nature, not from the surfaces of manners. We need not, indeed, wonder at the profounder feeling, and the more intense, as well as consistent originality of Lamb, when we contrast his character, disposition, life, and general demeanor, as I have here endeavored to sketch them, with what we know of La Fontaine, viewed under the same aspects. Not only was La Fontaine a vicious and heartless man, but it may be said of him, with perfect truth, that his whole life was a lie, and a piece of hollow masquerading. By some accident, he had gained the character of an absent man; and, for the sake of sustaining this distinction, with the poor result of making sport for his circle, he committed extravagances which argue equal defect of good sense and sincere feeling in him who was the actor, and in those who accredited them. A man who could seriously affect not to recognise his own son, and to put questions about him as about a stranger, must have been thoroughly wanting in truth of character. And we may be assured, that no depth of feeling in any walk of literature or poetry ever grew upon the basis of radical affectation. The very substratum of Lamb's character, as I have said before, lay in the most intense hostility to affectation. This, however, touches the quality of their social merits; and at present I am merely concerned with the degree; having selected La Fontaine as that one amongst the French classics who best expresses by analogy the true position and relative rank which the voice of posterity will assign to Charles Lamb in the literature of his own country. His works I again utter my conviction will be received as amongst the most elaborately finished gems of literature; as cabinet specimens which express the utmost delicacy, purity, and tenderness of the national intellect, together with the rarest felicity of finish and expression, although it may be the province of other modes of literature to exhibit the highest models in the grander and more impassioned forms of intellectual power. Such is my own intimate conviction; and, accordingly, I reckon it amongst the rarest accidents of good fortune which have gilded my literary experience, that, although residing too often at a vast distance from the metropolis to benefit by my opportunities so much as I desired, yet, by cultivating those which fell naturally in my way at various periods, but, most of all, at that period when I may consider my judgment to have been maturest, I reaped so much delight from that intercourse, and so far improved it into a fraternal familiarity, as to warrant me in assuming the honorable distinction of having been a friend of Charles Lamb.* * Among the prominent characteristics of Lamb, I know not how it is that I have omitted to notice the peculiar emphasis and depth of his courtesy. This quality was in him a really chivalrous feeling, springing from his heart, and cherished with the sanctity of a duty. He says somewhere, in speaking of himself, under the mask of a third person, whose character he is describing, that, in passing a servant girl even at a street crossing, he used to take off his hat. Now, the spirit of Lamb's gallantry would have prompted some such expression of homage, though the customs of the country would not allow it to be literally fulfilled, for the very reason that would prompt it — viz., in order to pay respect since the girl would, in such a case, suppose a man laughing at her. But the instinct of his heart was to think highly of female nature, and to pay a real homage (not the hollow demonstration of outward honor, which a Frenchman calls his 'homage,' and which is really a mask for contempt) to the sacred idea of pure and virtuous womanhood. The one sole case I remember in which Lamb was betrayed into - not discourtesy no, that could not be - but into a necessity of publicly professing a hostile feeling, was in the letter (now we may say celebrated letter) to Mr. Southey. To this, however, he was driven, not by any hostile feeling towards Southey, but simply by a feeling too animated of sympathy with those who happened to be on questions of public interest hostile to Southey. Lamb, it must be remembered, was- - that is, he called himself- a dissenter. Was he such in reality? - Not at all. So far from adopting the distinctions of his religious party, he was not even thoroughly aware of them. But with Lamb it happened, as with many another man, though careless of the distinctions which bound him to a party, still he was in profession faithful to his party, as a principle of honor. I know many men at this day, who, if left to choose a form of religion - left unfettered by old family connections — would much prefer connecting themselves with the Church of England. But they are restrained and kept loyal to their section of dissent, not by religious considerations, but by worldly honor; the appealing look of the clergyman, resting perhaps his influence one half upon old household recollections upon the father whom he counselled, the grandfather he prayed with. Such look, such recollections, who could resist - who ought to resist? The only plan is this: when the old minister dies -in the interregnum- whilst as yet the new minister is not - bolt, cut and run. Lamb's situation was difficult; Southey assures us that he knew himself to be wrong: he did not. Your penitent Lamb was for the ear of Southey - he never meant it for the world. Sep21858 CHAPTER V. WALLADMOR. 6 Now let me pass to a part of my London literary life, interesting in its circumstances; and a part it was which interested Charles Lamb, though I doubt whether he ever went so far in his interest as to look into the book which records my share in the affair. This affair had thus far a general interest, that it was undoubtedly the most complete hoax that ever can have been perpetrated. The circumstances are these: - After the Author of Waverley' had for a considerable succession of years delighted the world with one or two novels annually, the demand for Waverley novels came to be felt as a periodical craving all over Europe; just as, in the case of Napoleon, some bloody battle by land or by sea was indispensable, after each few months' interval, to pacify the public taste for blood, long irritated by copious gratification. Now it happened in 1823 that no Waverley novel was in readiness, or likely to be in readiness for the Leipsic fair at Michaelmas. Upon which a cry arose amongst the Ger- ) man booksellors-Forge one! Presumptuous enough that,' the reader will say. Doubtless. However, the thing was done. A German, and (to better the case) a German of ultra-dulness, set to work upon a novel. He called it 'Walladmor'. a name, by the way, to be accented not upon the penultimate, Walládmor,' but upon the ante 6 penultimate or first syllable - viz., Wálladmor,' as appears from the old rhymes connected with the tale e. g. 'When blackmen storm the outer door, - where all would be spoiled, if the accent were thrown on the penultimate. Well, this book,-this 'Walladmor,'made its appearance in the German language, not as what it really was, a German novel, written by a German novelist but as a translation from an English original of Sir Walter Scott. In this character it appeared at Leipsic; in this character it was instantly dispersed over the length and breadth of Germany; and in this character it crossed the sea to London. I must here stop to mention, that other tricks had been meditated upon Sir Walter and I will venture to say, that, sooner or later, one of these tricks will be tried. In a country like England, where (by means of our exquisite organization through newspapers, &c., and our consequent unity of feeling) an author may acquire a more intense popularity, and more rapidly, than he ever can upon the continent, there will always be a motive for pirating such an author, or for counterfeiting him, beyond what is ever likely to exist upon the continent. In Sir Walter Scott's case, it is true, there was a mystery which added greatly to the popularity. But still it strikes me, that, simply from the unifying powers at work amongst ourselves, more intense popularity will continually arise in this country than can elsewhere. The everlasting reverberation of a name from a dense population, furnished with the artificial means for prolonging and repeating the echoes, must lead to a result quite inconceivable amongst the non-conducting and frittered population of Germany. There will, therefore, |