TO WORDSWORTH.
December, II, 1806.
Mary's love to all of you; I wouldn't let her write.
Dear Wordsworth,—"Mr. H." came out last night, and failed. I had many fears; the subject was not substantial enough. John Bull must have solider fare than a letter. We are pretty stout about it; have had plenty of condoling friends; but, after all, we had rather it should have succeeded. You will see the prologue in most of the morning papers. It was received with such shouts as I never witnessed to a prologue. It was attempted to be encored. How hard! a thing I did merely as a task, because it was wanted, and set no great store by; and "Mr. H."! The quantity of friends we had in the house—my brother and I being in public offices, etc.—was astonishing; but they yielded at last to a few hisses.
A hundred hisses (Damn the word, I write it like kisses,—how different!)—a hundred hisses outweigh a thousand claps. [1] The former come more directly from, the heart. Well, 't is withdrawn, and there is an end.
Better luck to us,
C. LAMB.
[1] Lamb was himself in the audience, and is said to have taken a conspicuous share in the storm of hisses that followed the dropping of the curtain.