just come in, and who had lately
attained his majority. There was a perfect chorus of admiration to this
effect: "Everything is in his favour--he has good looks, considerable
abilities, and a hundred thousand a year." Rogers, who had been
carefully examining the "young ruler," listened to these encomiums for
some time in silence, and at last remarked, with an air of great
exultation, and in his most venomous manner, "Thank God, he has got bad
teeth!"

His well-known epigram on Mr. Ward, afterwards Lord Dudley--

They say that Ward's no heart, but I deny it;
He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it--

was provoked by a remark made at table by Mr. Ward. On Rogers observing
that his carriage had broken down, and that he had been obliged to come
in a hackney-coach, Mr. Ward grumbled out in a very audible whisper, "In
a hearse, I should think," alluding to the poet's corpse-like
appearance. This remark Rogers never forgave, and, I have no doubt,
pored over his retaliatory impromptu, for he had no facility in
composition. Sydney Smith used to say that, if Rogers was writing a
dozen verses, the street was strewn with straw, the knocker tied up,
and the answer to the tender inquiries of his anxious friends was, that
Mr. Rogers was as well as could be expected.

It used to be very amusing in London to see Rogers with his _fidus
Achates_, Luttrell. They were inseparable, though rival wits, and
constantly saying bitter things to each other. Luttrell was the natural
son of Lord Carhampton, Commander-in-Chief in Ireland, and in his youth
known as the famous Colonel Luttrell of Junius. I consider him to have
been the most agreeable man I ever met. He was far more brilliant in
conversation than Rogers; and his animated, bustling manner formed an
agreeable contrast with the spiteful calmness of his corpse-like
companion. He was extremely irritable, and even passionate; and in his
moments of anger he would splutter and stutter like a maniac in his
anxiety to give utterance to the flow of thoughts which crowded his
mind, and, I might almost say, his mouth.

On one occasion the late Lady Holland took him a drive in her carriage
over a rough road, and, as she was very nervous, she insisted on being
driven at a foot's pace. This ordeal lasted some hours, and when he was
at last released, poor Luttrell, perfectly exasperated, rushed into the
nearest club-house, and exclaimed, clenching his teeth and hands, "The
very funerals pas