case in which his theory is not one among the most plausible. If it had only been so stated, it would have been well received. His view of Marlborough's character, for instance, is a specious one; it has a good deal of evidence, a large amount of real probability, but it has scarcely more. Marlborough may have been as bad as is said, but we can hardly be sure of it at this time. Macaulay's "party-spirit" is another consequence of his positiveness. When he inclines to a side, he inclines to it too much. His opinions are a shade too strong; his predilections some degrees at least too warm. William is too perfect, James too imperfect. The Whigs are a trifle like angels; the Tories like, let us say, "our inferiors." Yet this is evidently an honest partyspirit. It does not lurk in the corners of sentences, it is not insinuated without being alleged; it does not, like the unfairness of Hume, secrete itself so subtly in the turns of the words, that when you turn to prove it, it is gone. On the contrary, it rushes into broad day. William is loaded with panegyric; James is always spoken evil of. Hume's is the artful pleading of a hired advocate; Macaulay's the bold eulogy of a sincere friend. As far as effect goes, this is wrong. The very earnestness of the affection leads to a reaction; we are tired of having William called the "just" we cannot believe so many pages; "all that" can scarcely be correct. As we said before, if the historian's preference for persons and party had been duly tempered and mitigated, if the probably good were only said to be probably good, if the rather bad were only alleged to be rather bad, the reader would have been convinced, and the historian escaped the savage censure of envious critics. The one thing which detracts from the pleasure of reading these volumes, is the doubt whether they should have been written. Should not these great powers be reserved for great periods? Is this abounding, picturesque style, suited for continuous history? Are small men to be so largely described? Should not admirable delineation be kept for admirable people? We think so. You do not want Raphael to paint sign-posts, or Palladio to build dirt-pies. Much of history is necessarily of little value, the superficies of circumstance, the scum of events. It is very well to have it described, indeed you must have it described; the chain must be kept complete; the narrative of a country's fortunes will not allow of breaks or gaps. Yet all things need not be done equally well. The life of a great painter is short. Even the industry of Macaulay will not complete this history. It is a pity to spend such powers on such events. It would have been better to have some new volumes of essays solely on great men and great things. The diffuseness of the style would have been then in place; we could have borne to hear the smallest minutiæ of magnificent epochs. If an inferior hand had executed the connecting-links, our notions would have acquired an insensible perspective; the best works of the great artist, the best themes, would have stood out from the canvas. They are now confused by the equal brilliancy of the adjacent inferiorities. Much more might be said on this narrative. As it will be read for very many years, it will employ the critics for many years. It would be unkind to make all the best observations. Something, as Mr. Disraeli said in a budget-speech, something should be left for "future statements of this nature." There will be an opportunity. Whatsoever those who come after may find to say against this book, it will be, and remain, the "Pictorial History of England." ART. V.--CONVERSATION AND POETRY OF ROGERS. Recollections of the Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers. London, Edward Moxon, 1856. The Poetical Works of Samuel Rogers. London, Edward Moxon, 1853. THERE has been much talk of a consolidation of the statutes; when shall we have a consolidation of Whig anecdotes? A Holland-House Joe Miller, bringing up all the dinner-talk of that party to the present date, is greatly needed. Such a work, forming a general body of reference, from which moreover it should be as fatal to quote as from the old body of English wit comprised in the original of that name, would constitute at once a valuable repertory of amusement and a much-needed barrier against boredom. At present Whig wit is in much the same state as English common law, it must be gathered from a mass of independent reports; and the novelty and parentage of a joke is as laborious a thing to ascertain as the truth and authority of a position in law. Let the thing be done thoroughly and once for all; let us have the remaining two volumes of Mr. Moore's diary; print two more, if it is absolutely necessary; publish all his invitations to dinner, with copies of the answers; put in his butcher's bill; furnish more full details about Bessy's accouchements; ransack the drawers of every Whig nobleman and distinguished literary character of liberal principles; exhaust the memory of all dowager duchesses and diners-out; invite all the filial spirits who think justice has never been done by an ungrateful world to the hero of the family to say all they have to say; let there be nothing left that can possibly be printed;-and then let some industrious man, not naturally given to despondency, collate the authorities; or appoint a commission, if you will, and let the puns and the personal reminiscences remain in abeyance while its members meet. Only let Lord John be excluded, or he will infallibly insist on all being published in extenso, and add notes explanatory of the jokes. Holland House has not been happy in its reporters: we have had brilliant general descriptions of the host, the hostess, and the guests, and enthusiastic generalising on the uniform feast of reason and flow of soul which prevailed; but of all this nothing has survived but a few personal anecdotes and a great deal of indifferent wit. In fact, though the beginning of this century was rich in conversational talent, the kind of conversation was not that which will bear reporting. A ready and well-stored memory, and a quick and lively wit, were the essentials of success, and so perhaps they should be in general conversation; but then, general conversation ought to be allowed to expire with the occasion. Small gossip about individuals, interesting