DEAR Southey,—I have but just got your letter, being returned from Herts, where I have passed a few red-letter days with much pleasure. I would describe the county to you, as you have done by Devonshire, but alas! I am a poor pen at that same. I could tell you of an old house with a tapestry bed-room, the “judgment of Solomon” composing one pannel, and “Actæon spying Diana naked” the other. I could tell of an old marble hall, with Hogarth’s prints and the Roman Cæsars in marble hung round. I could tell of a wilderness, and of a village church, and where the bones of my honoured grandam lie; but there are feelings which refuse to be translated, sulky aborigines, which will not be naturalised in another soil. Of this nature are old family faces and scenes of infancy.
I have given your address, and the books you want, to the
Arches; they will send them as soon
as they can get them, but they do not seem quite familiar to [? with] their
names. I have seen Gebor!
Gebor aptly so denominated from Geborish, quasi Gibberish. But Gebor hath some lucid intervals. I remember darkly one
beautiful simile veiled in uncouth phrases about the youngest daughter of the
Ark. I shall have nothing to communicate, I fear, to the Anthology.
| 150 | LETTERS OF C. AND M. LAMB | Oct. |
I must get to business, so farewell. My kind remembrances to Edith.
