Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, Full-charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main.

This is as full-charged a portrait of human depravity as the gloomiest misanthrope could wish for.

The heroine, for instance, glides into life full-charged with rank, virtues, a name three-syllabled, and a white dress that never needs washing, ready to sail through dangers dire into a triumphant haven of matrimony;all the aristocrats have high foreheads and cold blue eyes; all the peasants are old women, miraculously grateful, in neat check aprons, or sullen-browed insurgents planning revolts in caves.