And it was really funny to hear of Whitechapel's titled heroine roaming Taffyland at her old pranks.
Catching a maddened bull by the horns in the marketplace, and hanging to the infuriate beast, a wild whirl of clouts, till he is reduced to be a subject for steaks, that is no common feat.
Her performances down mines were things of the underworld.

England clapped hands, merely objecting to her not having changed her garb for the picador's or matador's, before she seized the bull.

Wales adopted and was proud of her in any costume.

Welshmen North and South, united for the nonce, now propose her gallantry as a theme to the rival Bards at the next Eisteddfod.

She is to sit throned in full assembly, oak leaves and mistletoe interwoven on her head, a white robe and green sash to clothe her, and the vanquished beast's horns on a gilded pole behind the dais; hearing the eulogies respectively interpreted to her by Colonel Fluellen Wythan at one ear, and Captain Agincourt Gower at the other.