literary society. They were hung around with a collection of pictures which received the approval of all the best judges. Almost every author and artist, on coming before the world, was there invited by him and welcomed as a friend. Perhaps no man not in some public profession, not in a political office, not in Parliament, was ever so much before the eyes of the public. circle of acquaintance was boundless. Scarcely a biography of author or artist has been published during the latter end of his life, without frequent mention of Mr. Rogers; few foreigners have written their travels in England without describing his house, his pictures, and his conversation.

His

But he welcomed to St. James's Place those who had achieved eminence by their talents, hardly more than those who were endeavouring to achieve eminence. It was his delight to hold forth the helping hand to merit. Many a young man, striving in the path of letters or art, feeling as yet unable to make his works known, has breakfasted with Mr. Rogers, and been by him introduced to men of eminence in the same path, whom he had perhaps heard of or read of, and has walked home after breakfast an altered man, with stronger resolves to take pains, with renewed trust in his own powers, and encouraged with the thought that he was no longer quite unknown. In this way, while cultivating his own tastes, he enjoyed the pleasure of being useful and of guiding the tastes of others; and at the same time the pleasure of the celebrity which he gained therefrom.

Moreover, authors and artists are sometimes in want

of money, and so also are those who are aiming at becoming authors and artists. In such cases they found Mr. Rogers a kind friend, ready not only with his advice but with his purse. The same generous feelings led him also to find a place in his poems, or in the notes at the end, to mention with honour each of those poets and friends whom he might feel his equals and whom the world might think his rivals. Byron he speaks of both in 'Human Life' and in 'Italy.' Crabbe's power of describing he praises in Italy.' Moore he calls 'a poet of such singular felicity as to 'give a lustre to all he touches.' Of Wordsworth he quotes a noble sonnet.' Of Scott he gives us some lines not elsewhere published. He quotes Dante from his friend Cary's Translation, Luttrell's little known

but clever Letters to Julia' he speaks of as admirably written, and to his early friend Richard Sharp, who late in life published some Epistles in Verse, he kindly gives the title of a poet. With the same wish to please he mentions Eastlake the painter, and Herschell the astronomer, he quotes Lord John Russell's definition of a proverb; and in the edition of his works which is ornamented with the designs of Stothard and Turner, he styles them two artists who would have done honour to any age or country.

In his later years he usually spent some weeks every autumn at Broadstairs, where he lived at the hotel with his old friend Mr. Maltby. He went down with his own horses, and slept at Rochester and Canterbury to break the journey. At Canterbury he always went into the Cathedral to hear the service chanted. One

h

year he was recognised by the clergyman in authority, who to show his respect to the poet sent a verger to ask him which chant he would like to have performed. And this marked civility was repeated every year as he passed through that city. He was, of course, gratified by the attention; but his pleasure in the music was sadly lessened by it. It broke the charm to find that the clergymen were thinking of him, while he had been willing to fancy that they were at their devotions. During his last few years he spent the three winter months at Brighton, in the same house with his sister, who died only a year before himself.

My uncle's conversation could hardly be called brilliant. He seldom aimed at wit, though he enjoyed it in others. He often told anecdotes of his early recollections and of the distinguished persons with whom he had been acquainted. These he told with great neatness and fitness in the choice of words, as may be understood by an examination of the prose notes to his poems. But the valuable part of his conversation was his good sense joined with knowledge of literature and art, and yet more particularly his constant aim at improvement, and the care that he took to lead his friends to what was worth talking about. I never left his company without feeling my zeal for knowledge strengthened, my wish to read quickened, and a fresh determination to take pains and do my best in every thing that I was about. He trained his mind to look for the beautiful and the good in all that came before him. He had acquired the 'habit of looking every'where for excellencies and not for faults, whether in

'art or nature, whether in a picture, a poem, or a character.' He describes himself as having

'A passionate love for music, sculpture, painting,

'For poetry, the language of the gods,

'For all things here, or grand or beautiful,

'A setting sun, a lake among the mountains,

'The light of an ingenuous countenance,

'And what transcends them all, a noble action.'

In his old age, as is usual, he returned to the recollections of his youth. He talked much of Mrs. Barbauld, of Dr. Price who had lived next door to his father at Newington Green, and of Dr. Enfield's review of his first poem. He then very much cultivated the society of the younger members of his family, and his conversation was never better than when he was speaking to children. They listened with equal delight and improvement. His words were as winning as they were wise

'Praising each highly, from a wish to raise
"Their merits to the level of his praise.'

He then regretted that he had not married and taken upon himself the duties of a husband and a father. He would quote Goldsmith's description of the Vicar of Wakefield, who united in himself the three greatest characters in the world; he was a priest, a husbandman, and the father of a family. My uncle wished that to his character of a man of letters and a man of business, he could himself have added that he had educated a family of children. The

very last addition to his poems were the lines advising young men to marry, beginning

'Hence to the Altar.'

In early life he had been of a weak constitution, which showed itself in a pale and sickly coun

tenance

'From his cheek, ere yet the down was there,
'Health fled.'

This made him more than usually careful in his manner of living; and he grew stronger as he grew older. He was active in his habits; and when advanced in years was still a great walker. He was not easily tired. He had no sofa or arm-chair in that room of his house in which he for the most part lived, and he never made use of either till he broke his leg at the age of eighty-six. When that misfortune befell him, nothing could be better than the manner in which he bore it. He was henceforth, for what remained of life, to be confined to the bed or chair. But he never murmured, and he spoke of his accident with regret only for the trouble that he gave to others. He often made use of the words of Galileo; 'If it has pleased God that I should be lame, ought 'not I to be pleased?' He died at his house No. 22, St. James's Place, on the 18th of December, 1855, full of years and honour. His memory had latterly rather failed him; but it was only during the last eighteen months, when he was more than ninety years of age, that life began to be a burden to him, and the visits