The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1881-03-04
Charles Lamb.
BIZ aRnNy1LLE MURRAY

I was very small boy indeed when I
knew Ella. He tried to make himself
pleasant, but, with the best intentions,
only half succeeded ] mean that he did
not succeed at all. He was very shy,
and children do not understand shyness,
mistaking it for pride or cenceit or
fright.
But knew some of Elias intimates,
and could well understand from them in
later years what sort of man he was, that
grave, shy person in perpetual black. He
would laughingly apologize, by the way.
for this same suit of unvarying dusk-
ness. "I'm like the raven-I've no
other" And, poor fellow, he had not too
much money to spend on clothes. A
clerk at the old India House, with at first
father and sister and afterward sister
to support, he had small pecuniary scope
for extravaganza.
If you met Ella at those delightful sup
per parties of his you would think him
simply jolly dog in low life with an un-
accountable amount of information,
and q wit which, according to
Britannia ideas, seemed altogether
out of harmony with the very
humble surroundings of the apartment.
The feast usually consisted OF cold beef
and pickles, with porter superadded.
By and by some jugs of hot water and q
black bottle would make their appear
ance; nor would basin OF sugar or 8
lemon be absent. Miss Lamb would
give comical expression Of resigned
despair as Charles peoceeded to help
himself to second tumbler. Not that
he was often drunk-though he was
sometimes-buth he would say silly things
after the second glass of grog. A friend
once advised him to try teetotalism, and
he did, his sister helping him. Miss
Lamb. as Charles said, took to water like
duck; in fact, set woman's usual exam
pie of self-denial Charles followed rue
fully. But it was too much for him.
His sister dearly loved him, and she
had good reason Ali the world knows
how he sacrificed his life to her, giving
up all prospect of marriage and living
in single straightness in order that his
sister might always have home. Pos
sibly he felt too that the most sacred and
innocent of relations was not for him ;
the awful taint being hereditary. When
his sister felt that the access was ap-
preaching, she would tell her brother, and
the two would wend their way to the
asylum together. An acquaintance once
met them on this sad journey; both were
W0epluB DlGteIIy. DuI OHCO IAaty AShA1U
had to take Charles. Mary, by the way,
was much loved at the asylum; and not
confounded with ordinary 1unatics. ssShe
was SO gentle" they said, this poor
woman who had killed her mother with
q carving knife.
Persons deeply imbued with catholic
modes of thought have blamed Miss
Lamb for living SO freely in the world
and partaking of its pleasures after so
appalling tragedy as the murder of her
mother. Assuredly our fathers and
mothers of the middle ages would have
decided there could be but one coEclu-
sion to the incident for Christian the
veil. And the enlightened sense of our
generation would half-unwittingly, half
unsympathetically, echo the sentiment.
But Miss Lamb lived in an age in
tellectually more remote from ours than
the fifteenth century. Separation from
the world for her was impossible, and so
she elected to make the best of the
world. And though she went occasion
ally to the play, and enjoyed an outing,
or rather made.a pretence to enjoy one,
she lived as true and pure and devoted a
life as ever did woman of the cloister.
She loved no one but her brother.
It is q melancholy fact, but the
dreariest period of Charles's existence
was while his father lived. He shaved
all day at his desk, and, by way of rec
reation, had to play chess with his sire
in the evening. The old gentleman,
moreover, was extremely dull and short
tempered. One day Charles had played
six or eight games with his father and
proposed to leave off. ssf yeu won't
play" quoth this delightful person, 'sI
don't see why you should stay in at all. /"
At last Fate-that much-abused but very
kindly divinity-removed Mr.. Lamb
senior-for which at least two persons
must have felt thankful, though too pi-
GUS to say so.
The happiest years Of his life were the
last nine. In 1926 he was pensioned off.
wrote was Delightfully."- entitled 1.-THE
Superannuated Man." Ella tells us of the
intense pleasure his newly acquired lib
erty gave him.
The most sshnman" side of Lambs
character-to make use of our can't mod
ern epithets-was affectionateness. His
love for Coleridge was something touch
ing to behold. Few men can have loved
that brilliant selfish genius so well; not
his own kindred. Lamb, writes an
acquaintance, snever fairly recovered
from the death of Coleridge. He thought
of little e1se-his sister was but another
portion of himself-until his own great
spirit Joined his friend. Some
old friends of his saw him two or three
weeks ago, and remarked the constant
turning and reference of his mind. He
interrupted himself and them almost
every instant with some play of affected
wonder, or astonishment, or humorous
melancholy, on the words, 'Coleridge is
dead Nothing conld divert him from
that, for the thought of it never left
him." Lamb died within six months Of
Coleridge.
s.And pray, Mr.. Lamb, how do you
like children" asked good, foolish
body, who had been singing the praise of
babies
"B-b-boiled, ma'am," /" suffered Lamb.
The lady looked astonished and of
Tended. This is decidedly. one of his
best-which is saying much. Nothing
of him survives but his bright and spark
ling, or quaint, or touching. Swiss
Times.
SCIENCE dNn ART.