“Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters; Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes; White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves.” • • • • • • • • “In-door, warm by the wide-mouth fire-place, idly the farmer Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames and the smoke-wreaths Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Faces clumsily carved in oak on the back of his arm-chair Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates on the dresser Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas, Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards.” The following is a picture of the good notary: “Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, Bent, but not broken, by age, was the form of the notary public; Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses with horn bows Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred Children’s children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick.” The blacksmith, the very impersonation of strength, is well delineated; but we have only space for a few lines: “Silenced but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language; And all his thoughts congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter.” The following view of the little maiden on a Sunday morn, is very beautiful: “But a celestial brightness—a more ethereal beauty— Shone on her face and encircled her form, when after confession, Homeward serenely she walked with God’s benediction upon her. When she had passed it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.” The descriptions of rural life in Acadie, of the scenery of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, of the wilds of Oregon, are replete with force, beauty, and finely chosen details. They are all too long for short extracts to give an adequate impression of their excellence; and besides, the author has connected the scenery which surrounds the heroine with her feelings on the occasion of viewing it. The description of the burning village is grand, but we have space only for a few lines: