing lot makes me too
confused for a clear judgment of things, too selfish for sympathy; and
these ill-digested, meaningless remarks I have imposed on myself as a
task, to lull reflection, as well as to show you I did not neglect
reading your valuable present. Return my acknowledgments to Lloyd; you
two appear to be about realising an Elysium upon earth, and, no doubt, I
shall be happier. Take my best wishes. Remember me most affectionately
to Mrs. C., and give little David Hartley--God bless its little
heart!--a kiss for me. Bring him up to know the meaning of his Christian
name, and what that name (imposed upon him) will demand of him.

C. LAMB.

God love you!

I write, for one thing, to say that I shall write no more till you send
me word where you are, for you are so soon to move.

My sister is pretty well, thank God. We think of you very often. God
bless you: continue to be my correspondent, and I will strive to fancy
that this world is _not_ "all barrenness."

[The poetical present, as the late Mr. Dykes Campbell pointed out in
_The Atheneum_, June 13, 1891, consisted of Lloyd's _Poems on the Death
of Priscilla Farmer_, to which Lamb had contributed "The Grandame," and
of a little privately-printed collection of poems by Coleridge and
Lloyd, which they had intended to publish, but did not. The pamphlet has
completely vanished. In addition to these two works the poetical present