ty intellects, it is a mere diploma of folly and impertinence. The last think, because they were hatched in the eagle's nest, they must, of necessity, be young eagles, whether they take their lofty flight in the regions of the stars, or wallow in puddles with geese and swine.

The Tuckahoe of the better sort is a gallant, generous person, who is much better qualified to defend his country in time of war, than to enrich it in a period of peace. He is like a singed cat, and very often takes as much pains to appear worse than he is, as some people among us do to appear better. In short, the Tuckahoe belongs to a class of beings, among whom, in times of great danger, when the existence of a people is at stake, will be found the men who will be most likely to save or sink with their country. Manual industry seldom produces great men, and it is not often that the best citizens make the bravest soldiers. 137-139.

pp.

The following is one among the many good descriptions of scenery contained in these letters.

I am now in the very midst of that great congregation of hills, comprising all the spurs, branches, knobs, and peaks, of the great chain which has been called, with a happy aptitude, the backbone of America. From the window where I am now writing, I can see them running into each other, as when we lock our fingers together, exhibiting an infinitude of various outlines; some waving, other rising in peaks, and others straight for many miles. Every where they are covered from top to bottom with every various shade of green foliage; except that here and there a bare rocky promontory is seen, crowned at its summit with pines. As the clouds pass over, an infinite succession of light and shadow is produced, that occasions a perpetual variety in the combinations of scenery. The sides of many of the ridges are, at intervals, ribbed with forests of pine, the deep foliage of which fringes the rocky projections from the foot to the summit, broad at the bottom and ending in a point. Between these projecting ribs, in the deep glens, is seen a motley host of forest trees, all green, but all different in proportion as they are exposed to the sun, or enveloped in the shade. In some places appear extensive patches of deep red or brown, where the trees have been set on fire, either by accident, or with a view to turn the side of the hill into pasture.

• In traversing this mountain region, one of the first things that struck me was the solemn, severe silence, which prevailed every where, and only broken, at distant intervals, by the note of the cock of the woods; the chirping of a ground squirrel; the crash of a falling tree; or the long echoes of the fowler's gun, which render the silence, thus broken in upon for a moment, still more striking. But if it should happen that a gust of wind comes on, the scene of repose is instantly changed into one of sublime and appalling noise and motion. The forest roars, the trees totter, and the limbs crack, in a way that is calculated to alarm the stoutest city tourist. You can hear it coming at a distance, roaring like far-off thunder, and warning the traveller to get into some clear spot, out of the reach of the falling trees. pp. 150-152.

The following portrait is, we think, very well drawn.

The queer little man we used to call the little duke, who first attracted our notice, I remember, by making his appearance in our great public walk, dressed in a full suit of white dimity, with a white hat, a little white dog, and a little switch in his hand. Here, of a sunny day, the little duke would ramble about with the lofty air of a man of clear estate, or lean against a tree, and scrutinize the ladies as they passed, with the recognizance of a thorough-bred connoisseur. Sometimes he would go to the circus-that is to say, you would see him laying most luxuriously over a fence just opposite, where, as the windows were open in the summer, he could hear the music and see the shadow of the horses on the opposite wall, without its costing him a farthing.

• In this way he lived until the Corporation pulled down a small wooden building in the yard of what was then the governmenthouse, when the duke and his dog scampered out of it like two rats. He had lived here upon a little bed of radishes; but now he and his dog were obliged to dissolve partnership, for his master could no longer support him. The dog I never saw again; but the poor duke gradually descended into the vale of poverty. His white dimity could not last forever, and he gradually went to seed, and withered like a stately onion. In fine he was obliged to work, and that ruined him-for nature had made him a gentleman.-And a gentleman is the caput mortuum of human nature, out of which you can make nothing under heaven-but a gentleman. He first carried wild game about to sell; but this business not answering, he bought himself a buck and saw, and became a redoubtable sawyer. But he could not get over his old propensity-and whenever a lady passed where he was at work, the little man was always observed to stop his saw, lean his knee on the stick of wood, and gaze at her till she was quite out of sight. Thus, like Antony, he sacrificed the world for a woman-for he soon lost all employment-he was always so long about his work. The last time I saw him he was equipped in the genuine livery of poverty, leaning against a tree on the Battery, and admiring the ladies. pp. 87-89.

A well ordered village presents, on a Sunday, one of the most delightful images that can be contemplated by a mind that is either pious, benevolent, or poetical. Though it has often been exhibited, still it is as fresh and new as nature.

After riding about a dozen miles before breakfast one Sunday morning, we came to a village, at the end of which there was a little neat stone church, almost buried in a wood of lofty oaks, under which there was a green lawn without any underwood, It reminded me of an old familiar scene of early days, and also of a great duty; and after breakfast we went with our good landlady to church. The pew was close by an open window, out of which you could see through the opening trees a little clear river. Farther on a broad expanse of green meadow-beyond that a far-fading mountain-and above it a bright blue sky. What a path for a man's thoughts to ascend to heaven! Nothing was heard but the chirping of birds, peeping sometimes into the window; or the cautious footsteps of the villagers, creeping up the aisle, until the service commenced.

