(_Funeral of James Anthony Froude._)
Scarce Clio's self, calm-soul'd historic Muse,
Praise to her fiery votary may refuse,
Though lacking somewhat the judicial poise
Of clear mind unperturbed by faction's noise,
And creed's fanatic clamour, valued most
But her who heads the grave recording host.
His vivid pictures live; his virile touch
(Though oft of the too little or too much
Ardently heedless in his passionate flow
Of words that wake and thoughts that warmly glow),
Quickens the past, and moves the patriot heart
Of British manhood. His the stylist's part,
The partisan's impressiveness. He missed
The highest height, clear, cloudless, morning-kissed.
But long will he be dear to those who love
The picturings that charm, the words that move;
And the grave Muse may well let fall a tear,
And lay her tribute laurel on his bier.
NEAT AND APPROPRIATE.--To the PROWLINA PRYS and their allies, the
Visiting Injustices, may be addressed the ancient charge made against
certain spies, "Nay, but to see the nakedness of the land have ye come."
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[Illustration: A SKETCH AT PADDINGTON.
THE REVEREND MOTLEY, WHO MAKES ONE OF A RIVER-PARTY, FANCIES HE MET A
GLANCE OF RECOGNITION FROM THE EYE OF HIS SOMEWHAT AUSTERE BISHOP, AND
FEELS A TRIFLE UNCOMFORTABLE.]
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