n he lived.... What was his mansion is
consecrated to me a chapel."

It is said that when his sister was first stricken Lamb was engaged to
be married to Ann Simmons, a sweet woman, whom he loved passionately. So
awful was the blow and so heavy the responsibility he assumed that the
match was broken off, and the gentle man resigned his hope of home and
family. We shall see, however, that he never quite forgot his love.

Sad as their life certainly was, there were many pleasant days for both
brother and sister. Between her spells of violence Mary was a charming
companion, a helpful adviser and a writer of great ability, as loyal to
her brother as he was to her. When Lamb was engaged to write the _Tales
from Shakespeare_, she took up the pen with him and wrote the stories of
the great poet's comedies while Charles wrote the tragedies.

How strong his affection and respect for her really were we may see from
his own words: "I am a fool bereft of her co-operation. I am used to
look up at her in the worst and biggest perplexities. To say all that I
find her would be more than I think anybody could possibly understand.
She is older, wiser, and better than I am, and all my wretched
imperfections I cover to myself by resolutely thinking on her goodness.
She would share life and death with me."

A more lovable character than Lamb's is hard to find. Full of fun he was
when with his friends, punning, quibbling and joking in quaint and
original ways that made him welcome wherever he went. "The best acid is
assiduity" was one of his favorite puns, and "_No_ work is worse than
_over_-work" is one of his wise and witty remarks.

The stuttering which in some persons might have seemed an annoyance only
served to add a certain spiciness to his good-natured quips. It is said
that a certain gushing lady once went into a long description of her
children and her own passionate love for them. Suddenly interrupting
herself she said to Lamb, "And how do you like babies, Mr. Lamb?" With a
sober face, but unable to conceal the humorous twinkle in his sharp
eyes, Charles replied, "Bub-bub-boiled, Madam!"

Lamb's friendship for Coleridge was fully returned, as we may see from
many things the latter wrote. At one time he said: "Lamb's character is
a sacred one with me. No associations that he may form can hurt the
purity of his mind.... Nothing ever left a stain on that gentle
creature's mind."

In 1825 Lamb's health became so poor that he wa