’Such grief was ours,—­it seems but yesterday,—­
  When in thy prime, wishing so much to stay,
  Twas thine, Maria, thine without a sigh
  At midnight in a sister’s arms to die,
  Oh! thou wast lovely; lovely was thy frame,
  And pure thy spirit as from heaven it came;
  And, when recalled to join the blest above,
  Thou diedst a victim to exceeding love
  Nursing the young to health.  In happier hours,
  When idle Fancy wove luxuriant flowers,
  Once in thy mirth thou badst me write on thee;
  And now I write what thou shalt never see.’

Macaulay’s Essay on Byron.] It is not undeserved; but I confess that I cannot understand the popularity of his poetry.  It is pleasant and flowing enough; less monotonous than most of the imitations of Pope and Goldsmith; and calls up many agreeable images and recollections.  But that such men as Lord Granville, Lord Holland, Hobhouse, Lord Byron, and others of high rank in intellect, should place Rogers, as they do, above Southey, Moore, and even Scott himself, is what I cannot conceive.  But this comes of being in the highest society of London.  What Lady Jane Granville called the Patronage of Fashion can do as much for a middling poet as for a plain girl like Miss Arabella Falconer. [Lady Jane, and Miss Arabella, appear in Miss Edgeworth’s “Patronage.”]

But I must stop.  This rambling talk has been scrawled in the middle of haranguing, squabbling, swearing, and crying.  Since I began it I have taxed four bills, taken forty depositions, and rated several perjured witnesses.

Ever yours

T. B. M.

To Hannah and Margaret Macaulay.

London:  June 7, 1831.

Yesterday I dined at Marshall’s, and was almost consoled for not meeting Ramohun Roy by a very pleasant party.  The great sight was the two wits, Rogers and Sydney Smith.  Singly I have often seen them; but to see them both together was a novelty, and a novelty not the less curious because their mutual hostility is well known, and the hard hits which they have given to each other are in everybody’s mouth.  They were very civil, however.  But I was struck by the truth of what Matthew Bramble, a person of whom you probably never heard, says in Smollett’s Humphrey Clinker:  that one wit in a company, like a knuckle of ham in soup, gives a flavour; but two are too many.  Rogers and Sydney Smith would not come into conflict.  If one had possession of the company, the other was silent; and, as you may conceive, the one who had possession of the company was always Sydney Smith, and the one who was silent was always Rogers.  Sometimes, however, the company divided, and each of them had a small congregation.  I had a good deal of talk with both of them; for, in whatever they may disagree, they agree in always treating me with very marked kindness.