BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

LAMB

Charles Lamb was born in London, February 10, 1775, and was the youngest child of John and Elizabeth Lamb. His father was a native of Lincolnshire and had for many years been a clerk to Samuel Salt, a lawyer of the Inner Temple. In the Temple, Charles was born and here he spent the first seven years of his life. His associations with the spot are made familiar to us in the essay on the Old Benchers, and it was in the library of Mr. Samuel Salt that he acquired his love for old English authors. Indeed, the greater, and by far the most valuable part of his education was obtained in this library.

At the age of seven, Lamb was entered as a pupil in Christ's Hospital School. He has himself described for us his life here, as well as his friendship for the poet Coleridge, which lasted as long as they both lived. Lamb was obliged to leave school at fifteen, for his father was unable to send him to the university and needed his help. He therefore secured a position in the South-Sea House, where his elder brother John had an appointment.

At the age of seventeen he attained the office of clerk with the East India Company. Here for thirty-three years he labored every day. The work was irksome to him. "O, for a few years between the grave and the desk!" he sighed. But no occupation could extinguish his lightness of spirit, and he had his reward in 1825, when the company allowed him to retire with a pension.

The even tenor of those thirty-three years was marked by only one event of importance, but that was so tragic and terrible that the whole course of Lamb's life was determined by it. There was insanity in the Lamb family; Charles himself had experienced a touch of it. But in 1796 his sister Mary was seized with a violent fit of madness, in the course of which she stabbed her invalid mother. The father, already old and broken, survived his wife but a few months, and Charles and Mary were left alone.

The latter recovered her reason, but henceforth the attacks were of almost yearly occurrence. Her brother gave up every other interest in life to devote himself to her. When Mary felt the attacks coming on the brother obtained a day's leave as for a holiday and carried her to the asylum. Then he shut himself up alone, and went in heaviness of spirit until she was herself again.

In spite of this great cross Charles and Mary were happy. They were beautifully devoted to each other. "She is older and wiser and better than me," he said, "and all my wretched imperfections I cover to myself by resolutely thinking on her goodness. She would share life and death, heaven and hell with me. She lives but for me." They met every misfor

tune in a resolute spirit of cheerfulness. They delighted in their friends and their Wednesday evenings at home became noted for the number and literary fame of the friends who attended them. Of all that brilliant circle, he was the soul, “the centre from which and to which tended the stream of talk." His gaiety was never forced, his jests never left a sting.

Lamb wrote very much as he talked. His essays are only charming conversations on a great variety of subjects, more perfectly finished in style, perhaps, but quite as informal and spontaneous as his talk. His first attempt at writing, save for a few poems, was the tale of Rosamond Gray. Although Shelley called it a "lovely thing," it lacked continuity of narrative and dramatic quality, as did a farce which he wrote later, and which proved a failure on the stage.

In the Tales from Shakespeare, however, Lamb found a more congenial task. These he wrote in collaboration with his sister, and his Specimens of English Dramatic Poets Contemporary with Shakespeare established him as a critic of rare quality.

Lamb's last years, though made more congenial on account of his greater leisure, were filled with worry over the increase of his sister's malady. In 1834, Coleridge died, and Lamb never recovered from the blow. He kept repeating "Coleridge is dead," and survived him but a few months. His death occurred December 27, 1834. His unfortunate sister lingered on for three years.

LAMB'S PREFACE TO THE TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE

The following Tales are meant to be submitted to the young reader as an introduction to the study of Shakespeare, for which purpose his words are used whenever it seemed possible to bring them in: and in whatever has been added to give them the regular form of a connected story, diligent care has been taken to select such words as might least interrupt the effect of the beautiful English tongue in which he wrote: therefore words introduced into our language since his time have been as far as possible avoided. In those Tales which have been taken from the Tragedies, as my young readers will perceive when they come to see the source from which these stories are derived, Shakespeare's own words, with little alteration, recur very frequently in the narrative as well as in the dialogue; but in those made from the Comedies I found myself scarcely ever able to turn his words into the narrative form: therefore I fear in them I have made use of dialogue too frequently for young people not used to the dramatic form of writing. But this fault, if it be, as I fear, a fault, has been caused by my earnest wish to give as much of Shakespeare's own words as possible: and if the "He said," and "She said," the question and the reply, should sometimes seem tedious to their young ears, they must pardon it, because it was the only way I knew of, in which I could give them a few hints and little foretastes of the great pleasure which awaits them in their elder years, when

they come to the rich treasures from which these small and valueless coins are extracted; pretending to no other merit than as faint and imperfect stamps of Shakespeare's matchless image. Faint and imperfect images they must be called, because the beauty of his language is too frequently destroyed by the necessity of changing many of his excellent words into words far less expressive of his true sense, to make it read something like prose; and even in some places, where his blank verse is given unaltered, as hoping from its simple plainness to cheat the young readers into the belief that they are reading prose, yet still his language being transplanted from its own natural soil and wild poetic garden, it must want much of its native beauty.

