[98] Henry Brougham, Lord Chancellor, who took great interest in the spread of popular education, and was very active in the formation of the London University.
[99] Pronounced, “Zo-ee mou sas ag-a-po,” a Romaic expression of tenderness. It means, “My life, I love you!” which sounds very prettily in all languages, and is as much in fashion in Greece at this day, as, Juvenal tells us, the first two words were amongst the Roman ladies, whose erotic expressions were all Hellenized.
[100] The notorious Madame Rachel obtained large sums of money from a certain foolish woman, on the pretences that she could be made “beautiful for ever” and obtain the hand of the late Viscount Ranelagh in marriage. Neither Madam Rachel’s cosmetics, nor her matrimonial schemes succeeded, and Madame Rachel was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment for obtaining money under false pretences, whilst her victim became the laughing stock of London. Madame Rachel died before her term of imprisonment expired.
[101] R. B. Sheridan.
[102] This would seem to show that poet and prophet are synonymous, the noble bard having afterwards returned to England, and again quitted it, under domestic circumstances painfully notorious. His good-humoured forgiveness of the Authors has already been alluded to in the preface. Nothing of this illustrious poet, however trivial, can be otherwise than interesting. “We knew him well.” At Mr. Murray’s dinner-table the annotator met him and Sir John Malcolm, Lord Byron talked of intending to travel in Persia. “What must I do when I set off?” said he to Sir John. “Cut off your buttons!” “My buttons! what, these metal ones?” “Yes; the Persians are in the main very honest fellows; but if you go thus bedizened, you will infallibly be murdered for your buttons! “At a dinner at Monk Lewis’s chambers in the Albany, Lord Byron expressed to the writer his determination not to go there again, adding, “I never will dine with a middle-aged man who fills up his table with young ensigns, and has looking-glass panels to his book-cases.” Lord Byron, when one of the Drury-lane Committee of Management, challenged the writer to sing alternately (like the swains in Virgil) the praises of Mrs. Mardyn, the actress, who, by-the-bye, was hissed off the stage for an imputed intimacy of which she was quite innocent.
The contest ran as follows:
“Wake muse of fire, your ardent lyre,
Pour forth your amorous ditty,
But first profound, in duty bound,
Applaud the new committee;