The Portland daily press., 1881-02-17
Charles Lamb.
"reminiscences by Grenville Murray.
lSwiss Tines.1

Swiss Timesl
Iwas very small boy indeed when knew
Ella. He tried to make himself pleasant, but,
---.-i Al -l--t ;..Aa,,s;anc onlu half succaadad
| mean that he did not succeed at al ne was
very shy, and children do not understand shy
ness, mistaking it for pride or conceit or fright
But knew some of Elias intim les, and
could well understand from them in later years
what sort of man he was, that grave, shy per-
son in perpetual black He would laughingly
apologize, by the way, for this same suit of un-
varying duskiness. "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 first father and
sister and afterward sister to support, he had
small pecuniary scope for extravaganza.
If you met Ella at those delightful supper
parties of his you would think him simply
jolly dog in low life with an unaccountable
amount of information, and wit which, ac-
cording to Britannia ideas, seemed altogether
out of harmony with the very humble sur
roundings of the apartment. The feast usually
consisted of cold beef and pickles, with porter
superadded By and by some jugs of hot wa
ter and black bottle would make their ap-
pearance; nor would basin of sugar or
lemon be absent. Miss Lamb would give a
comical expression of resigned despair as
Charles proceeded to help himself to a second
tumbler. Not that he was often drunk
though he was sometimes-but 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 a duck; in
fact, set woman's usual example of self-denial.
Charles followed ruefully. But it was too
much for him.
His sister dearly loved him, and she had
good reason. All 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 a
home. Possibly he felt too that the most sa-
cred and innocent of relation was not for him;
the awful taint being hereditary. When his
sister felt that the access was approaching,
she would tell her brother, and the two would
wend their way TO the asylum together. An
acquaintance once met them on this sad jour-
ney; both were weeping bitterly. But once
Mary Lamb had to take Charles Mary, by the
way, was much loved at the asylum; and not
for moment confounded with ordinary luna
tics. "She was SO GENTLE" they said, this poor
woman who had killed her mother with cary
ing knife.
Persons deeply imbued with catholic modes
of thought have blamed Miss Lamb for living
SO freely in the world and partaking of its pleas
ures after so appalling tragedy as the murder
of her mother, Assuredly our fathers and
mothers tf the middle ages would have decided
there could be put one conclusion to the Incl
dent for a Christian-the veil And the en-
lightened sense OF our generation would half
unwillingly, half-sympathetically, 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 occasionally to the play, and enjoyed an
she lived as true and pure and self-devoted a
| life as ever did woman out of the closter.
| She loved no one but her brother
| 1t is a melancholy fact. but the dreariest
| period of Charles's existence was while his
father lived He slaved all day at his desk,
| and, by way OF recreation, had to play chess
with his sire in the evening. The old gentle
| man, moreover, was extremely dull and short
| tempered. One day Charles had played six or
eight games with his father and proposed to
leave off. eff you won't play" quoth this de-
| lightful persons 81 don't see why you should
stay in at ALL" At last Fate-that much
| abused but very kindly dlvinity-removed Mr..
| Lamb senior-for which at least two persons
must have felt thankful, though too pious to
say so.
The happiest years of his life were the last
| nine. In 1925 he was pensoned off. In that
| charming paper (but all that hs wrote was de-
lightfuD entitled "The Superannuated Man
| Ella tells us of the intense pleasure his newly
| acquired liberty gave him.
| The most "human'' side of Lambs character
to make use of our cant modern epithets-
| was its affectionateness. His love for Coler-
idge was something touching to behold. Few
| men can have loved that brilliant, selfish ge
MUS so well: not his own kindred. Lamb,
writes an acquaintance, "never fairly recov
cred from the death of Coleridge He thought
of little else-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 hi.
mind. He interrupted himself and them al
most every instant with some play of affected
| wonder, or astonishment, or humorous melan
choly, on the words 'Coleridge is dead Moth
ing could divert him from that, for the though
of it never left him. Lamb died within si1
months of Coleridge. :.
"And pray, Mr.. Lamb, how do you like chill
dren?" asked good foolish body, who hat
been singing the praises of babies. "B-b-boilet
ma'am," suffered Lamb. The lady looked as
tonished and offended. This is decidedly on,
ofhis best which is saying much. Nothins
of him survives but is bright and sparkling, Oh
quaint, or touching.