considerable salary, in the South Sea House. I do not retain an agreeable
impression of him. If not rude, he was sometimes, indeed generally, abrupt
and unprepossessing in manner. He was assuredly deficient in that courtesy
which usually springs from a mind at friendship with the world.
Nevertheless, without much reasoning power (apparently), he had much
cleverness of character; except when he had to purchase paintings, at
which times his judgment was often at fault. One of his sayings is
mentioned in the (Elia) essay of "My Relations." He seems to have been, on
one occasion, contemplating a group of Eton boys at play, when he
observed, "What a pity it is to think that these fine ingenuous lads will
some day be changed into frivolous members of Parliament?" Like some
persons who, although case-hardened at home, overflow with sympathy
towards distant objects, he cared less for the feelings of his neighbor
close at hand than for the eel out of water or the oyster disturbed in its
shell.

John Lamb was the favorite of his mother, as the deformed child is
frequently the dearest. "She would always love my brother above Mary,"
Charles writes in 1796, "although he was not worth one tenth of the
affection which Mary had a right to claim. Poor Mary! my mother never
understood her right." In another place (after he had been unburdening his
heart to Coleridge), he writes cautiously, "_Since_ this has happened,"--
the death of his mother,--"he has been very kind and brotherly; but I fear
for his mind. He has taken his ease in the world, and is not fit to
struggle with difficulties. Thank God, I can unconnect myself with him,
and shall manage my father's moneys myself, if I take charge of Daddy,
which poor John has not hinted a wish at any future time to share with
me." Mary herself, when she was recovering, said that "she knew she must
go to Bethlehem for life; that one of her brothers would have it so; the
other would not wish it, but would be obliged to go with the stream."