have awakened in such a nature as hers, no other feeling than resentment, and an obstinate resolution to cling to errors to the last, as the only things that had been faithful to her. Thus the style of "Francesca Carrara" is admired as extremely elegant, pure, and impassioned, while the book itself is described as that only from which can be drawn the smallest idea of the brilliant truth of its court-dialogue, or of the exalted nature of the fine creations that are bodied forth in it. "Our hearts own them, and they are hereafter consecrated in our imaginations."

Another testimony from a different pen, to the power and the success of this work, will close the notice that it claimed.

"'Francesca Carrara' is of the past—there is both more poetry, and more truth in the work now before us than in the other; we feel the characters to be more real—there is more of consistency both in the plot and in its development, and less crowding of smart and clever things—less show, and more substance. We were, perhaps, more astonished at the first, because we hardly expected such prose from such a poet; but it promised more for the future, and as 'Francesca' is the future of that period, we in some degree looked forward to the beauties we have found. We know not where, or how, the female writers of our time procure their insight into human nature; Miss Landon reads hearts and motives, as men read books and pamphlets, and reads them truly; her delineations are perfect—her sketches full of the truth and vigour of nature.

"Her range in prose is more extensive than her range in poetry. Her lyre is generally tuned to the same purposes—the blight of love, the hollowness of the world; there is a mournful cadence in all it sings of—a wail, a sorrow, or a sigh! But in prose she lives with us—now sanctifying—now satirizing—now glittering with the French in their most brilliant court, playing with diamonds, and revelling in wit—then reposing on one of the finest creations that human genius ever called into existence—the holy friendship of Guido and Francesca. The whole range of modern fiction offers nothing like the portraiture of these two cousins; it is at once beautiful and sublime, and yet perfectly natural and true;—the skill of the woman is admirably developed in