himself or of his creations), must frequently remain, in its fragrant
blossoming state, in the land of its birth. Like some of the most delicate
wines and flowers, it will not bear travel.

Apart from his humor and other excellences, Charles Lamb combined
qualities such as are seldom united in one person; which indeed seem not
easily reconcilable with each other: namely, much prudence, with much
generosity; great tenderness of heart, with a firm will. To these was
superadded that racy humor which has served to distinguish him from other
men. There is no other writer, that I know of, in whom tenderness, and
good sense, and humor are so intimately and happily blended; no one whose
view of men and things is so invariably generous, and true, and
independent. These qualities made their way slowly and fairly. They were
not taken up as a matter of favor or fancy, and then abandoned. They
struggled through many years of neglect, and some of contumely, before
they took their stand triumphantly, and as things not to be ignored by any
one.

Lamb pitied all objects which had been neglected or despised. Nevertheless
the lens through which he viewed the objects of his pity,--beggars, and
chimney-sweepers, and convicts,--was always clear: it served him even when
their short-comings were to be contemplated. For he never paltered with
truth. He had no weak sensibilities, few tears for imaginary griefs. But
his heart opened wide to real distress. He never applauded the fault; but
he pitied the offender. He had a word of compassion for the sheep-stealer,
who was arrested and lost his ill-acquired sheep, "his first, last, and
only hope of a mutton pie;" and vented his feelings in that sonnet
(rejected by the magazines) which he has called "The Gypsey's Malison."
Although he was willing to acknowledge merit when it was successful, he
preferred it, perhaps, when it was not clothed with prosperity.