" His fancy always
stooped to moralize; he hated the stilted attitudes and pretensions of
poetasters and self-glorifying artists.
He never spoke disparagingly of any person, nor overpraised any one. When
it was proposed to erect a statue of Clarkson, during his life, he
objected to it: "We should be modest," he says, "for a modest man." He was
himself eminently modest; he never put himself forward: he was always
sought. He had much to say on many subjects, and he was repeatedly pressed
to say this, before he consented to do so. He was almost teased into
writing the Elia Essays. These and all his other writings are brief and to
the point. He did not exhale in words. It was said that Coleridge's talk
was worth so many guineas a sheet. Charles Lamb talked but sparingly. He
put forth only so much as had complete flavor. I know that high pay and
frequent importunity failed to induce him to squander his strength in
careless essays: he waited until he could give them their full share of
meaning and humor.
When I speak of his extreme liking for London, it must not be supposed
that he was insensible to great scenery. After his only visit to the Lake
country, and beholding Skiddaw, he writes back to his host, "O! its fine
black head, and the bleak air at the top of it, with a prospect of
mountains all about making you giddy.
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