The first
was the subject of an amusing fictitious biography. In Lamb's words, it
was "a lying life of Liston," uncontaminated by a particle of truth.
Munden, he says, had faces innumerable; Liston had only one; "but what a
face!" he adds, admitting it to be beyond all vain description. Perhaps
this subject of universal laughter and admiration never received such a
compliment, except from Hazlitt, who, after commenting on Hogarth's
excellences, his invention, his character, his satire, &c., concludes by
saying, "I have never seen anything in the expression of comic humor equal
to Hogarth's humor, except Liston's face."
In the course of time, official labor becomes tiresome, and the India
House clerk grows splenetic. He complains sadly of his work. Even the
incursions of his familiars annoy him, although it annoys him more when
they go away. In the midst of this trouble his works are collected and
published; and he emerges at once from the obscure shades of Leadenhall
Street into the full blaze of public notice. He wakes from dullness and
discontent, and "finds himself famous."
[1] As Lamb's changes of residence were frequent, it may be convenient to
chronicle them in order, in this place, although the precise date of his
moving from one to another can scarcely be specified in a single instance.
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