“The little isles that deck thy breast, And calmly on thy bosom rest, How often, in my childish glee, I’ve sported round them, bright and free! Could I but see thee once again, My own, my beautiful Champlain! “How oft I’ve watch’d the fresh’ning shower Bending the summer tree and flower, And felt my little heart beat high As the bright rainbow graced the sky. Could I but see thee once again, My own, my beautiful Champlain! “And shall I never see thee more, My native lake, my much-loved shore And must I bid a long adieu, My dear, my infant home, to you? Shall I not see thee once again, My own, my beautiful Champlain?” In the way of criticism upon these extraordinary compositions, Mr. Irving has attempted little, and, in general, he seems more affected by the loveliness and the purity of the child than even by the genius she has evinced—however highly he may have estimated this latter. In respect, however, to a poem entitled “My Sister Lucretia,”—he thus speaks—“We have said that the example of her sister Lucretia was incessantly before her, and no better proof can be given of it than in the following lines, which breathe the heavenly aspirations of her pure young spirit, _in strains to us quite unearthly. We may have read poetry more_ _artificially perfect in its structure, but never any more truly divine in its inspiration._” The nature of inspiration is disputable—and we will not pretend to assert that Mr. Irving is in the wrong. His words, however, in their hyperbole, do wrong to his subject, and would be hyperbole still, if applied to the most exalted poets of all time. * * * * * _Incidents of Travel in Central America, etc. By_ John L. Stephens. _Two Volumes. New York: Harper and Brothers._