the lay of a Trans-atlantic muse, especially when she sings in so pleasing and unaffected a style. The American scenery is well described, and the mode of life presented to our view much in the style of Thomson, though Miss Knight has adopted, and wisely we conceive, the stanza of Spenser. The following lines will shew that our praise is not ill bestowed.

2.

"And bright on fancy's view the picture glows,
The wood-crown'd hills of Canada arise,
And many a forest waves its verdant boughs,
And many a cultured vale between them lies.
Wide through the land her own St. Lawrence pours
His swelling stream, to meet the ocean's waves;
Now calmly steals along his sylvan shores,
Now rushing o'er the rocky rapids raves,

His village-skirted banks and spire-crown'd island laves.

3.

"Or gliding onward rolls his azure pride
Beneath his guardian fort's majestic walls;
Round smiling Orleans leads his spreading tide,
And meets the rush of Montmorency's falls;
Or wid'ning sweeps, where lonely forests shade
The untrodden banks, and distant mountain's breast;
Where haply scarce a hunter's step has stray'd;

Nor sounding bow, nor thund'ring tube, molest

The moose-deer's grassy haunt, the wild-bird's woodland nest.

4.

"Delightful land! though Winter keen and chill,
Long o'er thy clime with piercing rigour reign,
Bind in its icy chains the freezing rill,

And load with drifting snows the viewless plain;
Yet sweet the fruits thy glowing summer yields,
And gay its wilding bloom's luxuriant dye,
Rich are the various products of thy fields,
Thy ample woods the cheerful blaze supply,

Healthful thy keenest breeze and clear thy azure sky.

5.

"Ev'n while around it fall the feath'ry snows,
May comfort in thy loneliest cottage smile;
Bright in the stove the blazing maple glows,
And plenty gaily spreads the board of toil;

"Montreal."

Nor

Nor yet unpleasing is the wintry waste,
Where o'er the ice-bound wave, or beaten way,
Along the path with verdant branches graced,
Unwearying industry, and pleasure gay,

Lead the deep loaded traine, and guide the rapid sleigh,

6.

"Or where on high the lofty cedar throws
Its branching arms, and towers in air sublime,
As thick around the deep'ning forests close,
The wond'ring trav'ller finds a milder clime,
Where mingling with the pine's unfading green,
The wither'd foliage of the oak tree's bough,
And elm, and maple's leafless sprays are seen,
And spreading beech, and spiry poplars grow,

And many a youngling plant rears its light stem below." P. 4. With a very few alterations, such as a matured and discriminating judge would recommend, this might be made both an elegant and a classical poem. Geraldine at the conclusion of the volume is a pretty tale well worthy of notice.

ART. XIV. Leaves. Svo. pp. 184. 9s. Longman and Co. 1816.

THERE is a sort of modesty in the title with which we shall not quarrel. We were not, however, a little surprized to find at the head of these " Leaves," a posey of flowers. "Scattered rose leaves"-" Carnation"-" Lily of the valley,"-" Scattered rose leaves" again, and " Peach blossoms."

As a specimen of this bouquet we give the last.

"Yon southern wall, with crimson blossoms spread,
Which sunny gleams, and genial showers have fed,
I seek, still marking with a dubious eye;-
For yet may pass keen Eurus' blighting wing,
And all the promise of the flattering spring
To paltry clusters shrink, or worthless die.

"And thus the moral scene! yet few, if here,
Some favoured few, should bless the changing year,
And fairest blooms to richest fruit unfold,
What joy!-for oh, the generous virtues lend
Health to the soul, and dearer beauties blend

Than tints of vermeil light and mingling gold !"

Too much this in the style of the single tulip (to keep up our author's fancy) gaudy, but not graceful. The next object that

meets

meets our eve in the index is "Children." Now what children have to do with "Leaves," except in the case of the Children in the wood, we cannot imagine. Our author has a large family of these children, as we find eighteen now living. Let us take one of the author's little poetical bantlings into our arms.

"THE CHILD LOVE, AND HIS BUTTERFLIES.
"Ah, come! 'tis Love!-no guile he wears,
He smiles-his breath perfumes the gale :-
Nor bow, nor quivered dart he bears,
But seeks with harmless step the vale.-

"Ah, come! for there the playful child
Now chases, 'mid the noontide glow,
His emblemed Psyches o'er the wild,
To rest where budding roses blow.

Lovely!—But whence that look, that scorns?
And can he thus--insidious boy!-
Tear on yon roses' lurking thorns

Those fluttering wings he lured to joy!" P. 33.

This may be a very pretty little infaut, and papa's darling; but it certainly cannot yet talk intelligibly; we should advise therefore the fond father to keep his children a little longer in the nursery, till at least they can speak so as to be understood.

We now come to two heaps of scattered leaves, which appear rather a motley collection, some faded, some tolerably green, some blighted, and some sun burnt. Were we to choose the most happy specimen of the author's powers we should select the following.

