here was much in his character and
genius to remind us of the gentle author of Elia. He had the latter's
genial humor and quaintness; his nice and delicate perception of the
beautiful and poetic; his happy, easy diction, not the result, as in the
case of that of the English essayist, of slow and careful elaboration,
but the natural, spontaneous language in which his conceptions at once
embodied themselves, apparently without any consciousness of effort. As
Mark Antony talked, he wrote, "right on," telling his readers often what
"they themselves did know," yet imparting to the simplest commonplaces of
life interest and significance, and throwing a golden haze of poetry over
the rough and thorny pathways of every-day duty. Like Lamb, he loved his
friends without stint or limit. The "old familiar faces" haunted him.
Lamb loved the streets and lanes of London--the places where he oftenest
came in contact with the warm, genial heart of humanity--better than the
country. Rogers loved the wild and lonely hills and valleys of New
Hampshire none the less that he was fully alive to the enjoyments of
society, and could enter with the heartiest sympathy into all the joys
and sorrows of his friends and neighbors.

In another point of view, he was not unlike Elia. He had the same love
of home, and home friends, and familiar objects; the same fondness for
common sights and sounds; the same dread of change; the same shrinking
from the unknown and the dark. Like him, he clung with a child's love to
the living present, and recoiled from a contemplation of the great change
which awaits us. Like him, he was content with the goodly green earth
and human countenances, and would fain set up his tabernacle here. He
had less of what might be termed self-indulgence in this feeling than
Lamb. He had higher views; he loved this world not only for its own
sake, but for the opportunities it afforded of doing good. Like the
Persian seer, he beheld the legions of Ormuzd and Ahriman, of Light and
Darkness, contending for mastery over the earth, as the sunshine and
shadow of a gusty, half-cloudy day struggled on the green slopes of his
native mountains; and, mingled with the bright host, he would fain have
fought on until its banners waved in eternal sunshine over the last
hiding-place of darkness. He entered into the work of reform with the
enthusiasm and chivalry of a knight of the crusades. He had faith in
human progress,--in the ultimate