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194 playing on the flute, carry insipidity to its extremity; and as for the heroines, I grew so tired of their undeviating sweetness, that I hoped at last some of the dangers they encountered would fairly put an end to their terrors, troubles, and existence together." Edward Lorraine.—"It is curious that the occasional pieces of poetry announced in the title-page, and interspersed through the volumes, should be so wretched; and yet her descriptions are touched with the finest poetical colouring;—her Italian woods and sunsets are really beautiful pictures." Mr. Morland.—"Simply because, with fine poetical taste, she was not a poet; the spirit was not strong enough within to break through the set forms and conventional phrases which were then vouchers of the Muse's Almack's." Edward Lorraine.—"Like the veins of a mine, the materials of fiction are soon worked out. To your three continents of sentiment, philosophy, and terror, what succeeded?" Mr. Morland.—"A school of common sense and real life. Miss Edgeworth only wanted imagination to have secured her the very highest place in novel-writing. Humour gave animation to her pages—feeling never. Her remarks are