Lamb's letter was unknown to his sister until after it appeared in the Magazine, it being his practice to write his letters in Leadenhall Street. It caused her a good deal of annoyance when she saw it in print. It is pleasant to think, however, that it was the means of restoring the old intimacy between Southey and Lamb, and also of strengthening the friendship between Lamb and Hazlitt, which some misunderstanding, at that time, had a little loosened. When I was married (October, 1824), Lamb sent me a congratulatory letter, which, as it was not published by Sir T. Talfourd, and is, moreover, characteristic, I insert here, from the MS. "MY DEAR PROCTER: I do agnize a shame in not having been to pay my congratulations to Mrs. Procter and your happy self; but on Sunday (my only morning) I was engaged to a country walk; and in virtue of the hypostatical union between us, when Mary calls, it is understood that I call too, we being univocal. "But indeed I am ill at these ceremonious inductions. I fancy I was not born with a call on my head, though I have brought one down upon it with a vengeance. I love not to pluck that sort of frail crude, but to stay its ripening into visits. In probability Mary will be at Southampton Row this morning, and something of that kind be matured between you; but in any case not many hours shall elapse before I shake you by the hand. "Meantime give my kindest felicitations to Mrs. Procter, and assure her I look forward with the greatest delight to our acquaintance. By the way, the deuce a bit of cake has come to hand, which hath an inauspicious look at first; but I comfort myself that that Mysterious Service hath the property of Sacramental Bread, which mice cannot nibble, nor time moulder. "I am married myself--to a severe step-wife--who keeps me, not at bed and board, but at desk and board, and is jealous of my morning aberrations. I cannot slip out to congratulate kinder unions. It is well she leaves me alone o' nights--the d-d Day-hag _Business_. She is even now peeping over me to see I am writing no Love Letters. I come, my dear--Where is the Indigo Sale Book? "Twenty adieus, my dear friends, till we meet. "Yours most truly, "C. LAMB. "_Leadenhall, Nov. 11th, '24_."