and amusing while the subjects are fresh and present to the minds of all the hearers, become the worst of annoyances when coldly inflicted in print on a new generation. The only table-talk really worth preserving is that which reflects an individual mind of capacity and originality enough to let fall, even in its lighter moments, matter pregnant with thought and observation. Some men, like Selden and Johnson, survive mainly in the records of their conversation. And sometimes, as in the case of Coleridge, the sayings thus rescued from oblivion are not only of the highest value in themselves, but are a sort of key to the mind of the speaker and corrective and interpretive of his written works. The present work is not of this class. It would more properly have been entitled Table-Silence of Samuel Rogers; for in it is recorded, not what Samuel Rogers thought and said, but what Samuel Rogers had heard other people say. From a man whose taste and connoisseurship were so eminent, readers will be apt to expect some nicety of criticism in painting and poetry. They must be content to suffer disappointment. A few casual expressions of likings and dislikings, a few minute cavillings and trite remarks, make up the sum of Mr. Rogers's conversation on this subject. Such as they are, they are almost the only original thing in the work; and what is said on Pope may be quoted as the most favourable example of them: “In Pope's noble lines To the Earl of Oxford, prefixed to Parnell's Poems, there is an impropriety which was forced upon the poet by the When the last lingering friend has bid farewell.' It should be, of course, 6 or to the cell or the scaffold.' one. Pope has sometimes a beautiful line rhyming to a very indifferent For instance, in the Epistle to Jervas, Alas, how little from the grave we claim ! Thou but preserv'st a face, and I a name :' ; the latter line is very good in the former, 'claim' is forced and bad : it should have been 'save' or 'preserve. Again, in the Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady, 'A heap of dust alone remains of thee; "Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be,' the former line is touching, the latter bad. What a charming line is that in The Rape of the Lock! 'If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face, and you'll forget them all.' These verses in his Imitation of the Second Epistle of the Second Book of Horace (verses which Lord Holland is so fond of hearing me repeat) are as good as any in Horace himself; Years following years, steal something every day, At last they steal us from ourselves away; In one a mistress drops, in one a friend.' But perhaps the best line Pope ever wrote is in his Imitation of the First Satire of the Second Book of Horace; 'Bare the mean heart that lurks beneath a star.' The want of pauses is the main blemish in Pope's versification: I can't recollect at this moment any pause he has, except that in his fine Prologue to Cato; • The triumph ceas'd; tears gush'd from every eye; The world's great victor pass'd unheeded by.' People are now so fond of the obscure in poetry, that they can perceive no deep thinking in that darling man Pope, because he always expresses himself with such admirable clearness. My father used to recommend Pope's Homer to me: but, with all my love of Pope, I never could like it.” It by no means follows, that because a man has no power to criticise he has no faculty of enjoyment, or even great accuracy and delicacy in the perception of beauty and skill in art. But to have a taste so good as Mr. Rogers's undoubtedly was in the main, and a critical judgment of this calibre, indicates that he was not much in the habit of bringing his thoughts to bear on his intuitions. Anecdotes and characteristic sayings of the men by whom Rogers was surrounded are what we next look for, when we find there is nothing characteristic of the man's own mode of thinking except that negative trait itself. We are not surprised that there should be very few of these. Men do not easily conceive that the conversation and demeanour of those with whom they live on the same level and in daily intercourse can be worth noting and remembering. Besides, Mr. Rogers was a little of a virtuoso as well as a man of taste, and little bits of out-of-theway personal information and gossip had more charm for him, and left a more permanent impression on him, than the conversation of Lamb, and Coleridge, and Wordsworth, and Mackintosh. Characteristic traits of great men, however minute, are always worth preserving. We gratefully receive-we only too eagerly grasp at the smallest incidents or sayings which can help us to give greater vividness or truth to the figure existing in the imagination. But then the recorded traits must have something characteristic about them; it is sufficient to have one or two of a class; selected without discrimination, and reiterated without mercy, they are perhaps more trying to the temper than any other reading. That Fox had not been able to read Mickle's Lusiad through; that he thought Robertson's Columbus pleasingly written; how Lord Holland looked at breakfast; what Tierney thought of Burke's eloquence; whether Sheridan had 2007. sent him by the Prince; whether more than 2001.; whether it might not have been 2007. with an intimation that there was more if he wished for it; whether it might not be an annuity;these and such like petty details and trivial discussions are trying enough: but when the persons themselves are as little important as the incidents are significant, then a reader resigns. We would at any time rather read the Supplement to the Times than much of Mr. Rogers's Table-Talk. What on earth do we care about Hoppner's "awful temper?" or how can any man conscientiously ask us to pay for the printing of this sort of thing?— "Lord Holland and Lord Lansdowne having expressed a wish to be introduced to Cumberland, I invited all the three to dine with me. It happened, however, that the two lords paid little or no attention to Cumberland (though he said several very good things),-scarcely speaking to him the whole time: something had occurred in the House which occupied all their thoughts; and they retired to a window, and discussed it." We have never been able ourselves to find much satisfaction in seeing a person who has simply seen another. That |