No clever transcripts of the dialogue of the day occurred; no hair-breadth 'scapes, perils by sea and land, heroisms of the hero, fine shrieks of the heroine; no set scenes of catching pathos and humour; no distinguishable points of social satire--equivalent to a smacking of the public on the chaps, which excites it to grin with keen discernment of the author's intention.

She did not appeal to the senses nor to a superficial discernment.

So she had the anticipatory sense of its failure; and she wrote her best, in perverseness; of course she wrote slowly; she wrote more and more realistically of the characters and the downright human emotions, less of the wooden supernumeraries of her story, labelled for broad guffaw or deluge tears--the grappling natural links between our public and an author.

Her feelings were aloof.

They flowed at a hint of a scene of THE YOUNG MINISTER.