“Liston, farewell! for once the Comic Muse Looks vex’d and dismal, griev’d with thee to part; And heaves true sighs from her reluctant heart, While virgin tears her clouded eyes suffuse, By sorrows forc’d, despite of struggling art. Her mask avails not now. Her faltering voice Betrays the o’er-mastering passion in her soul; For she must lose the servant of her choice, Who made her chariot merrily to roll, When he the Coachman played; and not less great As the mock Marquis help’d her mimic state Absurdly grave; or at his tricks again As gay-hair’d Figaro swell’d her menial train, Pompous and plausible, serene and sly, With witty impudence, and humour dry. Expert at all trades, too, with _last_ or _block_ Alike to _comb_ or _cobble_ wig or sock; This he exactly fitted to her toe, In walk, or jig, or gallopade to go; And that so quaintly, whimsically curl’d, It grew the merry wonder of the world. Ney, just to keep the top or sole together, He’d patch the Sock ev’n with the Buskin’s leather, That she might follow in her sister’s path With pewter poison-pot, and dirk of lath; While he stalk’d on in Dollabella’s train, A lord, of whom the Court might well be vain. Our tears, O Liston! must with hers be blended To see, too soon, thy comic labours ended. And haply, oft when other servants bear Some mawkish viand of our bill of fare, Oft shall we turn dissatisfied, and wish For Liston’s sauce, to help th’ insipid dish; Whose very look and air were quite enough To win our favour for the cook’s worst stuff. Or, if the dish be good, provoked to see Some clumsy serving-man instead of thee. How shall we think, regretful of thy merit, Who served up all with such bewitching spirit, As made the best seem better, and the cook To thee beholden, more than to his book, However puff’d by papers, or by rumour:— Thou great Original in comic humour!” 31st May, 1837. Nor was this the only tribute Liston received; numerous were the attempts made to induce him to alter his decision, but he was inflexible, and it remained irrevocable. One of several letters I have seen I include here, notwithstanding its writer is living; but he cannot regret to see a letter given to the world showing such ability and excellent feeling. It is as follows:— T. R. C. G., Dec. 18, 1839.