ture to commemorate her revolutions, we learn the physical mutations which the surface of the earth has undergone, and the temperature of the climate of various regions, in periods far beyond all human history or tradition; and, by bringing to our assistance the sciences of Anatomy and Botany, we can even restore anew the forms of the animals and vegetables which flourished on the earth, when our present continents were engulphed beneath the depths of the ocean.

The strata of Sussex are divided into Downs, Weald, and Forest ridge. The Downs are masses of chalk, about sixty miles in length, seven miles broad, and about 500 feet above the level of the sea. Their northern escarpment is steep and abrupt; their southern descent is by a gentle declivity. From Beachy Head to Brighton, they form a high, precipitous line of coast. From Brighton, westward, they stretch inland, and occupy the centre of the county. The whole chain exhibits decided manifestations of the action of water. These hills are separated into five distinct masses by rivers. The Weald is a vale that runs parallel to the Downs, consisting of clay, sand, and limestone. It is about ten miles broad, and thirty or forty long. The Forest-ridge constitutes the northeastern extremity of the country. It is composed of sand and sand-stones, and its rocky ridges are crested with forests. The principal height is Crowborough Beacon, which has an elevation of 800 feet above the sea. The encroachments of the ocean are going on along the whole line of coast, and have continued from time immemorial. We will now give an extract from our author's account of Tilgate Forest, p. 283.

"The vast preponderance of the land and fresh water exuviæ over those of marine origin observable in these deposits, warrants the conclusion, that the Weal. den strata were formed by a very different agent to that which effected the deposition of the Portland beds below, and the sand and chalk above them. The seas in the primitive ages of our planet, were inhabited by vast tribes of multilocular shells, which however variable in their species, were not only of the same family, but also of the same genera; belemnites, ammonites, nautilites. These shells, if

we may draw any conclusion from the knowledge of the habits of the recent species of the only genus that still exists, were indisputably inhabitants of the ocean; and the presence of their remains in any considerable quantity in a formation, affords a presumption that such formation was a marine deposit. The converse of such proposition we consider must hold good in a case like the present, where not a vestige of these ancient marine genera can be traced, among innumerable remains of terrestrial vegetables and animals, and of fresh water testacea. The occasional occurrence of marine remains affords no ground for a contrary opinion, since the fact is no more than might be expected under such circumstances, and is in strict accordance with what might be observed in the deltas and estuaries of all great rivers. We cannot leave this subject without offering a few general remarks on the probable condition of the country through which the waters flowed, that deposited the strata of Tilgate Forest, and on the nature of its animal and vegetable productions. Whether it were an island or a continent may not be determined; but that it was diversified by hill and valley, and enjoyed a climate of higher temperature than any part of modern Europe, is more than probable. Several kinds of ferns appear to have constituted the immediate vegetable clothing of the soil. The elegant sphenopteris, which probably never attained a greater height than three or four feet, and the beautiful lenchopteris of still lesser growth, being abundant every where. It must be easy to conceive what would be the appearance of the valleys and plains covered with these plants, from that presented by modern tracts, where the loftier vegetables are so entirely disthe common ferns generally prevail. But tinct from any that are now known to exist in European countries, that we seek in vain for any thing analogous without the Tropics. The forests of Clathraria and Endogenitæ, (the plants of which, like some of the recent arborescent ferns, probably attained a height of thirty or forty feet), must have borne a much greater resemblance to those of tropical regions, than to any that now occur in temperate climates. That the soil was of a sandy nature on the hills and less elevated parts of the country, and argillaceous on the plains and marshes, may be inferred from the vegetable remains and from the nature of the substances in which they are enclosed. Sand and clay every where prevail in the Hastings strata; nor is it unworthy of remark that the recent vegetables to which the fossil plants bear the

greatest analogy, affect soils of this description. If we attempt to pourtray the animals of this ancient country, our description will possess more of the character of romance, than of a legiti

mate deduction from established facts. Turtles of various kinds must have been

seen on the banks of its rivers and lakes, and groups of enormous crocodiles basking in the fens and shallows. The gigantic megalosaurus, and yet more gigantic iguanodon, to whom the groves of palms and arborescent ferns would be mere beds of reeds, must have been of such prodigious magnitude, that the existing animal creation presents us with no fit objects of comparison. Imagine an animal of the lizard tribe, three or four times as

