ratory explanation, I introduced my favourite volumes to their notice. In every reading project young Walter was my enthusiastic confident and ally, and it was really refreshing to my spirit to see with what avidity his ardent and ambitious mind drank in knowledge as the thirsty land drinks those soft showers which are to cause its verdure to spring, and its flowers to put forth.

The task of educating Helen I undertook with alacrity; and notwithstanding her mother sometimes complained “of work neglected," and her father remarked that time spent in teaching girls was spent foolishly;" yet I could see their countenances brighten when her drawings were exhibited to their visiters, and her embroidering praised and envied by her youthful companions. At length Uncle confessed to me, that he found some benefits arising from her studies. It appeared that to display to her father her knowledge of the French, which she was acquiring, she had amused him by translating the mottos on a parcel of snuff boxes in his store; and he found a readier sale for them, and consequently, of the precious dust they were formed to contain, by being able to satisfy each lady-customer, of the import of those talismanic characters inscribed on the lid of her new and elegant box, which she had long been inquisitive to dis

cover.

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Matters now proceeded swimmingly. We had soon a plentiful supply of every material necessary for accelerating the growth of the young idea," or invigorating and refining the more matured intellect. All orders for books had been promptly honoured by my indulgent Uncle, and every arrangement made with reference to my wishes; yet there was still one deficiency which caused me much vexation, and which appeared difficult to remedy.

To make myself better understood, it is necessary to premise that, during my residence in the city, I had been acustomed to peruse many of the periodical works published in Great Britain and republished in America. Such was the influence they had obtained in the polite circles which I frequented, that scarcely a remark was hazarded on a new book, until after the expression of the critic's pleasure was known; and I felt quite incompetent to form an opinion concerning the literary merit of any work, without a reference to these oracles. Now none of these periodicals were to be obtained in the country, and I ardently wished to persuade my Uncle of the necessity of subscribing for one Magazine, at least. The North American Review, I had occasionally perused, and admired, as every person of intelligence must, the display of talent and industry, manifested in its execution; still it was rather too scientific, and learned, for

a lady's cabinet, and I knew it would not be so well relished by the family, as a lighter and more fanciful production. But to my astonishment and mortification, my request was absolutely refused.

"No, Diana, no," said my Uncle, when from my description of these monthly visitants, he had shrewdly penetrated their tendency, "it is quite sufficient to import our books from England and Scotland, without importing our opinions concerning them. Why this homage is worse than the "tea tax ;" and I am surprised that our literary men do not enter into a combination to resist such encroachments on the freedom of their minds.

"But," replied I, "the scholars in America have no leisure, and, I fear, not learning sufficient for such undertakings; neither is there wealth nor liberality in the community to reward them, should they attempt the task."

"Well, then," said my Uncle, "let them act as in the Revolutionary contest, abstain from such things, till they can manufacture them for themselves. A fine story truly! that when our Statesmen and scholars of '76, found no difficulty in penning the Declaration of Independence, and many other State papers, which will for ever be admired both for soundness of reasoning and elegance of diction, their descendants, who have enjoyed the advantages of forty years peaceful education, should yet be incompetent or unwilling to express their opinion of a British, or even of an American author. I tell you, Diana, such a course of proceeding is calculated to keep us in a state of mental subjection, which I, for one, will not encourage. So, let me hear no more of your Blackwoods, and New Monthlys-when ever you will show me the Prospectus of an American Magazine I shall subscribe with pleasure."

Although far from being satisfied with this answer, I was compelled to wait with what patience I might, till the advertisement for the American Monthly Magazine, casually met my view. My surprise and pleasure was extreme, I flew to my Uncle, who instantly gave his name as a subscriber, at the same time remarking, that he was glad the American scholars had acquired sufficient confidence to wield their pens."

I will not detain you, Mr. Editor, with the relation of our various surmises on the probable contents of your work, nor the pleasure felt by myself and I think the whole family, when the post boy delivered the welcome packet to my band. Even Aunt Rebecca, smiled approbation.-I ought perhaps in justice to her, to explain that she had not entered very complacently into the spirit of the Scottish Novels." She frequently objected to the "strange dialect," and, thought many of the first characters deserving of Botany Bay," at least. Indeed she sometimes ac

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cused the author of "Waverly" of intending, by a caricature of its professors to ridicule religion itself. Now although the title of "Magazine" sounded very gracious in her orthodox ears, still the pleasure with which Walter and I had anticipated its arrival, made her a little suspicious that it would be, as she termed it, a 66 mere outlandish book." The "blue" cover immediately silenced every scruple, while the article on the Rev. Edward Irving completely established its reputation, and fully entitled it to the good graces of Aunt Rebecca.

She even thought that she saw some great and glorious purposes to be effected by that rage for Scotticisms which has, for some time, been the prevailing epidemic of the fashionable world, quoting that text from "Holy writ."—"The wrath of man shall praise him, and the remainder of wrath he will restrain; she proceeded to observe "that doubtless infinite wisdom had permitted this abuse of talent, in order to display more fully the depth of divine grace, and had, expressly, raised up Mr. Irving to meet these delusive novelties, and combat them with their own weapons." She even anticipated a great reformation among the great, and hoped to see sermons and hymns sought for with more eagerness than the "new novel," or elegant poem.

