conversation became general, Lamb's part in it was very effective. His
short, clear sentences always produced effect. He never joined in talk
unless he understood the subject; then, if the matter in question
interested him, he was not slow in showing his earnestness; but I never
heard him argue or talk for argument's sake. If he was indifferent to the
question, he was silent.

The supper of cold meat, on these occasions, was always on the side-table;
not very formal, as may be imagined; and every one might rise, when it
suited him, and cut a slice or take a glass of porter, without reflecting
on the abstinence of the rest of the company. Lamb would, perhaps, call
out and bid the hungry guest help himself without ceremony. We learn (from
Hazlitt) that Martin Burney's eulogies on books were sometimes
intermingled with expressions of his satisfaction with the veal pie which
employed him at the sideboard. After the game was won (and lost) the ring
of the cheerful glasses announced that punch or brandy and water had
become the order of the night.

It was curious to observe the gradations in Lamb's manner to his various
guests, although it was courteous to all. With Hazlitt he talked as though
they met the subject in discussion on equal terms; with Leigh Hunt he
exchanged repartees; to Wordsworth he was almost respectful; with
Coleridge he was sometimes jocose, sometimes deferring; with Martin Burney
fraternally familiar; with Manning affectionate; with Godwin merely
courteous; or, if friendly, then in a minor degree. The man whom I found
at Lamb's house more frequently than any other person was Martin Burney.
He is now scarcely known; yet Lamb dedicated his prose works to him, in
1818, and there described him as "no common judge of books and men;" and
Southey, corresponding with Rickman, when his "Joan of Arc" was being
reprinted, says, "The best omen I have heard of its welldoing is, that