I go nowhere and
see no acquaintance." At this time he gave away all Coleridge's letters,
burned all his own poetry, all the numerous poetical extracts he had made,
and the little journal of "My foolish passion, which I had a long time
kept." Subsequently, when he becomes better, he writes again to his
friend, "Correspondence with you has roused me a little from my lethargy,
and made me conscious of my existence."
Charles was now entirely alone with his sister. She was the only object
between him and God, and out of this misery and desolation sprang that
wonderful love between brother and sister, which has no parallel in
history. Neither would allow any stranger to partake of the close
affection that seemed to be solely the other's right. Doubts have existed
whether Charles Lamb ever gave up for the sake of Mary the one real
attachment of his youth. It has been considered somewhat probable that
Alice W. was an imaginary being--some Celia, or Campaspe, or Lindamira;
that she was in effect one of those visions which float over us when we
escape from childhood. But it may have been a real love, driven deeper
into the heart, and torn out for another love, more holy and as pure: for
he was capable of a grand sacrifice.
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