LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
Documents Biography Criticism

Samuel Rogers and his Contemporaries
Edward Everett to Samuel Rogers, 22 December 1844

Vol. I Contents
Chapter I. 1803-1805.
Chapter II. 1805-1809.
Chapter III. 1810-1812.
Chapter IV. 1813-1814.
Chapter V. 1814-1815.
Chapter VI. 1815-1816.
Chapter VII. 1816-1818.
Chapter VIII. 1818-19.
Chapter IX. 1820-1821.
Chapter X. 1822-24.
Chapter XI. 1825-1827.
Vol. II Contents
Chapter I. 1828-1830.
Chapter II. 1831-34.
Chapter III. 1834-1837.
Chapter IV. 1838-41.
Chapter V. 1842-44.
Chapter VI. 1845-46.
Chapter VII. 1847-50.
Chapter VIII. 1850
Chapter IX. 1851.
Chapter X. 1852-55.
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‘46 Grosvenor Place: 22nd Dec., 1844.

‘My dear Mr. Rogers,—I write this to tell you, in case I should not find you at home, how much I am obliged to you for the privilege of reading the memoranda contained in your golden little manuscript, herewith returned. I was half tempted to page and index it for you; but such mechanical appliances, in a collection of this kind, would be like the railway among the lakes, against which poor Wordsworth is fighting.

‘You must not forget that one of these days you are
to show me your memoranda of the
Duke of Wellington. I rejoice in the hope that you have bestowed some of that care on yourself which you have so well given to recording the wit and wisdom of others. I see your “Journal” mentioned in the manuscript; and since it is necessary to look forward to the time (εσσεται ημαρ, may it be far distant) when your living intercourse will cease to be the delight of all around you, I trust you will feel it a kind of duty to leave behind you that which will, in some degree, supply the loss, and perpetuate your intellectual existence.

‘You must not, however, infer from this remark that I think your poems are not of themselves a sufficient acquittal of the debt which every man gifted like you owes to the world. I can easily prove to you that I feel all their worth, as I do most truly enjoy their calm, deep beauty, which suits my own subdued spirit better than the startling wonders (speciosa miracula) of the younger and more ambitious school. My secretary, Mr. Rives, left me the past week to pass the winter in Italy. I put into his hand at parting a beautiful copy of your “Italy,” with this inscription—
‘Francisco Roberto Rives,
Optime de se merenti
Italiam visuro,
Alter am hanc vix minus
Pulchram Italiam,
Opus poetæ eorum qui vivunt
Inter Anglos summi,
Amicitiæ pignus,
Eduardus Everett.
So that, you see, in begging you to preserve your journals and letters, I am not insensible to what you have already done—neither am I selfish, for, though some years your junior, the archers have planted more than one arrow in my side, and my life is worth little.

‘I hardly know what has given my pen this unwonted direction—the thought, I believe, that in a few months—but I must stop.—Adieu.

‘Believe me affectionately yours,
‘E. E.’