large as the largest crocodile, having jaws

with teeth equal in size to the incisors of the rhinoceros, and crested with horn! Such a creature must have been the

iguanodon. Nor were the inhabitants of the waters much less wonderful. Witness the plesiosaurus, which only required wings to be a flying dragon; the fishes resembling siluri, balistæ, &c. Cuvier asks, at what period was it, and under what circumstances, that turtles and gigantic lizards lived in our climate, and were shaded by forests of palms, and arborescent ferns? It may be observed, that the undoubted remains of that gigantic herbivorous reptile of the ancient world, the iguanodon, must be considered as having been hitherto discovered in the strata of Tilgate Forest only; this animal, which had a horn on its head, was seventy feet in length."

Of another fossil reptile discovered in Tilgate Forest, and on that account called the hylaosaurus, Mr. Mantell's account is full of interest. The whole book is a most valuable addition to our native geology; it abounds in very curious discoveries; it evinces a very extensive and accurate acquaintance with the science; and though professedly treating only of the strata of Sussex, in fact, through its local investigations, throws light upon the general subject.

Helen. A Novel. By Miss Edgeworth, in 3 vols.

THE anxious desires of the world of letters have at length been gratified, and Miss Edgeworth, after a long interval of silence and repose, has re-appeared in the realms of fiction. All who remember the cleverness of her former productions, the truth of her

delineations, the force, the spirit of her narratives, the originality of her characters, the grace, the elegance, the humour that pervaded the whole, the knowledge of the human heart, the familiarity with the different feelings, sensibilities, passions, and prejudices, that are continually rising and falling, passing and repassing in the walks of life, the wisdom of her observations, and the admirable moral, the Mentor of the Tale, which for ever came with a friendly hand to arrest the folly and the crime of those around it, and at length, when the course of guilt or levity, of idleness or vanity, was drawing to a close, held up to them the consequences inseparable from it; and proved to them, that the punishment of man is of necessity annexed to his criminality, as it not only lives in its very nature, but even rises afresh over its ashes; when further, this great Teacher of wisdom, through fiction, pointed out the trains of causes which led to error, the early mistakes, the cherished prejudices, the fond illusions, the captivating and deceitful blandishments of friends, the mistaken indulgence of parents, the false estimates of society, and the impetuous importunity of youthful passions; all this was so judiciously exhibited, so finely contrasted, so delicately marked and separated, so happily illustrated, and so judiciously enforced, as certainly to place the clever and enlightened Author in the very first rank of modern novelists. We own, and we have expressed the same opinion before, that we have many novel writers of great skill and knowledge of their art. Men who have surveyed the various walks of life with the eye of observation, have delineated their scenes with a fine and delicate discrimination, have submitted the passions and interests of men to a just and philosophical analysis, and have enriched the whole with the ornaments and graces, which genius and taste can furnish at their will. But we also must reluctantly own, that however brilliant and clever their productions are, they are seldom free from grave and serious defects. Parts of them are only imperfectly sketched in, parts want drawing and perspective, some are too highly coloured, some out of proportion and harmony, and

but our modern authors, under the potent and controlling influence which we mentioned, and with the Auri sacra fames' to instigate them, produce their offspring, like the smaller animals, twice or thrice a-year; their gestations are short, and their deliveries rapid in succession: but it is the destiny of man to submit, whether reluctantly or willingly, to the laws to which nature has confined him: what is rapid in growth, is seldom lasting; what is easily obtained is not often valuable when acquired; so we must confess, that the productions of the Minerva, or Venus, or Plutus Press, or by whatever name it now goes, 'quocunque nomine gaudet,' are seldom finished to exactness, seldom harmonious in their design, consistent in their composition, or equal in their execution. We are now speaking of the very best and foremost of these works, the aristocracy of the talent, the London particular'-as for the remainder, they are the worthless spawn of addled heads, and air-blown vanities, and vitiated feelings, and mistaken judgments, and superficial acquirements, and restless ambition, which like a forest-fly, is perpetually settling itself on all new comers, sucking their blood, and teasing them to madness and death. Having thus safely conducted off the lightning of our spleen, we forthwith commence an account of Miss Edgeworth's Helen.

