Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; XII Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, shed; How He, who bore in heaven the second name, How he, who lone in Patmos banished, And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by XIII Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays: Hope "springs exultant on triumphant wing:" That thus they all shall meet in future days There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. Vol. IX.-18. XIV Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul; And in the book of life the inmates poor enroll. XV Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; The youngling cottagers retire to rest: The parent-pair their secret homage pay, And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, That He, who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide; But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. CHARLES AND MARY LAMB NE of the most tragic, and at the same time one of the most heroic, of true stories is that of Charles and Mary Lamb, the brother and sister who are known to millions of young people as the writers of Tales from Shakespeare. Charles Lamb was rather a short man, with a spare body and legs so small and thin that Thomas Hood once spoke of them as "immaterial legs." His head, however, was large, and his brow fine; his nose, large and hooked, was in a face which early showed lines of care and trouble; his eyes were large and expressive, twinkling with humor but full of piercing inquiry, and searching with keen interest everything about him; his mouth was large and firm, but around it there flitted a smile that showed the genial, humorous soul of the big-hearted boy. Lamb's habits were peculiar, there is no denying that, and his habits of dress made him even more noticeable. Almost always he wore a black coat, knickerbockers and black gaiters. The old-fashioned cut of his clothes and their worn appearance showed the narrowness of his means, which, however, never caused him to neglect either clothing or person, for he was remarkably neat in his ways. Although a poor boy, he was educated in the famous old Christ's Hospital School in London, but when he was ready for college he found himself barred by his stammering, stuttering tongue. Giving up his hope of further schooling, he was glad to take a small clerkship in a government office, where he remained for thirtythree years, a long period with little or no ad vancement. It was in 1792, when Charles was about seventeen years of age, that he was given his clerkship, and for nearly four years he lived happily, supporting his parents and his sister in their humble home. Mary was eleven years older than Charles, a quiet, gentle creature whom everybody loved, though in some respects she was peculiar. There were things, too, that troubled the family and made them reserved and inclined to be oversensitive. Not only were they very poor, but there had been insanity on the mother's side, and Charles, himself, had at one time been in brief confinement for irrational actions. Mary, too, had occasionally shown signs of madness, but no one anticipated the dreadful event which took place in 1796. It came upon them like a stroke of lightning out of a clear sky. All were gathered together for their noon meal when Mary leaped to her feet and ran wildly about the room, shrieking in the terrifying tones of the insane. She caught the forks and spoons from the table, threw them about the room, and then, seizing a case knife, plunged it into the heart of her mother. Although one of the flying forks had struck her aged father in the head and wounded him severely, Mary sprang upon him and would certainly have killed the feeble old man then and there had not Charles caught her and in a terrible struggle overpowered her and wrested the knife from her grasp. Friends and neighbors came in, and the poor woman was taken to an asylum, where in a short time she recovered her reason and learned of the awful consequences of her madness. In those days hospitals for the insane were much more poorly managed than they are at present, and Charles could not be contented to think of his sister confined within their walls. Accordingly he went to the authorities, and after much persuasion they released her, under the condition that she should be constantly under care. Then began that long career of brotherly devotion which can scarcely be matched, and which never fails to excite our sympathy and admiration. We may well think it a terrible penance, for Mary's attacks recurred again and again, and more than once Charles had to take her back to the hospital for a brief time while her violence remained too great for him to control. There were long lucid intervals, however, and after a while both learned to recognize the symptoms which preceded an attack, and the two would wend their way to the asylum, where she could take refuge. They carried a straitjacket with them for use in case she should suddenly become violent, for never could either |