Whether in fact, the popularity of the "Caledonian," arises from associating him with the country of "Rob Roy," or whether his own peculiar excellencies have won him the applause of listening multitudes, we are quite unable to ascertain; but whether his oratory will finally fulfil the pious predictions of Aunt Rebecca, time, the strict interpreter of all prophecy, will certainly determine. We can only say, such a "consummation" is "devoutly to be wished."

Uncle Dermot was highly gratified with the character of Gen. Jackson; indeed, should some skilful cranioligist carefully examine our skulls, I am persuaded, he would find in most heads, a capacity for estimating the deeds of heroes, however much they might fail in the courage necessary for achieving

them.

After attentively listening to the review of the writings of Charles B. Brown, my Uncle with considerable emotion, shook the ashes from his pipe, drew forth his memorandum book, and after carefully noting the name, said, while a flush of honest patriotic pride glowed on his cheek and sparkled in his eye, "Thomas, remember to send orders to my bookseller to-morrow for a complete edition of Mr. Brown's works; no American author shall ever complain for want of my patronage."

In short, we were all satisfied excepting Helen: sbe expressed some uneasiness that the story of O'Halloran was not concluded.

and impatiently counted the days which must elapse before the next number. The time at length came, and the second was welcomed as cordially as the first. My attention was instantly arrested by the "Harp of the Beech Woods," and secretly did I envy the sweet poetess of the Susquehanna"

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"And why do you not publish some of your poetry then?" said Thomas, watching the expression of my feelings, which were too apparent in my countenance, "you are always scribbling, and have written at least one fairy tale.”

"Ah," cried I, in a desponding tone, "I cannot sing like her; I should not be successful. You see, by the remarks on "Good Versification," how much is "essential to good poetry." "But you can write something," said my Uncle, "if it is only to tell the editor how highly we value his publication."

"And so I shall," replied I, "and should he condescend to print it, why"--" Omit the consequences, cousin Diana," said Walter, laughing and insignificantly pointing to the Magazine, CORNELIA.

"till the next number."

P. S. Perhaps it may not be amiss to state that the horrors of the "Piracy," in the last number of the Magazine, completely reconciled Aunt Rebecca to the heretic hue of the cover.

FOR THE AMERICAN MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

THE WOODLANDS.

A TALE......BY A RECLUSE.

AMID the desolations of winter, while looking upward to the cold and stormy sky, or abroad on the naked forest and devastated plain, when the mellow warmth and moonlight glory of the Heavens have departed, and the living green of the woodland, and the sweet flowers of the plain, have all faded away, then, the recollected visions of past spring-times are most full of joy, and the heart revels in the unvanished memory of the past, and swells with rapture in the anticipation of the future.

I speak not here of those who are pent up in cities, who know the changing seasons only by the musty calendar, or the varying thermometer-but of those who breathe the mountain, and the valley air; who climb the dizzy summits piled up by the giant arms of nature, towards the stars, or tread the mossy banks of mighty rivers, and read the name of each successive season, imprinted on the scenery around them. To these, the remembrance of the glad month of flowers comes with an enchaining VOL. I.-No. IV.

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spell; and as the mind wanders from that which has gone by, to that which is to come, a thousand recollections crowd in-and forgetful of the howling tempest that raves and whines without, it at last returns, on the wings of fancy, to some bright summer scene, and revels there, amid all the imagery of younger and happier times, until reflection dispels the illusion, and the blank reality is only left behind.

My mind was early tinctured with a love of the romantic, which the wild and broken scenery, along the banks of the noble Susquehanna, far in the interior of Pennsylvania, was so well calculated to inspire. In my earliest infancy I inhaled the dews that fell from clouds, broken on the mountain tops, into the deep valley, and listened to the roar of the river as it foamed among its bedded rocks, and plunged over its long cataracts, and wound around its iron bound. shores, and it was with emotions of painful regret that I left the habitation of my childhood, to spend a year in New York, in 17-. The tone of feeling and sentiment, however, which had now become identified with my being, and the half joyous, half melancholy delight with which fancy still lingered round my native home, led me to form associations with spirits of congenial feelings in the gay island city.

It was late in May when I reached that place; and some time after, I became acquainted with a gentleman whose mind, partaking originally of the same sentiments as my own, had been in early life mellowed and refined by the influence of the softer passions. He had loved-but love had left him a monument of its destructive power; and the pale tokens of departed health that faintly lingered on his cheek, reminded me of the last tinge upon the leaves of the rose in the hour of sunset, when the withering hand of decay has been upon them. Yet the fire of unconsumed genius, still kindled brightly in his eye, and when the soul shook off the calm and settled thoughtfulness of melancholy in which it dwelt, and came out from among the gloomy images of grief, where it seemed to delight in hovering over the wreck of hopes once fair, but now gone for ever, he knew how to cheer the tedious hours, and even scatter gayety around him.

I remember well, that my acquaintance with Henry Mar, commenced in one of the first moonlight evenings in June. Those evenings, the most delicious of the whole year, we spent together, frequently, in solitary walks on the banks of the East River. The interest I felt, and often expressed, in the welfare and happiness of this amiable young man, for he was not yet thirty, seemed to have gained his heart. The history of his sorrows had long been locked up in his bosom; and he brooded over it the more because few knew it but himself. I long strove