Miss Kelly—We had the pleasure, pain I might better call it, of seeing you last night in the new Play. It was a most consummate piece of Acting, but what a task for you to undergo! at a time when your heart is sore from real sorrow! it has given rise to a train of thinking, which I cannot suppress.
"Would to God you were released from this way of life; that you could bring your mind to consent to take your lot with us, and throw off for ever the whole burden of your Profession. I neither expect or wish you to take notice of this which I am writing, in your present over occupied & hurried state.—But to think of it at your leisure. I have quite income enough, if that were all, to justify for me making such a proposal, with what I may call even a handsome provision for my survivor. What you possess of your own would naturally be appropriated to those, for whose sakes chiefly you have made so many hard sacrifices. I am not so foolish as not to know that I am a most unworthy match for such a one as you, but you have for years been a principal object in my mind. In many a sweet assumed character I have learned to love you, but simply as F. M. Kelly I love you better than them all. Can you quit these shadows of existence, & come & be a reality to us? can you leave off harrassing yourself to please a thankless multitude, who know nothing of you, & begin at last to live to yourself & your friends?
"As plainly & frankly as I have seen you give or refuse assent in some feigned scene, so frankly do me the justice to answer me. It is impossible I should feel injured or aggrieved by your telling me at once, that the proposal does not suit you. It is impossible that I should ever think of molesting you with idle importunity and persecution after your mind once firmly spoken—but happier, far happier, could I have leave to hope a time might come, when our friends might be your friends; our interests yours; our book-knowledge, if in that inconsiderable particular we have any little advantage, might impart something to you, which you would every day have it in your power ten thousand fold to repay by the added cheerfulness and joy which you could not fail to bring as a dowry into whatever family should have the honor and happiness of receiving you, the most welcome accession that could be made to it.
"In haste, but with entire respect & deepest affection, I subscribe myself
C. Lamb."
This was Miss Kelly's reply to Lamb's letter, returned by hand—the way, I imagine, in which his proposal had reached her:—
"Henrietta Street, July 20th, 1819.
"An early & deeply rooted attachment has fixed my heart on one from whom no worldly prospect can well induce me to withdraw it, but while I thus frankly & decidedly decline your proposal, believe me, I am not insensible to the high honour which the preference of such a mind as yours confers upon me—let me, however, hope that all thought upon this subject will end with this letter, & that you will henceforth encourage no other sentiment towards me than esteem in my private character and a continuance of that approbation of my humble talents which you have already expressed so much & so often to my advantage and gratification.
"Believe me I feel proud to acknowledge myself
"Your obliged friend
"F. M. Kelly."
Lamb also replied at once, and his little romance was over, July 20th, 1819, seeing the whole drama played.
"July 20th, 1819.
"Dear Miss Kelly—Your injunctions shall be obeyed to a tittle. I feel myself in a lackadaisacal no-how-ish kind of a humour. I believe it is the rain, or something. I had thought to have written seriously, but I fancy I succeed best in epistles of mere fun; puns & that nonsense. You will be good friends with us, will you not? let what has past 'break no bones' between us. You will not refuse us them next time we send for them?[68]
"Yours very truly,
"C. L.
"Do you observe the delicacy of not signing my full name? N.B. Do not paste that last letter of mine into your Book."
[68] By "bones" Lamb here means also the little ivory discs which were given by the management to friends, entitling them to free admission to the theatre.
I have said that the drama was played to the end on July 20th; but it had a little epilogue. In The Examiner for August 1st Lamb wrote of the Lyceum again. The play was "The Hypocrite," and this is how he spoke of Miss Kelly: "She is in truth not framed to tease or torment even in jest, but to utter a hearty Yes or No; to yield or refuse assent with a noble sincerity. We have not the pleasure of being acquainted with her, but we have been told that she carries the same cordial manners into private life."
That Lamb's wishes with regard to the old footing were realised we may feel sure, for she continued to visit her friends, both in London and at Enfield, and in later years was taught Latin by Mary Lamb. Miss Kelly died unmarried at the age of ninety-two; Charles Lamb died unmarried at the age of fifty-nine.
Page 221. IV.—Isaac Bickerstaff's "Hypocrite."
Examiner, August 1 and 2, 1819. Signed ****. This play was produced, in its operatic form, at the English Opera House on July 27, 1819. It was announced as from "Tartuffe," by Molière, with alterations by Cibber, Bickerstaff and others. The music was arranged by Mr. Jolly. Miss Kelly played Charlotte.
Page 221, line 4. Dowton in Dr. Cantwell. For Dowton see note to "The New Acting," page 465. Dr. Cantwell was the chief character in "The Hypocrite."
Page 221, line 5. Mr. Arnold. Samuel James Arnold (1774-1852), dramatist and manager of the Lyceum. Lamb's friend, William Ayrton, married Arnold's sister.
Page 221, line 6. Mathews. The great Charles Mathews (1776–1835), whom Lamb afterwards came to know personally, whose special gift was the rapid impersonation of differing types.
Page 221, line 9. Our favourite theatre. The English Opera House—the Lyceum—rebuilt 1816.
Page 221, line 10 from foot. Mr. Kean. Edmund Kean (1787–1833).
Page 221, line 9 from foot. "The City Madam." A play by Philip Massinger, licensed 1632, in which Luke Frugal is the leading character.
Page 222, lines 3–5. Whitfield … Lady Huntingdon. George Whitefield (1714–1770), the great Methodist preacher, and chaplain to the Countess of Huntingdon. Whitefield was actually put on the stage, in "The Mirror," by Foote, in 1760, as Dr. Squintum.
Page 222, line 13. Mr. Pearman. William Pearman, the tenor, a popular singer, second only to Braham in sea songs.
Page 222. V.—New Pieces at the Lyceum.
Examiner, August 8 and 9,
