CHARACTER OF HAZLITT. BY CHARLES LAMB. FROM THE "LETTER TO SOUTHEY." THE friendship of Lamb and my father was once interrupted by some wilful fancy on the part of the latter. At this time, Southey happened to pay a compliment to Lamb at the expense of some of his companions, my father among them. The faithful and unswerving heart of the other forsaking not, although forsaken, refused a compliment at such a price, and sent it back to the giver. The tribute to my father, which he at the same time paid, may stand for ever as one of the proudest and truest evidences of the writer's heart and intellect. It brought back at once the repentant offender to the arms of his friend, and nothing again separated them till death came. It is as follows:-"* * From the other gentleman I neither expect nor desire (as he is well assured) any such concessions as L- Hmade to C-. What hath soured him, and made him suspect his friends of infidelity towards him, when there was no such matter, I know not. I stood well with him for fifteen years (the proudest of my life), and have ever spoke my full mind of him to some to whom his panegyric must naturally be least tasteful. I never in thought swerved from him; I never betrayed him; I never slakened in my admiration of him; I was the same to him (neither better nor worse), though he could not see it, as in the days when he thought fit to trust me. At this instant he may be preparing for me some compliment, above my deserts, as he has sprinkled many such among his admirable books, for which I rest his debtor; or, for any thing I know or can guess to the contrary, he may be about to read a lecture on my weaknesses. He is welcome to them (as he was to my humble hearth), if they can divert a spleen, or ventilate a fit of sullenness. I wish he would not quarrel with the world at the rate he does; but the reconciliation must be effected by himself, and I despair of living to see that day. But-protesting against much that he has written, and some things which he chooses to do; judging him by his conver sations which I enjoyed so long, and relished so deeply, or by his books, in those places where no clouding passion intervenes-I should belie my own conscience, if I said less than that I think W. H. to be, in his natural and healthy state, one of the wisest and finest spirits breathing. So far from being ashamed of that intimacy which was betwixt us, it is my boast that I was able for so many years to have preserved it entire; and I think I shall go to my grave without finding, or expecting to find, such another companion. But I forget my manners-you will pardon me, Sir.-I return to the correspondence." SONNETS TO THE MEMORY OF HAZLITT. BY A LADY. I. HE ranged all fields of Science-he whose head Hath his cold urn the flowers of fancy wreathed, Or hath the soul-inspired marble breathed? He gave your works a new and glorious birth; While the rare genius of his varied mind II. THOU, who didst grasp the mighty universe With wonder, love, and awe I follow thee. Yet thou wert mortal-and the dull sod cries, (Oh ! dark and narrow house!) "Here HAZLITT lies!" III. TWICE HAZLITT came to our domestic hearth: He came and went-a few brief days was seen, And left mementos where he thus had been, And now the pathos of that deep, low tone Comes o'er us like a dirge :-that voice of thine, From the world's strife, now thy proud spirit's flown, |