LORD BYRON.
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naut? I suppose you meant to say that his poetry was old and worn out.”
“You are very hard upon the dead[1] poet,—upon the late lamented Mr. Samuel Rogers, (as he has been called,)—and upon me too, to suspect me of speaking ironically upon so serious a subject.”
“It was a very doubtful expression, however, that ‘Nestor of little poets,’” rejoined the other. “Compliments ought never to have a double sense—a cross meaning. And you seem to be fond of this mode of writing, for you call Lady Morgan’s ‘Italy’ a fearless and excellent work. What two odd words to be coupled together!”
“Take it as you like,” replied Lord Byron, “I say the ‘Pleasures of Memory’ will live.”
“The Pleasures of Mummery! Pray now, (speak can-
- ↑ He used to tell a story of Rogers and visiting the Catacombs at Paris together. As Rogers, who was last, was making his exit, said to him, “Why, you are not coming out, are you? Surely you are not tired of your countrymen! You don’t mean to forsake them, do you?”
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