Another copy was sent, but with no better effect. It seemed that the publisher had been misled by Cobbett's sobriquet, and had addressed both pamphlets to "Doctor Black". -a mistake which converted the application into an affront.

TABLE-TALK OF SAMUEL ROGERS.

Many smart sayings are assigned to Mr. Rogers, with which he had nothing whatever to do. The Rev. Mr. Dyce1 has selected the genuine from the false, of the many good things attributed to the banker-poet. The following, also, truly and unmistakably his, are given by Mr. Peter Cunningham.

Of Lord Holland, whose face was full of sunshine, Rogers observed most happily: "Lord Holland always comes to breakfast like a man upon whom some sudden good fortune has just fallen." On another occasion, he exclaimed, (alluding to the same nobleman,)

"His was the smile that spoke the mind at ease

a line of Rogers's own composing, though not in his printed works.

He could, however, be severe upon his own friends. Of the same nobleman he observed: "Painting gives him no pleasure, and music absolute pain."

"In Italy," he said, "the memory sees more than the

eye."

Rogers envied no man of his time any saying, so much as he envied Lord John Russell that admirable definition of a proverb-"The wisdom of many and the wit of one."

“What a lucky fellow you are," said Rogers to Moore: "surely you must have been born with a rose in your lips, and a nightingale singing on the top of your bed."

"There are two parties before whom everybody must appear the Hollands and the Police."

Lady Holland was always lamenting that she had nothing to do that she did not know what to be at, or how to employ her time. She was one day more on this subject than ever, and Rogers could not resist recommending her to try a novelty-try to do a little good.

Whenever Lady Holland heard that a person of any 1 Recollections of the Table Talk of Samuel Rogers, 2 vols., to which we are considerably indebted.

consequence had said an ill word of her, she immediately invited him to dinner.

Rogers said: "When Croker wrote his review in the Quarterly of Macaulay's History, he intended murder, but committed suicide."

Of Sydney Smith, Rogers observed: "Whenever the conversation is getting dull, he throws in some touch which makes it rebound, and rise again as light as ever. There is this difference between Luttrell and Smith: after Luttrell you remembered what good things he said—after Smith you merely remembered how much you laughed."

On some one remarking that Payne Knight had become very deaf-""Tis from want of practice," replied Rogers, "he is the worst listener I know."

An old gentleman asleep before the fire was awakened by the clatter of the fire-irons at his feet. "What! going to bed without one kiss?" he exclaimed. He mistook one noise for

another.

When Dean Milman observed, in Rogers's hearing, that he should read no more prose translations from poets—“ What," exclaimed Rogers, "not the Psalms of David to your congregation?"

That was a happy reply of Sydney Smith. "When I began to light my dinner-table from the reflection of the pictures about me, I was not very successful. The light was thrown above the table, and not on it. I asked Sydney what he thought of the attempt. We were at dinner at the time. 'I do not like it at all,' was the reply; 'all is light above, and all below is darkness and gnashing of teeth.'

"I was pleased with what I saw you about this morning," Rogers observed once at Broadstairs to an artist, who naturally expected, from such a commencement, some reference to the labours of his pencil: "I was greatly pleased: I saw you brushing your own coat. A gentleman who can brush his own coat is very independent."

Sheridan told Rogers that he was aware he ought to have made a love-scene between Charles and Maria, in the School for Scandal, and would have done it, but that the actors who played the parts were not able to do justice to such a

scene.

J. T. Smith told Rogers that the little landscape by Claude, for which the Poet gave at West's sale two hundred guineas,

was bought by West at an old iron-shop for ten shillings and sixpence.

Mr. West said that Beckford called upon him before he went to Spain to borrow two small pictures, to take in his carriage with him, wherever he went, and that the two pictures he selected were the little octagon Claude, and the Domenichino, [afterwards in Mr. Rogers's collection.]

Lord Holland read to Rogers his character of Sheridan. The wind-up he particularly remembered: He died with great Christian resignation, joining fervently in the prayers that were read to him when the sacrament was administered.' Now Rogers asked Howley, Archbishop of Canterbury, what Sheridan's end was like; "he was insensible," said Howley; "Mrs. Sheridan put his hands together in the attitude of supplication, and I read the prayers."

There is a couplet in Cowper which Rogers admired exceedingly :

Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much,
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.

