A Londoner we encounter--Crabb Robinson, full of gossip and conventionalities; and also that cautious, yet sometimes impassioned Scottish bard who sang of _Hohenlinden_, and of _Gertrude of Wyoming_. Next, we have asked readers to share our regalement, in wandering along the Tweed banks, and in rekindling the memories of the verse, the home, and the chivalric stories of the benign master of Abbotsford, for whom--whatever newer literary fashions may now claim allegiance and whatever historic _quid-nuncs_ may say in derogation--I think there are great multitudes who will keep a warm place in their hearts and easily pardon a kindred warmth in our words. After Dryburgh, and its pall, we have in these pages found our way to Edinboro’, and have sketched the beginners, and the beginnings of that great northern quarterly, which so long dominated the realm of British book-craft, and which rallied to its ranks such men as Jeffrey and the witty Sydney Smith, and Mackintosh and the pervasive and petulant Brougham--full of power and of pyrotechnics. These great names and their quarterly organ call up comparison with that other, southern and distinctive Quarterly of Albemarle Street, which was dressed for literary battle by writers like Gifford, Croker, Southey, and Lockhart. The Prince Regent puts in an appearance in startling waistcoats and finery--vibrating between Windsor and London; so does the bluff Sailor-King William IV. Next, Walter Savage Landor leads the drifting paragraphs of our story--a great, strong man; master of classicism, and master of language; now tender, and now virulent; never quite master of himself. Of Leigh Hunt, and of his graceful, light-weighted, gossipy literary utterance, there is indulgent mention, with some delightful passages of verse foregathered from his many books. Of Thomas Moore, too, there is respectful and grateful--if not over-exultant--talk; yet in these swift days there be few who are tempted to tarry long in the “rosy bowers by Bendemeer.” From Moore and the brilliant fopperies of “The First Gentleman of Europe,” we slip to the disorderly, but pungent and vivid essays of Hazlitt--to the orderly and stately historic labors of Hallam, closing up our chapter with the gay company who used to frequent the brilliant salon of the Lady Blessington--first in Seamore Place, and later at Gore House. There we find Bulwer, Disraeli (in his flamboyant youth-time), the elegant Count d’Orsay, and others of that train-band.