He invited Rogers to dine with him next day at the Oyster Club; but a tedious laird (brother of the Thibetan traveller) monopolised the conversation. “_That_ Bogle,” said Smith afterwards, apologetically, “I was sorry he talked so much. He spoiled our evening.” Next Sunday Smith took an airing in his sedan chair, while his young friend went to hear Robertson and Blair preach. At nine o’clock, Blair having concluded, Rogers supped at Panmure House, and found the Oyster Club _minus_ Bogle and _plus_ a gentleman from Göttingen. The conversation was personal, and perhaps the only item now worth recalling is Smith’s reason for identifying Junius with “Single Speech Hamilton.” Hamilton once told the Duke of Richmond at Goodwood—the story came to Smith from Gibbon—of “a devilish keen letter” from Junius in that day’s _Public Advertiser_. But when the Duke got the paper he found not the letter, but an apology for its non-appearance; after this Hamilton was suspected of the authorship, and no more Junius was published. The inference Smith drew was that so long as suspicion pointed to the wrong man the letters continued to appear, and only stopped when the true author was named. Next day Rogers again dined with Smith, and Henry Mackenzie told them stories of second-sight. Hutton came in to tea, and then they went on to a meeting of the Royal Society to hear a paper by Dr. James Anderson on “Debtors and the Revision of the Laws that respect them.” Rogers says it was portentously long and dull. “Mr. Commissioner Smith fell asleep, and Mackenzie touched my elbow and smiled.” Altogether Rogers gives us a very pleasing picture of a serene and bright old age. “He is a very friendly, agreeable man, and I should have dined and supped with him every day if I had accepted all his invitations.” He did not notice any trace of absentmindedness, but thought that, compared with Robertson, Smith was a man of the world.