little uneasiness at so much ceremony with a mere tradesman; which was more than was called for towards even the modest and retiring "bard of Sheffield," on Mr. Southey's difficultly-acquired interview with the latter. Mr. L., however, before parting, thought it due to the poet, as a mark of an artist's respect for the "classic nine," to present him with a few sketches of the scenery, which he had already taken. Unrolling a bundle of drawing paper, Southey, who thought he had been talking to a bonnet-maker, come to solicit orders, remarked, "Your latest _spring patterns_, I suppose?" "Sir!" faintly articulated the now-enlightened Mr. L., "I merely beg leave to present you--" "Really, Sir," said the impatient poet, "I thank you sincerely; but I have no taste in selecting bonnets; had the ladies--" a sentence which was interrupted by the abashed and confounded bonnet-maker grasping his hat and drawings, and hastily wishing the Laureate a good morning. * * H. * * * * * BEST'S MEMS. Dr. George Horne was a man of unaffected piety, cheerful temper, great learning, and, notwithstanding his propensity to jesting, dignified manners. He was much beloved in Magdalen College, of which he was president; the chief complaint against him being, that he did not reside the whole of the time in every year that the statutes required. He resigned his headship on being promoted from the Deanery of Canterbury to the See of Norwich; the alleged reason was, the incompatibility of the duties; though other heads of houses, when made bishops, have retained their academical situations. He never manifested the least ill-humour himself, and repressed it, but with gentleness, in others. Having engaged in a party at whist, merely because he was wanted to make up the number, and playing indifferently ill, as he forewarned his partner would be the case, he replied to the angry question, "What reason could you possibly have, Mr. President, for playing that card?" "None upon earth, I assure you." On the morning when news was received in college of the death of one of the fellows, a good companion, a _bon vivant_, Horne met with another fellow, an especial friend of the defunct, and began to condole with him: "We have lost poor L----." "Ah! Mr. President, I may well say I could have better spared a better man." "Meaning _me_, I suppose?" said Horne, with an air that, by its pleasantry, put to flight the other's grief. I was talking with Henry James Pye, late poet-laureate, when he happened to mention the name of Mr. P., a gentleman of Berkshire, and M.P. I think, for Reading; "That is the man," said I, "who damned the king's wig in the very presence of his majesty; with great credit, however, to his own loyalty, and very much to the amusement of the king." "I do not well see how that could be." "You shall hear a story which our president (Pye had been a gentleman commoner of Magdalen College) told at his own table. The king