accent,

The hymn was sung first, and began with, There is a land of pure delight,' &c. and was sung with that plaintive simplicity we sometimes notice in the ballad of a country lad, of a summer's evening. The appearance of the preacher was as simple as his discourse; and there was nothing to mark any peculiarity, except a Scottish accent, that announced his parentage. There was no need of his proclaiming the beneficence or power of the Divinity, for the balmy air, the glowing sunshine, the rich and plenteous fields, that lay spread around as far as the eye could reach, told of the one; while the lofty mountains, visible in every direction, proclaimed the other. He left the attributes of the Deity to be read in his glorious works, and with simple pathos, called on his hearers to show their gratitude for his dispensations, by the decency, usefulness, and peacefulness, of their lives. His precepts denounced no innocent recreation, and I was told his example encouraged no vice or irregularity-not even the besetting sin of his profession, pride and arrogance. He ended his discourse without any theatrical flourish of trumpets-without seeking to elevate the Saviour by placing him above Socrates or any other heathen philosopher; and I believe without creating in his hearers any other feeling than that of a gentle quiet sentiment of devotion, not so high toned, but more lasting and salutary than mere enthusiasm. Another hymn was sung, and the audience came out of church, but waited on either side of the path outside the door, to shake hands and say how d'ye do, as is the good old country custom.

There was nothing certainly in all this, but what may be seen in almost any church, and yet it made an impression on me that is still pleasing and touching in the remembrance. I don't know how it is, but there is something in the repose of the country, and particularly in the silence and shade of deep groves, that is allied to religious emotions by some inscrutable tie. Perhaps it is because almost every object we see in the country is the work of Deity, and every object common to cities the work of man. Though we do not make the comparison consciously, yet the result is the same; or perhaps much more forcible, because the impression is that of feeling, rather than of reasoning.' vol. 2, pp. 82-85.

Though we have already made pretty free with our author's book in our extracts, yet we will take the liberty of making

one more.

One summer evening, when the mild air, the purple light, the green earth and the blue sky, all seemed to invite to peace and repose, the batteauman fastened his boat to the stump of a tree, lighted his fire to broil his bacon, and began to sing that famous song of The opossum up the gum-tree. By and by a west country wagoner chanced to come jingling his bells that way, and stopping his wagon, unhooked his horses, carried them round to the little trough at the back of his vehicle, gave them some shorts, sat himself down at the top of the bank, below which the battauman was sitting in his boat, and began to whistle 'The battauman robb'd the old woman's hen-roost.' The batteauman cocked up his eye at the wagoner, and the wagoner looking askance down on the batteauman, took a chew of tobacco with a leer that was particularly irritating. The batteauman drew out his whisky bottle, took a drink, and put the cork in again, at the same time thrusting his tongue in his cheek in a manner not to be borne. The wagoner flapped his hands against his hips, and crowed like a cock; the batteauman curved his neck, and neighed like a horse. Being, however, men of rather phlegmatic habits, they kept their tempers so far as not to come to blows just then. In a few minutes the wagoner swore he had the handsomest sweetheart of any man in all Greenbriar.' The batteauman jumped up in a passion, but sat down again, and took a drink. In a few minutes the wagoner swore he had the finest horse of any man in a hundred miles.' The batteauman bounced up, pulled the waistband of of his trowsers, took another drink, and bounced down again. A minute after the wagoner swore he had a better rifle than any man that ever wore a blue jacket. This was too much-for the batteauman wore a jacket of that colour, and of course this amounted to a personal insult. Besides, to attack a man's rifle ! He could have borne any reflection on his sweetheart, or his horse; but to touch his rifle, was to touch his houour. Off went the blue jacket; the batteauman scrambled up the bank, and a set-to commenced, that ended in the total discomfiture of the wagoner, with the loss of three of his grinders, and the gain of divers black and bloody bruises,' as honest Lithgow says. The batteauman waited till the moon rose, when he went whistling down the stream to carry the news of his victory to Old Potomac; and the poor wagoner went to take the law, as a man says, when the law is about to take him. ii. vol. pp. 90-92.

It will be perceived by the preceding extracts that the writer hits off characters very happily and gives same fine descriptions and narrations. These indeed constitute all the excellence of his book; but they are frequently half spoiled by the intermixture of insipid puns, flat witticisms, and degrading and impertinent allusions to the classicks and to distinguished characters. Of these we have given some examples and might add many others. Thus the Barons of William the conqueror's time are said to have had more manors than manners; Edmund Burke is mentioned by the name of Neddy Burke; and in another place, the fog was so thick, that I am credibly informed a west country wagoner, in crossing over the Blue Ridge, ran plump into the face of the blessed sun, and gave him a sore bruise. This explains the veritable cause of the spot which has given so much uneasiness, as I perceive, to the supervisors of that glorious luminary.' ii. vol. p. 67. We know not whether this and a great deal more of the same sort is of the author's own invention, but whether it is or not, it seems to us, if it raise a laugh at all, it is likely to be at his expense.

The writer of these letters is, as has already been intimated, a vehement enemy of imitation; he sometimes waxes more earnest and serious than is befitting for such a droll, and becomes downright angry with our ladies for copying the French and English fashions of dress, and our authors for adopting their modes of thinking. He would probably recommend to us the example of the Chinese, who are independent enough to wear shoes and caps of their own invention, the European fashions notwithstanding, or of the Wandering Arabs, who, according to Capt. Riley, have a literature of their own, and regard that of the other nations, as well as every thing else belonging to them, with contempt. As for our ladies we will leave them to the writer's mercy, even at the hazard of having cur not standing by them attributed to our professional moroseness, and if any of them' should freeze their el