in every country, who have acquired celebrity in this department of literature." The selections, for the present volume, are, The Freebooter, Transmigration, The Thessalian Lovers, Mary Stukeley, The Fair Marselloise, The Crusaders,* The Fortress of Saguntum, Imilda de' Lambertazzi, The Monks of La Trappe, Goodrich Castle, and Master and Man. We have not room for a particular discussion of the merits of these tales; and shall therefore simply say, that they appear, in the language of physicians, to be well calculated to "fulfil the indications" hinted at by us above. They are short, well imagined, in different styles, and of various merits. The first is a heartthrilling story, admirably told. The second is a very good specimen of that ingenious bedevilling of the horrible, which consists in giving it a burlesque catastrophe. It is a tiger of a story, with a pig's tail to him instead of his own. The Thessalian Lovers is a sweet pretty pastoral, but the "Greek" who wrote it, we opine, had read Florian and Gessner. The fourth tale reminds us of our Brown; it has all his gloom, his abruptness, and his daring inconsistency. The Fair Marselloise is moral and Mahometan. The Crusaders we skipt. The seventh is a compound of Spanish chivalry and German devilry, with a very good winding up. Imilda de' Lambertazzi is tragical and trucidating. The ninth is a very melancholy affair indeed; Goodrich Castle, one would think, was furnished by "Old Mortality;" and Master and Man is one of those legends, we presume, which the last Quarterly Review so liberally praises.

All these stories are excellent in their way, and their way we are not so peevish as to quarrel with. Although we should much rather see the talents of our young writers engaged in something more original, yet if they cannot do better, good translations and good selections from well contrived and well told stories, will always be acceptable. Some people, we are aware, make it a point to set up against this sort of writing a most obstreperous and pertinacious clamour, which is either sheer affectation, or the fruit of a dull and unexcitable fancy. We insist that there is more true talent, more originality, more genius, required for the invention of a really good Tale, aye, even of a "Tale for the Nursery," than is wanted for the concoction of volumes of the solemn quackery, which passes in these days of humbug for science and philosophy.

*This is not enumerated in the table of contents.

THE

ATHENEUM MAGAZINE.

AUGUST, 1825.

LETTERS FROM A YOUNG AMERICAN.

[The following letters have been handed to us for insertion. They are written by a young American now travelling in Europe, and we should presume, from the unstudied ease and graceful spirit which distinguish them, that they never were intended to meet the public eye. It is precisely for this reason that they merit publication; a few careless notes from a traveller's memorandum-book, being in our opinion worth whole reams of more prepense and deliberate epistles.]

LONDON, April 28th, 1825. I have just got back, my dear B, from an excursion into the country, and thank you for your letter, which I found on my arrival. Your account of the improvements you are making, and their great success, makes me wish myself at home again, if it were only to execute some plans, which your example has instigated me to undertake. When I get back, I think I shall take to clearing the long meadow at, and rescuing it from destruction; perhaps I may make it yield, as it once did, more hay than any piece of its size on the farm.. I shall also get other fields in good heart, and make them look cheerful with purple clover; and plant trees, and beautify the grounds. When I have thus had something to do improving and ornamenting, I shall enjoy hearing others praise it so much, and be able with a proud smile to say "It was I that did it." I know you will read with patience my dreams of pleasure to come. They give us while they last, you know, (and it is a pity they did not last a little while longer,) as much, or rather a great deal more pleasure, than the reality. Speaking of plans-is that of yours of coming over here, you mention, a serious one, or is it. like that of going to Niagara last summer, which expired at Utica, only to talk about. Projecting is indeed very pleasant, and I have a project of taking a look at Spain, going from Marseilles to Barcelona on my way home. I never heard you praise Spain much; but I should like to see a bull fight, if it were only to compare it with a boxing VOL. I.

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match. You probably were surprised at my not going to Italy immediately; but I did not know the language, and had no companion when I first got to Paris. Then, after I had been there two or three months, it was too late for me to go, and return to the coronation, which I am anxious to see, as people are so fond of talking about it afterwards. Besides, it tickles one's vanity so finely, to say "I was there," when you hear every body taking up with hearsay accounts. It gives a man almost as much consequence as to have seen the Chinese wall, or being the lucky owner of the winning horse at Newmarket; I should expect all the ladies would turn up their noses at me, if I were to come home without seeing the coronation. All Í could say about Westminster Abbey, the Tower, the French Gallery, the Pantheon, Mount Etna, and St. Peter's Church, would not quiet them. These may be seen by all travellers;— but a coronation!-that is a puppet show which is exhibited but once in an age, and happy is the man that sees it with his own eyes.

As to any pleasure, however, from the show, even those who are fond of seeing dresses, gold and purple, and such things, would enjoy it much more sitting comfortably in a box at the theatre, and seeing an imitation. My old friend plays the king at the coronation in Henry VIII. with sufficient dignity and gravity, to give one a very reasonable and sufficient idea of a real kingly body. What little pleasure arises in seeing these ceremonies that excite our admiration, is, I imagine, not worth while going out of one's way for. A robe stiff with gold and embroidery-red velvet canopies, and such like, every man has seen, either on the stage or elsewhere, and they dont make the impression they would on a child or a savage.

