rs have ever heard the anecdote before.

But we must not let this tendency, to take a man in his entirety, to
love him as he is, carry us too far; we must be careful that the
foibles that endear him to us are in themselves innocent.

There is one particular form of priggishness, in this matter of
criticism of others, which is apt to beset literary people, and more
especially at a time when it seems to be considered by many writers
that the first duty of a critic--they would probably call him an artist
for the sake of the associations--is to get rid of all sense of right
and wrong. I was reading the other day a sensible and appreciative
review of Mr. Lucas's new biography of Charles Lamb. The reviewer
quoted with cordial praise Mr. Lucas's remark--referring, of course, to
the gin-and-water, which casts, I fear, in my own narrow view,
something of a sordid shadow over Lamb's otherwise innocent life--"A
man must be very secure in his own righteousness who would pass
condemnatory judgment upon Charles Lamb's only weakness." I do not
myself think this a sound criticism. We ought not to abstain from
condemning the weakness, we must abstain from condemning Charles Lamb.
His beautiful virtues, his tenderness, his extraordinary sweetness and
purity of nature, far outweigh this weakness. But what are we to do?
Are we to ignore, to condone, to praise the habit? Are we to think the
better of Charles Lamb and love him more because he tippled? Would he
not have been more lovable without it?

And the fact that one may be conscious of similar faults and moral
weaknesses, ought not to make one more, but less, indulgent to such a
fault when we see it in a beautiful nature. The fault in question is no
more in itself adorable, than it is in another man who does not possess
Lamb's genius.

We have a perfect right--nay, we do well--to condemn in others faults
which we frankly condemn in ourselves. It does not help on the world if
we go about everywhere slobbering with forgiveness and affection; it is
the most mawkish sentimentality to love people in such a way that we
condone grave faults in them; and to condone a fault because a man is
great, when we condemn it if he is not great, is only a species of
snobbishness. It is right to compassionate sinners, to find excuse for
the faults of every one but ourselves; but we ought not to love so
foolishly and irrationally, that we cannot even bring ourselves to wish
our hero's faults away.

I