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The three greatest were born, Wordsworth in 1770, Scott in 1771, and Coleridge in 1772; Southey, who partly through accident was to form a trinity with Wordsworth and Coleridge, and who was perhaps the most typical instance of a certain new kind of man of letters, followed in 1774; while Lamb and Hazlitt, the chief romantic pioneers in criticism, Jeffrey and Sydney Smith, the chief classical reactionaries therein, were all born within the decade.
The coroner, embarrassed, perhaps, by this exhibition of silent misery so near him, hesitated a little before he put his next question. Loretta, on the contrary, had gathered courage with every word she spoke and now looked ready for anything. "It was Mrs. Jeffrey, then, who clung most determinedly to her sister?" the coroner finally suggested. "I have told you what she said."
Arbuthnot wrote The History of John Bull. Boswell in three other places so describes Johnson. See ante, i.129, note 3. See ante, i.467. 'All nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues. Rev. vii.9. See ante, ii. 376 In Cockburn's Life of Jeffrey, i.157, there is a description of Edinburgh, towards the close of the century, 'the last purely Scotch age that Scotland was destined to see.
"Now it seems that we are getting to business," said Jeffrey Stokes, as, lying his hand upon the knife at his girdle, he slipped between the monk and the door. "That's it, Jeffrey," cried Sir John. "Stop the rat's hole. Look you, Spaniard, I have a sword.
Passages that to men like William Thackeray and Francis Jeffrey were expressive only of inimitable tenderness, might be read dry-eyed by less keen appreciators, from the printed page, might even be ludicrously depreciated by them as mere mawkish sentimentality.
"Why don't you come see, if you want to know?" retorted Cynthe sharply. Jeffrey had no ready answer. So Cynthe went on: "If you wanted to know why didn't you come up all Winter and see? Why didn't you come up when she was nursing the dirty French babies through the black diphtheria, when their own mothers were afraid of them?
Now she did go up the steps and having rung the bell for her, ignoring the grim knocker that looked as if it would take more than one summons to get past its guard, Jeff told the man to drive back for Mr. Moore. The car had gone, and still Madame Beattie rang. She knew and Jeffrey suspected suddenly that Esther was paying her out for illicit roaming.
The captain, with much consideration, drew back the hand he had impulsively stretched toward the ribbon. "No, no," he protested; "we can not do that; we can do nothing till the coroner comes. It is necessary that he should see her just as she was found. Besides, Mr. Jeffrey has a right to the same privilege. We expect him any moment."
Jeffrey comes home " and said no more for several minutes, during which she clutched her throat with both hands and struggled with herself till she got her voice back and found herself able to repeat: "When Mr. Jeffrey comes, if he does come, tell him that I was right about the way that novel ended.
Jeffrey did not go so far as to think she wanted inevitably to turn them into beasts, but he knew she was virtually telling them she had the power. That had been one of the first horrors of his disenchantment, when she had placed herself far enough away from him by neither writing to him nor visiting him; then he had seen her outside the glamour of her presence.
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