in the present day?" to which I
assenting, he adds "I had always thought that Rogers had been reckon'd
the Prince of Wits, but I suppose that now Mr. Hood has the better title
to that appellation." To which I replied that Mr. R. had wit with much
better qualities, but did not aspire to the principality. He had taken
all the puns manufactured in John Bull for our friend, in sad and stupid
earnest. One more Album verses, please.

Adieu.

C.L.

["Hunt." This would, I think, be not Leigh Hunt but his nephew, Hunt of
Hunt & Clarke. The diddling I cannot explain. Leishman was the husband
of Mrs. Leishman, the Lambs' old landlady at Enfield.

"Miss Wordsworth"--Dorothy Wordsworth, who was ill.

"Perhaps Rogers would smile at this." I take the following passage from
the _Maclise Portrait Gallery:_--

In the early days of the _John Bull_ it was the fashion to lay every
foundling witticism at the door of Sam Rogers; and thus the refined
poet and man of letters became known as a sorry jester.

_John Bull_ was Theodore Hook's paper. Maginn wrote in _Fraser's
Magazine:_--

Joe Miller vails his bonnet to Sam Rogers; in all the newspapers,
not only of the kingdom but its dependencies,--Hindostan, Canada,
the West Indies, the Cape, from the tropics,--nay, from the
Antipodes to the Orkneys, Sam is godfather-- general to all the bad
jokes in existence. The Yankees have caught the fancy, and from New
Orleans to New York it is the same,--Rogers is synonymous with a
pun. All British-born or descended people,--yea the very negro and
the Hindoo--father their calembourgs on Rogers. Quashee, or
Ramee-Samee, who knows nothing of Sir Isaac Newton, John Milton, or
_Fraser's Magazine_, grins from ear to ear at the name of the
illustrious banker, and with gratified voice exclaims, "Him dam
funny, dat Sam!"]

LETTER 529

CHARLES LAMB TO EDWARD MOXON

[P.M. February 3, 1831.]

Dear Moxon, The snows are ancle deep slush and mire, that 'tis hard to
get to the post office, and cruel to send the maid out. 'Tis a slough of
despair, or I should sooner have thankd you for your offer of the
_Life_, which we shall very much like to have, and will return duly. I
do not know when I shall be in town, but in a week or two at farthest,
when I will come as far as you if I can. We are moped to death with
confinement within doors. I send you a curiosity of G. Dyer's
tender-conscience. B