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Possibly autobiographical in the matter of the first play. Charles Lamb's first play was the opera "Artaxerxes;" Mary's may quite well have been Congreve's "Mourning Bride." The book-shop at the corner of St. Leicester's School was published and sold.
No one has described Lamb's manner or merits so well as Hazlitt: "He always made the best pun and the best remark in the course of the evening. His serious conversation, like his serious writing, is his best. No one ever stammered out such fine piquant, deep, eloquent things, in half a dozen sentences, as he does. His jests scald like tears; and he probes a question with a play upon words.
Do you suppose these snippets would treat Alice the way they do if she could afford to ENTERTAIN? They leave her out of their dinners and dances simply because they know she can't give any dinners and dances to leave them out of! They know she can't get EVEN, and that's the whole story! That's why Henrietta Lamb's done this thing to her now." Adams had gone back to his rubbing of his knees.
Lamb's plans and now under management of the French soeurs, whose gull wings are conspicuous at Funchal; the Asylo, or Poor-house, opened in 1847 for the tempering of mendicancy; and facing it, in unpleasant proximity, the Portuguese cemetery, decorated as to its entrance with sundry skulls and cross-bones, and showing its tall cypresses to the bay.
There was something in the manner of the Princess, after receiving the salute, which impelled me, spite of myself, to ask who the lady was. "Madame de Genlis," exclaimed Her Highness, with a shudder of disgust, "that lamb's face with a wolf's heart, and a fog's cunning."
"Oh, thank you!" cried the boy, when he had learned how to do the trick himself. "I'm going over and show Dick this puzzle. I don't believe he can do it. Want to come, Mirabell, and show Dorothy your Lamb on Wheels?" "No, thank you, not now," Arnold's sister answered. "I'm going to get a comb and brush and make my Lamb's wool all nice and fluffy.
She had not visited London for many years, and this multitudinous and wholesale opulence startled her. Under other circumstances she would have enjoyed it intensely, and basked in it as a flower in the sunshine; to-night, however, she could not dismiss the image of Rose in the gaunt hospital in Lamb's Conduit Street.
Indeed, the letter itself is a remarkable document. The occasion having gone by, this letter has been dismissed from most minds, except that part of it which exhibits Lamb's championship on behalf of Hunt and Hazlitt, and which is more touching than anything to be found in controversial literature.
And only think how hard upon me it is, that the ship is despatched to-morrow, and my triumph cannot be ascertained till the Wednesday after; but all China will ring of it by-and-by." Would that Lamb's joyous and exultant anticipations of "Mr. H."'s success had proved true!
The tambourin and galoubet and palets and carlamuso all together struck up again; and the shepherds and the lamb's car passed down the nave between the files of candle-bearers and so out through the door. Within the past sixty years or so this naïve ceremony has fallen more and more into disuse.
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