rated into a mere personal bickering between the Laureate and Butler. Southey is, of course, revelling in the idea of writing an English work with a Latin title; and that, perhaps, is the only circumstance for which the controversy is prolonged."
"But Southey, after all, is a man of splendid talents."
"Doubtless—the most philosophical of bigots, and the most poetical of prose writers."
"Apropos to the Catholic Question—there goes Colonial Bother'em, trying to look like Prince Metternich;—a decided failure."
"What can keep him in town?"
"Writing letters, I suppose. Heaven preserve me from receiving any of them!"
"Is it true, then, that his letters are of the awful length that is whispered?"
"True! Oh! they're something beyond all conception! Perfect epistolary Boa Constrictors. I speak with feeling, for I have myself suffered under their voluminous windings."
