On the opposite side of the river lay an extensive savannah, alive with cattle and coloured with such a variety of swamp plants that their colour, even at that distance, detracted something from the vivid green of the new-sprung grass.... The acclivity on which the tents stood sinking very suddenly on the left, there gave place to a cypress swamp ... while the rocks rising suddenly and sharply were clothed with wood of various species; the evergreen oak, the scarlet oak, the tulip tree and magnolia, seemed bound together by festoons of flowers, some resembling the convolvuluses of our garden, and others the various sorts of clematis with vegenias and the Virginia creeper ... beneath these fragrant wreaths that wound about the trees, tufts of rhododendrons, and azalia, of andromedas and calmias, grew in the luxuriant beauty; and strawberries already ripening, or even ripe, peeped forth among the rich vegetation of grass and flowers. Mrs. Smith’s imagination certainly had other laws than the dull ones imposed by the facts of the case. She could hardly have mixed up zones and seasons and flowers and fruits more successfully if she had tried. But the notable point here is that there was in her mind an instinctive and inevitable dwelling upon the scenery of the country through which she led her hero. The English scenes are much better. The following passage shows well her emotional openness to the influence of Nature. Just as he arrived at the water, from the deep gloom of the tall firs through which he passed, the moon appeared behind the opposite coppices, and threw her long line of trembling radiance on the water. It was a cold but clear evening, and, though early in November, the trees were not yet entirely stripped of their discoloured leaves; a low wind sounded hollow through the firs and stone pines over his head, and then faintly sighed among the reeds that crowded into the water; no other sound was heard but, at distant intervals, the cry of the wild fowl concealed among them, or the dull murmur of the current, which was now low. Orlando had hardly ever felt himself so impressed with those feelings which inspire poetic effusions: Nature appeared to pause and to ask the turbulent and troubled heart of man, whether his silly pursuits were worth the toil he undertook for them. Peace and tranquillity seemed here to have retired to a transient abode; and Orlando, as slowly he traversed the narrow path over ground made hollow by the roots of these old trees, stepped as lightly as if he feared to disturb them. Insensibly he began to compare this scene, the scene he every day saw of rural beauty and rural content with those into which his destiny was about to lead him.