ear that he was ever
tempted from the contemplation of his own performances, to read her
"literary compositions." A letter from Robert Southey to Sir Egerton
shows that the latter had not quite forgotten her. Southey writes,
under the dale of Keswick, April, 1830:--

"You mention Miss Austen; her novels are more true to Nature, and have
(for my sympathies) passages of finer feeling than any others of
this age. She was a person of whom I have heard so much, and think so
highly, that I regret not having seen her, or ever had an opportunity
of testifying to her the respect which I felt for her."

A pleasant anecdote, told to us on good authority in England, is
illustrative of Miss Austen's power over various minds. A party of
distinguished literary men met at a country-seat; among them was
Macaulay, and, we believe, Hallam; at all events, they were men of
high reputation. While discussing the merits of various authors, it
was proposed that each should write down the name of that work of
fiction which had given him the greatest pleasure. Much surprise and
amusement followed; for, on opening the slips of paper, _seven_ bore
the name of "Mansfield Park,"--a coincidence of opinion most rare, and
a tribute to an author unsurpassed.

Had we been of that party at the English country-house, we should have
written, "The _last_ novel by Miss Austen which we have read"; yet,
forced to a selection, we should have named "Persuasion." But we
withdraw our private preference, and, yielding to the decision of
seven wise men, place "Mansfield Park" at the head of the list, and
leave it there without further comment.

"Persuasion" was her latest work, and bears the impress of a matured
mind and perfected style. The language of Miss Austen is, in all her
pages, drawn from the "wells of English undefiled." Concise and clear,
simple and vigorous, no word can be omitted that she puts down,
and none can be added to heighten the effect of her sentences. In
"Persuasion" there are passages whose depth and tenderness, welling
up from deep fountains of feeling, impress us with the conviction that
the angel of sorrow or suffering had troubled the waters, yet had left
in them a healing influence, which is felt rather than revealed. Of
all the heroines we have known through a long and somewhat varied
experience, there is not one whose life-companionship we should so
desire to secure as that of Anne Elliot. Ah! could she also forgive
our faults and b