The Press.
London, England, 1856-02-16 00:00:00

THE PRESS.

was too ill to go), went to examine the coast.
They decided on disembarking at Old Fort,
near Eupatoria; the Marshal still held out for
Kateha, as nearer to Sebastopol, and as prefer-
able in other respects; but Lord Raglan and
the English generals peremptorily insisted on
Old Fort being chosen, and the Marshal
yielded.
(To be continued.)

Recollections of the Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers;
to which is added Porsoniana. London :
Moxon.
THIS volume is of very slight texture. The
" Table-Talk " consists for the most part of
anecdotes and recollections, rising little, if at
all, above the twaddling garrulity of old age—
Ex. gr.:—

When I was a schoolboy, 1 wore, like other schoolboys,
a cocked hat—we used to run about the fields, chasing
butterflies, in cocked hats. After growing up, I have
walked through St. Paul's-churchyard in a cocked hat.
I recollect when it was still the fashion for gentlemen to
wear swords. I have seen Haydu play at a concert in a
tie•wig, with a sword at his side.
I remember taking Beattie's " Minstrel "down from my
father's shelves, on a fine summer evening, and reading it,
for the first time, with such delight! It still charms me
( I mean the first book; the second book is very inferior).
During my youth umbrellas were far from common. At
that time every gentleman's family had one umbrella—a
huge thing, made of coarse cotton—which used to betaken
out with the carriage, and which, if there was rain, the
footman held over the ladies' heads, as they entered, or
alighted from, the carriage.
It is inexcusable in any one to write illegibly. When I
was a schoolboy, I used to get hold of our writing-master's
copies and trace them by holding them against the window
—hence the plain hand I now write.
During my youth I used to go to the Hampstead As-
semblies, which were frequented by a great deal of good
company. There I have danced four or five minuets in
one evening.
A person once asserted that in a particular country the
bees were as large as sheep. He was asked " How big, then,
are the hives ?"—" Oh," he replied, " the usual siz
The editor tells us that his volume contains
only a selection from the memoranda he has
by him of Rogers's conversation. If he has
favoured us with the pick of the poet's utter-
ances, what must the refuse have been ?
To judge from this volume, Rogers could
have had little capacity for original thought.
There is in the book scarcey one idea
justly belonging to him worth remembrance,
and most of the anecdotes to be found
which have any point are well known, and
have been often printed—as, for example, the
bon-mot of the first Lord Holland on Selwyn's
fondness for deadly spectacles, and the story
told of Charles Fox and his bond-creditor
Some persons quite destitute of the flash and
play of intellect which constitute really good
conversation, of natural wit and lively fancy
and buoyant animal spirits, have a store of
various knowledge and pleasant anecdotes
picked up in social intercourse, with which
they can illustrate any topic of discourse.
But the mental collections of Rogers seem to
have been as poor as his original faculties.
His mind had an affinity for little things. It
was nu more capanle of bearing matters of
weight than it was of making a vigorous
effort.
Oddly enough, he seems to have prided
himself on the costiveness of his brains.
When relating an observation by Crabbe, that
he limited himself to forty lines a day, Rogers
said—" Why not, like me, limit himself to four
" lines ?" His " Human Life" engaged him, he
says, for nineyears, and his " Italy ' for sixteen
years. Had he not been blinded by vanity, he
would have known that nothing truly great can
spring hum such painful and protracted
effort. The incessant touching and retouch-
ing on which some persons insist is of doubt-
ful value. One burst of genius, such as came
from Burns at his plough, is worth the toil of
a life of mediocrity. What Byron produced
with ease in an hour, after a night of revelry,
would be ill exchanged for all that Mr.
Rogers elaborated during his long life. Few
men with any reputation for talent did less.
He retired from the business of his bank at an
early age, and had his time to himself. But
he took no part iu any of the great movements
of his day. His name is connected with no
principle or enterpise. He loved the gossip
and calumny of Whiig polities, but had not

SATURDAY,

ardour enough to embrace them cordially •
One of his recollections is, that Fox, speaking
of Queen Charlotte, called her " that bad
" woman." Nelson, he says, was hated at
Court—" They were jealous of his fame !" He
was willing to believe anything that Caine to
him on the authority of his political friends,
though too feeble by nature to throw his heart
into their cause.

The best lines he ever wrote are those which
conclude (if we recollect rightly) the •" Plea-
sures of Memory," in which he insists on the
permanence of such pleasures :

But can the wiles of art, the grasp of power,
Snatch the rich relics of a well•spent hour?

The idea was evidently taken from a passage
in Dryden, which, it is said, he greatly ad-
mired :

•' Dryden's imitations of Horace," he would say, " are
bettter than the originals : how fine this is:—

Happy the mall, and happy be alone,
He who can call today his own;
He who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow, do thy worst, for I have liv'd to-day ;
Be fair or foul, or rain or shine,
The joys I have possess'd, in spite of Fate, are mine;
Not Heaven itself upon the past has power,
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour."

Elsewhere we find another instance of his
plagiarism :
Boddington had a wretchedly bpd memory; and in order
to improve it, he attended Feinaigle's lectures on the Art
of Memory. Soon after, somebody asked Boddington the
name of the lecturer ; and, for his life, he could not recol•
lect it.—When I was asked if I had attended the said lee.
tures on the Art of Memory, I replied, " No : I wished to
learn the Art of Forgetting."

The idea is, of course, taken from Johnson,
who supposes it would be more rational to
complain of being unable to forget than being
unable to remember.

A few anecdotes we find here are worth
extracting. Burke had exquisite felicity in
compliment :

I wns present when Sir Joshua Reynolds delivered hie
last lecture at the Royal Academy. . . . Sir Joshua
concluded the lecture by saying, with great emotion, " And
I should desire that the last words which I should pro.
nounce in this academy and from this place might he
the name of—Michael Angelo." As he descended from the
rostrum, Burke went up to him, took his hand, and said,
The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear
Si) charming left his voice, that he a while
Thought him still speaking, still stood fill to hear.