Among other places, I visited Newmarket :-It was an animating scene-the horsemen, almost an army, galloping about, and four in hand, and pony phaetons, and stable boys, and black legs, and fine ladies, if fine feathers make fine birds.But I couldn't see any thing on the whole better than we have at home; except the amount of bets, which were somewhat higher. I heard three and four hundred pounds offered several times. With all the fine sights, and the excessive pleasure of travelling, I often wish I had got through my plan, and was a little nearer home. I suppose you can recollect something of this feeling, when you were abroad.

Good-by, my dear B. Although in London, I have little news to interest you. The Catholic question is still undecided. Mr. Brougham quite astonished the loyal members the other day, by his boldness in censuring the Duke of

York, the heir apparent. An attack like this is quite contrary to etiquette; and while there are a hundred Englishmen who would march into the cannon's mouth, there is hardly one capable of the heroism of Mr. Brougham, who is held a braver man by half, than if he had actually killed his man.

Yours affectionately.

PARIS, May 23d, 1825. 1 received your letter, my dear B- about a week ago, one or two days before I left London, having staid, as travellers I suspect often do, a little beyond the time appointed; at least it is often my case. You express some surprise at my going to England this spring; but wanting to see some of the fêtes and displays at the coronation, I did not know where else I could better employ a couple of months. I was particularly tempted, among other things, by the prospect of great pleasure in hearing the great men on the Catholic Question-in other words, by a prospect altogether illusory. I went to the House of Commons one night, and the speaking was wretched; and one gentleman among the audience stole my pocket handkerchief. Such a breach of law, in the presence of the lawmakers themselves, was certainly ungenteel, though I believe no very uncommon circumstance. I however satisfied me that legislation was of little consequence unless supported by morals. This night, therefore, I went away not very much delighted. A second time I was equally disappointed. In the course of three or four attempts, however, I heard the Right Honourable Mr. Secretary Peal, Mr. Brougham, and Mr. Plunkett, with a voice shaking and nervous, and stammering speech. Mr. Brougham is the only one who pleased me much; a courteous, gentlemanly speaker, with a vivid imagination, and at the same time very rich in argument. His greatest fault appears to me to be a habit of wandering from his subject, like Mr. Randolph. But even Mr. Brougham, I do not think by any means equal to Mr. Clay, either in manner or mind. In the heat of debate, like a drunken man, he lets out secrets, and betrays feelings which should be secrets. For instance, his hostility to the Duke of York, which he displayed in a manner, which in such a loyal assembly as the house of commons, could hardly fail of frightening many members from supporting a question coupled with such blasphemies against an heir apparent, who is just as likely to be the dispenser of honours next week as not. Perhaps I expected too much of Mr. Brougham-but I must confess I was disappointed. In this instance we are at least equal, if we do not excel, at home. But thank heaven,

it is not only in this instance as you very well know. The more I see here, the more I am convinced that home is the only place for a man of any sort of spirit to live in, without he should happen to step into the shoes of majesty, or gets a place pretty near to majesty among the nobility. Then, to be sure, it may be pleasant enough. But the farther he recedes from this, the lower he is supposed to descend in the scale of creation. The annoyances to man of education and spirit in the middle stations of life, from the display of the upper class; their ridicule and utter banishment of the others, is so frequent, not to say universal, that I cannot conceive how it can be endured with any reasonable degree of philosophy. Indeed, in this country, the notice of the great is so rare, that I don't wonder the commonalty of rogues, feel so vain when the king, or one of the princes, nods his head or smiles at them. tell you as a secret, that I felt quite disrespectfully the other day, towards a rich banker, after having the society of our worthy relations of the court calender. But being resolutely determined not to cherish this new born aristocratic feeling, I took care not to display divers cards of earls, viscounts, &c. the evidences of their attention. Indeed, they were all exceedingly kind, particularly Lord A-; I thank you for the letter you inclosed me; I shall put off the delivery till my next visit to this country, on my return home. The books you mention, I have made an arrangement to have sent, and hope they will go safe. After the coronation fête, I start with a young Baltimorean by the name of It ought to turn out a pleasant tour; but I can't help wishing it over. We are looking for a Caleche-You know what it is, though I don't, for I recollect your mentioning travelling that way. I wish you would take the trouble of recollecting and mentioning to me some of the most remarkable things in our route. I hate a Cicerone always talking by rote, with no more feeling than an old sexton of a church, who has buried three generations. Yours affectionately.

PARIS, May 24, 1825. Just arrived at Paris, my dear S., I write to you, being free from more serious occupation, with nothing to prevent good spirits, if I had only tidings from home. You can well conceive, no doubt, how often my thoughts turn from the display of embroidered coats and waistcoats,steel swords and ornaments, to other objects, which, though they are less gay, are sure at intervals to occupy my thoughts. On my first arrival here, I had no idea of being able to see any part of the coronation, as I under