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 contempt in "A Lodging for the Night," the inextinguishable and unpardonable hatreds in "The Master of Ballantrae," even the glorious contentiousness of "Virginibus Puerisque,"—where in these masterful pages are we invited to smile at life? We go spinning through it, he admits, "like a party for the Derby." Yet "the whole way is one wilderness of snares, and the end of it, for those who fear the last pinch, is irrevocable ruin."

This is a call for courage, for the courage that lay as deep as pain in the souls of Stevenson, and Johnson, and Lamb. The combination of a sad heart and a gay temper, which is the most charming and the most lovable thing the world has got to show, gave to these men their hold upon the friends who knew them in life, and still wins for them the personal regard of readers. Lamb, the saddest and the gayest of the three, cultivated sedulously the little arts of happiness. He opened all the avenues of approach. 115