A manifest error, since it appears from the Waiter’s conversation (p. 211) that Rogero was not doomed to starve on water-gruel, but on pease-soup, which is a much better thing. Possibly the length of Rogero’s imprisonment had impaired his memory; or he might wish to make things appear worse than they really were; which is very natural, I think, in such a case as this poor unfortunate gentleman’s.—_Printer’s Devil._ Footnote 274: Vide _The Stranger_. Footnote 275: _Lovers’ Vows._ Footnote 276: This is an excellent joke in German; the point and spirit of which is but ill-_Rendered_ in a translation. A NODDY, the reader will observe, has two significations, the one a _knave at All-fours_, the other a _fool_ or _booby_. See the translation by Mr. Render of _Count Benyowsky, or the Conspiracy of Kamschatka_, a German Tragi-Comi-Comi-Tragedy, where the play opens with a scene of a game at chess (from which the whole of this scene is copied), and a joke of the same point, and merriment about pawns, _i.e._, boors being a _match_ for kings. Footnote 277: This word in the original is strictly _fellow-lodgers_—“_Co-occupants of the same room, in a house let out at a small rent by the week_”. There is no single word in English which expresses so complicated a relation, except perhaps the cant term of _chum_, formerly in use in our Universities. Footnote 278: [The above song is a parody on that pathetic one—given below—written by Sheridan, and introduced into Kotzebue’s drama of _The Stranger_, to be overheard by the latter. It was sung by Mrs. Bland—as Annetta—to a melody by the Duchess of Devonshire, in a manner, it is said, that thrilled every heart. “I have a silent sorrow here, A grief I’ll ne’er impart; It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear, But it consumes my heart. This cherish’d woe, this lov’d despair, My lot for ever be; So my soul’s lord, the pangs I bear Be never known by thee! “And when pale characters of death Shall mark this alter’d cheek; When my poor wasted trembling breath My life’s last hope would speak; I shall not raise my eyes to heaven, Nor mercy ask for me, My soul despairs to be forgiv’n, Unpardon’d, love, by thee!”—ED.] Footnote 279: See _Count Benyowsky_; where Crustiew, an old gentleman of much sagacity, talks the following nonsense: Crustiew [_with youthful energy, and an air of secrecy and confidence_]. “To fly, to fly, to the isles of Marian—the island of Tinian—a terrestrial paradise. Free—free—a mild climate—a new-created sun—wholesome fruits—harmless inhabitants—and liberty—tranquillity.” Footnote 280: See _Count Benyowsky_, as before. Footnote 281: See _Count Benyowsky_. Footnote 282: