Harness, who, like Dyce, pays to the story the tribute of his tears."

We are tempted to indulge in yet another picture of a private reading at which Carlyle was present. "Leigh Hunt had invited a few friends with ourselves," says Mrs. Cowden Clarke in her interesting Recollections of Writers, "to hear him read his newly-written play of A Legend of Florence; and Thomas Carlyle was among these friends. The hushed room, its genial low light-for a single well-shaded lamp close by the reader formed the sole point of illumination—the scarcely-seen faces around, all bent in fixed attention upon the perusing figure, the breathless presence of so many eager listeners, all remains indelibly stationed in the memory, never to be effaced or weakened. It was not surpassed in interest-though strangely contrasted in dazzle and tumult-when the play

was brought out at Covent Garden Theatre, and Leigh Hunt was called on to the stage at its conclusion to receive the homage of a public who had long known him through his delightful writings, and now caught at this opportunity to let him feel and see and hear their admiration of those past works, as well as of his present poetical play."

V.

SOCIAL AND IMAGINARY.

"Patchwork may be of two distinct kinds. We may have beautiful and artistic patchwork, made up of brocades, silks, satins, fine needlework, and artistic tapestry; or we may have coarse and trumpery patchwork composed of tawdry and vulgar prints or bits of flaunting handkerchiefs."

"Folk say, a wizard to a northern king

At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show, That through one window men beheld the spring, And through another saw the summer glow, And through a third the fruited vines a-row, While still, unheard, but in its wonted way, Piped the drear wind of that December day.' WILLIAM MORRIS: "The Earthly Paradise."

WHAT evenings in Arcadia those Wednesdays of Lamb's must have been when Wordsworth, Southey, Leigh Hunt, Barry Cornwall, Hazlitt, Coleridge, Talfourd, and such men

of culture and imagination gathered round their host! But the "gentle Elia" has been so deservedly written about of late, and every incident in his blameless life has been so read and re-read and dwelt upon lovingly, that aught that could be related to serve our purpose would be but a recooking of some tender morsel. The writings of those who were on terms of friendship with him abound with such scraps as the following:

"December 5th, 1826.-Spent the evening at Lamb's. When I went in, they (Charles and his sister) were alone, playing at cards together;" and "Friday, July 13th.-Spent the evening at Leigh Hunt's, with the Lambs, Atherstone, Mrs. Shelley, and the Gliddons. Lamb talked admirably about Dryden and some of the older poets, in particular of Davenant's Gondibert," etc., etc.*

*P. G. Patmore.

Of Lamb's "At homes," Percy Fitzgerald writes: "To these nights at his house-to the little rooms, hung round with engravings after Hogarth, and Poussin, Raphael, and Titian-every guest looked back with a fond longing. Milton hung on the wall, and from Milton he would read noble passages, actually weeping as he read."

Hazlitt first made Lamb's acquaintance at Godwin's house, where he found Coleridge, Godwin, and Holcroft in a heated controversy as to whether it was better to have man as he was, or as he is to be. "Give me man," suggested Lamb, " as he is not to be." It is interesting to know that the last time Hazlitt (who at one time was ambitious to succeed as an artist) took his brush in hand, it was to paint the portrait of Lamb dressed as a Venetian Senator. "The picture represents Lamb as he was