passions. I myself have heard of a "Pooh!" which interrupted a long
intimacy, when the pander was administering sweet words in too liberal a
measure.

As with Lamb so with his companions. Each was notable for some individual
mark or character. His own words will best describe them: "Not many
persons of science, and few professed _literati_, were of his councils.
They were for the most part persons of an uncertain fortune. His intimados
were, to confess a truth, in the world's eye, a ragged regiment; he found
them floating on the surface of society, and the color or something else
in the weed pleased him. The burrs stuck to him; but they were good and
loving burrs, for all that."

None of Lamb's intimates were persons of title or fashion, or of any
political importance. They were reading men, or authors, or old friends
who had no name or pretensions. The only tie that held these last and Lamb
together was a long-standing mutual friendship--a sufficient link. None of
them ever forsook him: they loved him, and in return he had a strong
regard for them. His affections, indeed, were concentrated on few persons;
not widened (weakened) by too general a philanthropy. When you went to
Lamb's rooms on the Wednesday evenings (his "At Home"), you generally
found the card table spread out, Lamb himself one of the players. On the
corner of the table was a snuff-box; and the game was enlivened by sundry
brief ejaculations and pungent questions, which kept alive the wits of the
party present. It was not "silent whist!" I do not remember whether, in
common with Sarah Battle, Lamb had a weakness in favor of "Hearts." I
suppose that it was at one of these meetings that he made that shrewd
remark which has since escaped into notoriety: "Martin" (observed he), "if
dirt were trumps, what a hand you would hold!" It is not known what
influence Martin's trumps had on the rubber then in progress.--When the