The heroine, Miss Helen Stanley, is the daughter of a Colonel and Lady Stanley, who being dead, she is brought up and educated by her uncle Dean Stanley, and is the presumptive heiress of his fortunes. But Dean Stanley, like some other deans, thought more of his outgoings than his incomings; was fond of all elegant and curious tastes; haunted Christie's, bid at

Robins's, had buhle tables and choice bronzes; was a collector of rare books, bought first Shakspeare's, and early romances; had a charming taste for Paul Potter's and Hobbima's landscapes; Smirke improved the deanery, and Gilpin laid out the grounds; in short, when he died, nothing of all his supposed wealth remained for poor Helen. The novel commences just after the Dean's death, when his niece was removed to the vicarage, and placed with her affec

herself, and release her from that wretched state in which she could neither please nor be pleased."-Released from her previous constraint, and knowing that no designs can be suspected on her part, Helen behaves to Beauclerc with the unsuspicious frankness of common intercourse. He amuses himself in dallying between his two "puppets," Lady Blanche and Helen, and feels in no hurry to make his choice. The even tenour of life at Clarendon Park proceeds. But now the house is filled with company, and, among others, a Mr. Horace Churchill arrives, a man of the town, of high repute in the circles of fashion, and wit, and party; a sort of mixture of Mr. Theodore Hook, Lord Petersham, and Sir James Mackintosh; in short, such a character as, we are afraid, consists of materials not conveniently to be collected out of the stratum of a single brain. Of course, two such men as Beauclerc and Churchill could not exist in the same sphere. They become jealous of each other; suspicious, cross, and disagreeable: a thousand petty irritations arose, ridiculous jealousies, and mutual discomfitures. Beauclerc, however, notwithstanding his rival's superior brilliancy of parts and knowledge of the world, is the favourite of the fair. All women like men to speak of them with respect and seriousness, all badinage on the subject is jealously surveyed, persiflage at once ruins the unhappy wight who utters it; and Churchill talks on the subject of ladies and of love as men talk at Arthur's club-house, or at the messroom of the Guards. A sudden mania for Hawking, derived from looking at a picture of Wouvermans, seizes both the gentlemen. They read Turberville and Markham, pore over Lady Juliana Berners, and entertain hopes of rivalling the never-to-be-forgottenbut-always-deeply-remembered hawking of the emperor Arambomboberus, with his Trebizonian eagles. Beauclerc, however, when matters are just ripe, and the Tercelets and Ger-falcons arrive, gives up the scheme to his rival under the pretence that he cannot afford it. In vain the ladies endeavour to worm out of him his bosomsecret, to ascertain his real motive. At length, a mistake of a letter proves that he has given the money intended

for the hawks to Mr. Thomas Campbell, for the Polish Exiles. So things proceed till the arrival of Lady Katrine Hawksby, a faded wit, and her beautiful married sister, Lady Castlefort, plus belle que fée!-yet, different as they are, both agreeing in one thing

their cordial hatred of Helen; and the demon eyes of jealousy and envy are fixed upon her. Lady Davenant departs on business, and H. Churchill has ruined himself with Helen by the meanness he showed with regard to a poetess whom he patronized. Half bantering, half playfully, he made a sort of feint of an offer. Helen took him seriously, and was glad of the opportunity at once of blowing away his hopes. He thanked her for her candour-for her great care of his happiness, in anticipating a danger which might be so fatal to him; but he really was not aware that he had said anything that required so serious an answer. Of course, she insures his hatred, and he departs on a visit-to his Majesty. Meanwhile, as Beauclerc's assiduities become more remarkable, Helen's behaviour appears to him singular and capricious. She, of course, on Cecilia's authority, looks on him as engaged; consequently, the first symptom of tenderness alarms her virtue she blames herself-determines to consider him as a brother-a friend; but it is not very easy for young ladies to look on a young gentleman in that manner; Lady Katherine's lynx eyes were on her, and Lady Castlefort begins a strong flirtation with him. Beauclerc, in the meantime, ignorant of Cecilia's representations, to Helen's astonishment makes her an offer. She, half frightened, half indignant, wonders, half speaks, and does all but explain: for Cecilia had bound her to secresy; and, dismissing him in all points of view but as a friend, the lovers part. Cecilia now owns that Beauclerc is not going to be married; that it is all an invention of her's; and, as Helen says to her," to save her from a little foolish embarrassment at first, she made them miserable at last."

What might have been repaired, Cecilia's continued prevarications still prolong, and more deeply perplex. To avoid the shame of confessing her first deception, she went on to another and another step in these foolish evasions,