great dish or platter? What if the hagester
is among the hart-calver (we will not
translate any longer, but leave our reader's
powers of guessing full scope), and for helaw
the henting eats a whole eever of the stuckling,
and zoppes are on partlets, and araines
in attercobs, so that a buffet-stool hits the
buck, bara-picklet is given to pates, speers
tumble into runges, and bain and maum
hoppets are filled with newing? It is of
no consequence. For without fresh elden
it is useless to sheer the esse, and a dosom
beast will still be dosom, despite his
cock-apparel, and it is crawly-mawly known that
he neither dees nor daws.

Does not this prove the position from
which we started? We could make
additions for pages, but enough has been
given for our purpose, and here we finish.
On the road, though, one or two thoughts
have come to us—short thoughts, and very
random, and we will just dot them down.

Whence came this curious fountain of
harsh, grating, outlandish sounds? From
no (comparatively) modern continental
source, it is clear. We are baffled directly
we try to lay our finger on any particular
district, and say, All the words here are of
French origin (for instance), because one
is evidently so, and it must be the same of
all the rest. It is not the same of all the
rest. The one specimen by which we
judge may have obtained currency from
just one person, on just one chance visit,
such one person being popular or notable
for just one thing. In the same way are
we baffled when we say the words of such
a locality are, more remotely, Latin, Saxon,
Ancient British; the dregs or sediment
left behind after all else has simmered
effectually away. It is not even thus.
One word may be so—like pulk, as an
example, a pool of water, which is pwll
in Welsh to this day; but there the blood
relationship ends. The other words are
not Welsh, and cannot be tortured into
Welsh, look we ever so deeply, or so
superficially, to fix facts ingeniously into
our own creeds. What, then, we repeat,
can the rough, raw, unlovely utterances
be? Memories of Mercia, Bernicia, and
so on, echoing to us still?

But there is this question to be asked,
Are not the distinctions between Yorkshire
"tyke," &c., that we mentioned at our
beginning, wearing rapidly away? If we
want a Lancashire witch now, need we go
to Lancashire to seek for her? Are not
her pretty tricks sown all over Great
Britain, and found quite as captivating
southwards as further in the north? We
can still detect Mr. MacScotch, of course,
when we come intimately across him, and
also Mistress O'Irish, and Miss Ap Welsh;
supposing, that is, those individuals belong
to the lower class. But there, broadly, our
discrimination ends. Our educated classes
and our aristocracy have scarcely any
nationality now. They belong to the four
quarters of the world. They take their
arts from one place, their science from
another, their literature from a third, their
manners, their thoughts, their language,
from a fourth, a fifth, and everywhere.
They can no more be conservative beyond
their present sons than they can sweep
back the tide of civilisation on which they
themselves are whirled. And as thus, in
our British Islands, all castes, and classes,
and types, and genuses (whatever we may
like to call them), are merging and fusing
into one, as our various peoples are using,
reading, thinking one universal tongue,
may we not take this as earnest that some
day it will be the same with all the world?
May we not think that other Mercian and
Bernician landmarks will be defaced and
broken? that other dialects may be melted
and beaten into one rich and compound
whole?

History repeats itself, we know; and
who shall say this would not be agreeable
repetition?

DAISY'S TRIALS.

IN SEVEN CHAPTERS. CHAPTER IV.

MYRRHA, coming down to breakfast next
morning, in the most charming of morning
dresses, announced that she felt "Quite
settled now, Aunt Daisy, quite at home."
To prove which she insisted upon taking
Daisy's place at the table, "to save Aunt
Daisy trouble."

"You'll find me very useful, Aunt
Daisy, in ever so many ways! Though,
seeing me so ornamental, I don't suppose
you expect it!"

After breakfast she said the flowers in
the vases were faded, and she would pick
others. "Arranging flowers is one of the
accomplishments on which I pride myself,
Aunt Daisy."

When this was finished—it occupied
some time, and was done with much fuss,
and many flittings in and out, and to and
fro—she audibly wondered how soon Mr.
Stewart would fulfil his promise about
bringing her a horse; this reminded her to