Rogers adds: "When I am at Fine Arts Commissions, where good paper and pens abound, I copy out these lines for the people who trouble me for my autograph.-' How much he improves,' was the remark of one who mistook them for mine. These lines (and they are very good)

Oh! if the selfish knew how much they lost,
What would they not endeavour, not endure,
To imitate, as far as in them lay,

Him who his wisdom and his power employs
In making others happy!

I transcribe in the same manner."

Lady Holland, who was always inquisitive, was particularly anxious to have Sir Philip Francis asked if he was Junius. She would not ask him herself, and it fell, I know not how, says Rogers, to my lot to ask him. I asked the question, and met with this brief answer :-" Ask that again, sir, at your peril." This was enough. Next time I saw Lady Holland, she asked, "What success?—is Francis Junius?" To which I replied, "I don't know whether he is Junius, but I know he is Brutus."

Rogers was observing one day to Sydney Smith, that he should not sit again for his portrait unless he was taken in an

attitude of prayer. "Yes," said Sydney, "yes, with your face in your hat."

"Here is Hallam, who has spent a whole life in contradicting everybody, is now obliged to publish a volume to contradict himself." [Mr. Rogers referred to the Supplemental volume to the Middle Ages.]

Lord Byron wrote the following verses on Mr. Rogers, in Question and Answer :

QUESTION.

Nose and chin would shame a knocker,
Wrinkles that would puzzle Cocker;
Mouth which marks the envious scorner,
With a scorpion in each corner,
Turning its quick tail to sting you,
In the place that most may wring you;
Eyes of lead-like hue, and gummy;
Carcase pick'd out from some mummy;
Bowels (but they were forgotten,
Save the liver, and that's rotten);
Skin all sallow, flesh all sodden-
From the Devil would frighten God in.
Is 't a corpse stuck up for show,
Galvanised at times to go?

With the Scripture in connexion,
New proof of the resurrection?
Vampyre, ghost, or ghoul, what is it?
I would walk ten miles to miss it.

ANSWER.

Many passengers arrest one,

To demand the same free question.
Shorter's my reply, and franker-
That's the Bard, the Beau, the Banker.
Yet if you could bring about,

Just to turn him inside out,

Satan's elf would seem less sooty,

And his present aspect-Beauty.
Mark that (as he marks the bilious
Air so softly supercilious)
Chastened bow, and mock humility,
Almost sickened to servility;
Hear his tone (which is to talking
That which creeping is to walking;
Now on all-fours, now on tiptoe ;)
Hear the tales he lends his lips to;
Little hints of heavy scandals;
Every friend in turn he handles;

All which women, or which men do,
Glides forth in an inuendo,

Clothed in odds and ends of humour-
Herald of each paltry rumour,
From divorces, down to dresses,
Women's frailties, men's excesses,
All which life presents of evil

Make for him a constant revel.
You're his foe, for that he fears you,
And in absence blasts and sears you;
You're his friend, for that he hates you,
First caresses, and then baits you;
Darting on the opportunity;
When to do it with impunity.
You are neither-then he'll flatter
Till he finds some trait for satire;
Hunts your weak point out, then shows it
Where it injures to disclose it,

In the mode that's most invidious,
Adding every trait that's hideous,
From the bile whose black'ning river,
Rushes through his Stygian river.

Then he thinks himself a lover-
Why, I really can't discover,
In his mind, eye, face, or figure;
Viper-broth might give him vigour ;
Let him keep the cauldron steady,
He the venom has already.
For his faults-he has but one-
'Tis but envy, when all's done.
He but pays the pain he suffers;
Clipping, like a pair of snuffers,

Lights which ought to burn the brighter
For this temporary blighter.
He's the cancer of his species:
And will eat himself to pieces,

Plague personified, and famine;

Devil, whose sole delight is damning!

For his merits, would you know 'em?
Once he wrote a pretty poem.

Rogers was silent about these verses, while he would turn with satisfaction to the following entry in the Diary of Sir Walter Scott: "At parting, [they were at Holland House together,] Rogers gave me a gold-mounted pair of glasses, which I will not part with in a hurry. I really like S. R., and have always found him most friendly."

Boddington had a wretchedly bad memory; and, in order to improve it, he attended Feinagle's lectures on the Art of