My poor Lamb, how cruelly afflictions crowd upon him! I am glad that you think of him as I think: he has an affectionate heart, a mind "sui generis"; his taste acts so as to appear like the unmechanic simplicity of an instinct; in brief, he is worth an hundred men of mere talents. Conversation with the latter tribe is like the use of leaden bells--one wearies by exercise. Lamb every now and then "irradiates", and the beam, though single and fine as a hair, yet is rich with colours, and I both see and feel it. In Bristol I was much with Davy, almost all day. He always talks of you with great affection, and defends you with a friendly zeal. If I settle at Keswick he will be with me in the fall of the year, and so must you: and let me tell you, Godwin, that four such men as you, I, Davy, and Wordsworth, do not meet together in one house every day in the year--I mean four men so distinct with so many sympathies. I received yesterday a letter from Southey. He arrived at Lisbon after a prosperous voyage, on the last day of April; his letter to me is dated May-Day. He girds up his loins for a great history of Portugal, which will be translated into Portuguese in the first year of the Lusitanian Republic. Have you seen Mrs. Robinson [2] lately--how is she? Remember me in the kindest and most respectful phrases to her. I wish I knew the particulars of her complaint; for Davy has discovered a perfectly new acid by which he has restored the use of limbs to persons who had lost it for many years (one woman nine years), in cases of supposed rheumatism. At all events, Davy says, it can do no harm in Mrs. Robinson's case, and, if she will try it, he will make up a little parcel and write her a letter of instructions, etc. Tell her, and it is the truth, that Davy is exceedingly delighted with the two poems in the "Anthology". N.B. Did you get my attempt at a tragedy from Mrs. Robinson? To Mrs. Smith I am about to write a letter, with a book; be so kind as to inform me of her direction. Mrs. Inchbald I do not like at all; every time I recollect her I like her less. That segment of a look at the corner of her eye--O God in heaven! it is so cold and cunning. Through worlds of wildernesses I would run away from that look, that "heart-picking" look! 'Tis marvellous to me that you can like that woman. I shall remain here about ten days for certain. If you have leisure and inclination in that time, write; if not, I will write to you where I am going, or at all events whither I am gone. God bless you, and Your sincerely affectionate S. T. COLERIDGE. Mr. T. Poole's, N[ether] Stowey, Bridgwater. Sara desires to be remembered kindly to you, and sends a kiss to Fanny, and "dear meek little Mary." [Footnote 1: Mrs. Shelley.] [Footnote 2: The celebrated Perdita. She died in the following December.] Next month Coleridge wrote to Davy. LETTER 92. TO HUMPHRY DAVY Saturday Morning, Mr. T. Poole's, Nether Stowey, Somerset. My dear Davy,