I have wished to make these Tales easy reading for very young children. To the utmost of my ability I have constantly kept this in my mind; but the subjects of most of them made this a very difficult task. It was no easy matter to give the histories of men and women in terms familiar to the apprehension of a very young mind. For young ladies too it has been my intention chiefly to write, because boys are generally permitted the use of their father's libraries at a much earlier age than girls are; they frequently have the best scenes of Shakespeare by heart, before their sisters are permitted to look into this manly book; and, therefore, instead of recommending these Tales to the perusal of young gentlemen who can read them so much better in the originals, I must rather beg their kind assistance in explaining to their sisters such parts as are hardest for them to understand; and when they have helped them to get over the difficulties, then perhaps they will read to them (carefully selecting what is proper for a young sister's ear) some passage which has pleased them in one of these stories, in the very words of the scene from which it is taken; and I trust they will find that the beautiful extracts, the select passages, they may choose to give their sisters in this way, will be much better relished and understood from their having some notion of the general story from one of these imperfect abridgments; which if they be fortunately so done as to prove delightful to any of you, my young readers, I hope will have no worse effect upon you, than to make you wish yourselves a little older, that you may be allowed to read the plays at full length (such a wish will be neither peevish nor irrational). When time and leave of judicious friends shall put them into your hands, you will discover in such of them as are here abridged (not to mention almost as many more which are left untouched) many surprising events and turns of fortune, which for their infinite variety could not be contained in this little book, besides a world of sprightly and cheerful characters, both men and women, the humor of which I was fearful of losing if I attempted to reduce the length of them.

What these Tales have been to you in childhood, that and much more it is my wish that the true plays of Shakespeare may prove to you in older years enrichers of the fancy, strengtheners of virtue, a withdrawing from all selfish and mercenary thoughts, a lesson of all sweet and honorable thoughts and actions, to teach you courtesy, benignity, generosity, humanity; for of examples, teaching these virtues, his pages are full.

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE

Shylock, the Jew, lived at Venice, he was a usurer, who hað amassed an immense fortune by lending money at great interest tɔ Christian merchants. Shylock, being a hard-hearted man, exacted the payment, of the money he lent with such severity, that he was 5 much disliked by all good men, and particularly by Antonio, a young merchant of Venice; and Shylock as much hated Antonio, because he used to lend money to people in distress, and would never take any interest for the money he lent; therefore there was great enmity between this covetous Jew and the generous merchant 10 Antonio. Whenever Antonio met Shylock on the Rialto (or Exchange), he used to reproach him with his usuries and hard dealings; which the Jew would bear with seeming patience, while he secretly meditated revenge.

Antonio was the kindest man that lived, the best conditioned, 15 and had the most unwearied spirit of doing courtesies; indeed he was one in whom the ancient Roman honor more appeared than in any that drew breath in Italy. He was greatly beloved by all his fellow-citizens; but the friend who was nearest and dearest to his heart was Bassanio, a noble Venetian, who, 20 having but a small patrimony, had nearly exhausted his little fortune by living in too expensive a manner for his slender means, as young men of high rank with small fortunes are too apt to do. Whenever Bassanio wanted money, Antonio assisted him; and it seemed as if they had but one heart and one purse between them. One day Bassanio came to Antonio, and told him that he wished to repair his fortune by a wealthy marriage with a lady whom he dearly loved, whose father, that was lately dead, had left her sole heiress to a large estate; and that in her father's lifetime he used to visit at her house, when he thought he had observed this lady 30 had sometimes from her eyes sent speechless messages, that seemed to say he would be no unwelcome suitor; but not having money to furnish himself with an appearance befitting the lover of so rich an heiress, he besought Antonio to add to the many favors he had shown him, by lending him three thousand ducats.

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Antonio had no money by him at that time to lend his friend; but expecting soon to have some ships come home laden with mer

chandise, he said he would go to Shylock, the rich money-lender, and borrow the money upon the credit of those ships.

Antonio and Bassanio went together to Shylock, and Antonio asked the Jew to lend him three thousand ducats upon any interest 5 he should require, to be paid out of the merchandise contained in his ships at sea. On this, Shylock, thought within himself, "If I can once catch him on the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him; he hates our Jewish nation; he lends out money gratis; and among the merchants he rails at me and my well10 earned bargains, which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe if I forgive him!" Antonio finding he was musing with himself and did not answer, and being impatient for money, said, "Shylock, do you hear? Will you lend the money?" To this question the Jew replied, "Signior Antonio, on the Rialto many a time and often 15 you have railed at me about my moneys and my usuries, and I have borne it with a patient shrug, for sufferance is the badge of all our tribe; and then you have called me unbeliever, cutthroat dog, and spit upon my Jewish garments, and spurned at me, with your foot, as if I were a cur. Well then, it now appears 20 you need my help; and you come to me, and say, Shylock, lend me moneys. Has a dog money? Is it possible a cur should lend three thousand ducats? Shall I bend low and say, Fair sir, you spat upon me on Wednesday last, another time you called me dog, and for these courtesies I am to lend you moneys?" Antonio replied, 25 "I am as like to call you so again, to spit on you again, and spurn you too. If you will lend me this money, lend it not to me as to a friend, but rather lend it to me as to an enemy, that, if I break, you may with better face exact the penalty." "Why, look you," said Shylock, "how you storm! I would be friends with you, and have 30 your love. I will forget the shames you have put upon me. I will supply your wants, and take no interest for my money." This seemingly kind offer greatly surprised Antonio; and then Shylock still pretending kindness, and that all he did was but to gain Antonio's love, again said he would lend him the three thousand 35 ducats, and take no interest for his money; only Antonio should go with him to a lawyer, and there sign in merry sport a bond, that if he did not repay the money by a certain day, he would forfeit a pound of flesh, to be cut off from any part of his body that Shylock pleased.

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"Content," said Antonio: "I will sign to this bond, and say there is much kindness in the Jew."

Bassanio said Antonio should not sign to such a bond for him;