tled to the nation's
lasting gratitude. She has her opportunity for winning the Anglican
English, as formerly she won the Dissenter Welsh. She may yet be the
means of leading back the latter to our fold.

A notation of the cries in air at a time of surgent public excitement
can hardly yield us music; and the wording of them, by the aid of
compounds and transplants, metaphors and similes only just within range
of the arrows of Phoebus' bow (i.e. the farthest flight known), would,
while it might imitate the latent poetry, expose venturesome writers to
the wrath of a people commendably believing their language a
perfected instrument when they prefer the request for a plateful, and
commissioning their literary police to brain audacious experimenters who
enlarge or wing it beyond the downright aim at that mark. The gossip
of the time must therefore appear commonplace, in resemblance to
the panting venue a terre of the toad, instead of the fiery steed's;
although we have documentary evidence that our country's heart was
moved;--in no common degree, Dr. Glossop's lucid English has it, at the
head of a broadsheet ballad discovered by him, wherein the connubially
inclined young earl and the nation in turn beseech the countess to
resume her place at Esslemont, and so save both from a terrific dragon's
jaw, scarlet as the infernal flames; described as fascinating--

'The classes with the crests,
And the lining to their vests,
Till down they jump, and empty leave
A headless trunk that rests.'

These ballads, burlesque to present reading, mainly intended for
burlesque by the wits who dogged without much enlivening an anxious
period of our history, when corner-stones were falling the way the
young lord of the millions threatened to go, did, there is little doubt,
according to another part of their design (Rose Mackrell boasts it
indirectly in his Memoirs), interpret public opinion, that is, the
English humour of it--the half laugh in their passing and not simulated
shudder.

Carinthia had a study of the humours of English character in the person
of the wounded man she nursed on little Croridge, imagining it the
most unobserved of English homes, and herself as unimportant an object.
Daniel Charner took his wound, as he took his medicine and his posset
from her hand, kindly, and seemed to have a charitable understanding
of Lord Levellier now that the old nobleman had driven a pellet of lead