"Yon sacred isles that o'er the Atlantic deep

Lift their proud columns †, or their deepening groves,
Where bards sublime, and storied heroes sleept,
And fancy wanders 'mid the scenes she love!
Yon darkened heaven, whose wide horizon bends
In glowing beauty to the empurpled waves,
Where the low sun his radiant car suspends,

Retiring awful to the ocean caves :--
Yon isles, yon heaven may nature glorying claim,
And high-wrought genius seize the vast design,
Breathe o'er the pictured forms his living flame,

And own, adoring, all the work divine." P. 133.

"The beautiful antique gem of Cupid with his torch burning the wings of the butterfly, (or Psyche, or the soul,) may have suggested this story."

+ As Staffa, &C.

1

Iona, &c.

ART.

ART. XV. Emma, a Novel, by the Author of Pride and Prejudice. 3 vols. 12mo. 11. 1s. Murray. 1816. WHOEVER is fond of an amusing, inoffensive and well principled novel, will be well pleased with the perusal of EMMA. It rarely happens that in a production of this nature we have so little to find fault with.

In few novels is the unity of place preserved; we know not of one in which the author has sufficient art to give interest to the circle of a small village. The author of Emma never goes beyond the boundaries of two private families, but has contrived in a very interesting manner to detail their history, and to form out of so slender materials a very pleasing tale. The characters are well kept up to the end. The valetudinarian fathers, the chattering village belles, are all preserved to the life. Let us take the following scene.

"I hope every body had a pleasant evening,' said Mr. Woodhouse, in his quiet way. I had. Once, I felt the fire rather too much; but then I moved back my chair a little, a very little, and it did not disturb me. Miss Bates was very chatty and good humoured, as she always is, though she speaks rather too quick. However, she is very agreeable, and Mrs. Bates too, in a different way. I like old friends; and Miss Jane Fairfax is a very pretty sort of young lady, a very pretty and a very well-behaved young lady indeed. She must have found the evening agreeable, Mr. Knightley, because she had Emma.'

"True, sir; and Emma, because she had Miss Fairfax.'

"Emma saw his anxiety, and wishing to appease it, at least for the present, said, and with a sincerity which no one could question

"She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep one's eyes from. I am always watching her to admire; and I do pity her from my heart.'

"Mr. Knightley looked as if he were more gratified than he cared to express; and before he could make any reply, Mr. Woodhouse whose thoughts were on the Bates's, said—

"It is a great pity that their circumstances should be so confined! a great pity indeed! and I have often wished---but it is so little one can venture to do-small, trifling presents, of any thing uncommon-Now we have killed a porker, and Emma thinks of sending them a loin or a leg; it is very small and delicate-Hartfield pork is not like any other pork-but still it is pork-and, my dear Emma, unless one could be sure of their making it into steaks, nicely fried, as our's are fried, without the smallest grease, and not roast it, for no stomach can bear roast pork-I think we had better send the leg-do not you think so my dear?'

« My

My dear papa, I sent the whole hind-quarter. I knew you would wish it. There will be the leg to be salted, you know, which is so very nice, and the loin to be dressed directly in any manner they like.

"That's right, my dear, very right. I had not thought of it before, but that was the best way. They must not over-salt the leg; and then, if it is not over-salted, and if it is very thoroughly boiled, just as Serle boils our's, and eaten very moderately of, with a boiled turnip, and a little carrot or parsnip, I do not consider it unwholesome.'

"Emma,' said Mr. Knightley presently, I have a piece of news for you. You like news-and I heard an article in my way hither that I think will interest you.'

"News! Oh! yes, I always like news. What is it?-why do you smile so?-where did you hear it?—at Randalls ?' "He had time only to say,

"No, not at Randalls; I have not been near Randalls,’

"When the door was thrown open, and Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax walked into the room. Full of thanks, and full of news, Miss Bates knew not which to give quickest. Mr. Knightley soon saw that he had lost his moment, and that not another syllable of communication could rest with him.

"Oh! my dear sir, how are you this morning? My dear Miss Woodhouse-I come quite overpowered. Such a beautiful hind quarter of pork! You are too bountiful! Have you heard the news? Mr. Elton is going to be married.'

"Emma had not had time even to think of Mr. Elton, and she was so completely surprized that she could not avoid a little start, and a little blush, at the sound.

"There is my news:-I thought it would interest you,' said Mr. Knightley, with a smile which implied a conviction of some part of what had passed between them.

Where

"But where could you hear it?' cried Miss Bates. could you possibly hear it, Mr. Knightley? For it is not five minutes since I received Mrs. Cole's note-no, it cannot be more than five-or at least ten-for I had got my bonnet and spencer on, just ready to come out-I was only gone down to speak to Patty again about the pork-Jane was standing in the passage-were not you, Jane?-for my mother was so afraid that we had not any saltingpan large enough. So I said I would go down and see, and Jane said, Shall I go down instead? for 1 think you have a little cold, and Patty has been washing the kitchen. Oh! my dear, said I-well, and just then came the note. A Miss Hawkins-that's all I know. A Miss Hawkins of Bath. But, Mr. Knightley, how could you possibly have heard it? for the very moment Mr. Cole told Mrs. Cole of it, she sat down and wrote to me. A Miss Hawkins,

6

"I was with Mr. Cole on business an hour and half ago. He had just read Elton's letter as I was shown in, and handed it to me directly.'

VOL. VI, JULY, 1816.

II

« ‹ Well!