e intellectual feast, he is of little value,—vastly inferior to Sydney Smith, whose humor makes your sides shake with laughter for weeks after you have listened to it. We left Follett at about half-past 11 o'clock; and Talfourd carried me to the Garrick, where we found Poole.
Talfourd took his two glasses of negus, his grilled bone, and Welsh rare-bit; and both he and Poole entertained me by their reminiscences of Godwin.
While I listened late at night to these reminiscences, I did not expe Melbourne come on bended knees before me.
He is a very able man. Another morning I went with my friend, Sir Gregory Lewin, to see the Tunnel.
By the way, Sir Gregory has in his dining-room the original paintings by Reynolds of Dr. Johnson and Garrick, which have been perpetuated by so many thousand engravings.
How strange it seems to me to sit at table and look upon such productions, so time-hallowed, and so full of the richest associations!
You must see that I write blindly on; a mere wor