"
"My dear Charles!" said Wordsworth--
"Diddle, diddle dumpling, my son John"--
chaunted Lamb, and then, rising, exclaimed, "Do let me have another look
at that gentleman's organs." Keats and I hurried Lamb into the
painting-room, shut the door, and gave way to inextinguishable laughter.
Monkhouse followed and tried to get Lamb away. We went back, but the
comptroller was irreconcilable. We soothed and smiled and asked him to
supper. He stayed, though his dignity was sorely affected. However,
being a good-natured man, we parted all in good-humour, and no ill
effects followed.
All the while, until Monkhouse succeeded, we could hear Lamb struggling
in the painting-room and calling at intervals, "Who is that fellow?
Allow me to see his organs once more."
It was indeed an immortal evening. Wordsworth's fine intonation as he
quoted Milton and Virgil, Keats's eager, inspired look, Lamb's quaint
sparkle of lambent humour, so speeded the stream of conversation that in
my life I never passed a more delightful time. All our fun was within
bounds. Not a word passed that an apostle might not have listened to. It
was a night worthy of the Elizabethan age.
"SIXPENNY JOKES"
[Sidenote: _Charles Lamb_]
There is no _virtue_ like _necessity_, says the proverb. If that be
true, what a quantity of _virtue_ there must be among the lower orders
of people in this country!
* * * * *
A _bench_ of Justices certainly gives us an idea of something _wooden_.
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