He was
ready to defend man or beast, whenever unjustly attacked. I remember that,
at one of the monthly magazine dinners, when John Wilkes was too roughly
handled, Lamb quoted the story (not generally known) of his replying, when
the blackbirds were reported to have stolen all his cherries, "Poor birds,
they are welcome." He said that those impulsive words showed the inner
nature of the man more truly than all his political speeches.
Lamb's charity extended to all things. I never heard him speak spitefully
of any author. He thought that every one should have a clear stage,
unobstructed. His heart, young at all times, never grew hard or callous
during life. There was always in it a tender spot, which Time was unable
to touch. He gave away _greatly_, when the amount of his means are taken
into consideration; he gave away money--even annuities, I believe--to old
impoverished friends whose wants were known to him. I remember that once,
when we were sauntering together on Pentonville Hill, and he noticed great
depression in me, which he attributed to want of money, he said, suddenly,
in his stammering way, "My dear boy, I--I have a quantity of useless
things. I have now--in my desk, a--a hundred pounds--that I don't--don't
_know_ what to do with.
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