He who went back into dim antiquity, and sought them out,
and proclaimed their worth to the world--abandoning the gaudy rhetoric of
popular authors for their sake, is now translated into the shadowy regions
of the friends he worshipped. He who was once separated from them by a
hundred lustres, hath surmounted that great interval of time and space,
and is now, in a manner, THEIR CONTEMPORARY!
* * * * *
The wit of Mr. Lamb was known to most persons conversant with existing
literature. It was said that his friends bestowed more than due praise
upon it. It is clear that his enemies did it injustice. Such as it was, it
was at all events _his own_. He did not "get up" his conversations, nor
explore the hoards of other wits, nor rake up the ashes of former fires.
Right or wrong, he set to work unassisted; and by dint of his own strong
capacity and fine apprehension, he struck out as many substantially new
ideas as any man of his time. The quality of his humor was essentially
different from that of other men. It was not simply a tissue of jests or
conceits, broad, far-fetched, or elaborate; but it was a combination of
humor with pathos--a sweet stream of thought, bubbling and sparkling with
witty fancies; such as I do not remember to have elsewhere met with,
except in Shakespeare.
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