LETTER 67


CHARLES LAMB TO THOMAS MANNING

[P.M. August 28, 1800.]

George Dyer is an Archimedes, and an Archimagus, and a Tycho Brahe, and
a Copernicus; and thou art the darling of the Nine, and midwife to their
wandering babe also! We take tea with that learned poet and critic on
Tuesday night, at half-past five, in his neat library; the repast will
be light and Attic, with criticism. If thou couldst contrive to wheel up
thy dear carcase on the Monday, and after dining with us on tripe,
calves' kidneys, or whatever else the Cornucopia of St. Clare may be
willing to pour out on the occasion, might we not adjourn together to
the Heathen's--thou with thy Black Backs and I with some innocent volume
of the Bell Letters--Shenstone, or the like? It would make him wash his
old flannel gown (that has not been washed to my knowledge since it has
been _his_--Oh the long time!) with tears of joy. Thou shouldst settle
his scruples and unravel his cobwebs, and sponge off the sad stuff that
weighs upon his dear wounded pia mater; thou shouldst restore light to
his eyes, and him to his friends and the public; Parnassus should shower
her civic crowns upon thee for saving the wits of a citizen! I thought I
saw a lucid interval in George the other night--he broke in upon my
studies just at tea-time, and brought with him Dr. Anderson, an old
gentleman who ties his breeches' knees with packthread, and boasts that
he has been disappointed by ministers. The Doctor wanted to see _me_;
for, I being a Poet, he thought I might furnish him with a copy of