old. She would tell us tales of other times, true stories, scenes that she had witnessed, but which, to our young ears, were as the strains of chivalrous romance for she spoke of knights and squires, and courtly dames, reclining on the green sward, or drinking tea in cool grottos on the same spots where we saw chariots roll, and heard the loud London din and the whining petition of the ragged mendicant. She would speak of the lordly Baron's daughter visiting the poor sick cottager, of her sitting by the bed-side of the sufferer and relieving the tedious hours of pain by kind converse, which was as sweet a cordial to the mind, as the delicate repast she had prepared was to the weak. ened frame. And she would talk of the lord and lady of the manor-house assembling their family in the great hall, to read a portion of the scriptures to their domestics before the bell rang out the breakfast hour of seven. And then she would make us laugh by describing the dresses worn in those good days. The finely embroidered suits, with bucks and does cantering in rich brocade of gold and silver on the ladies' petticoats. The long taper waist, and sleeve showing the well rounded elbow, with the treble ruffle reaching to the wrist behind, but sloped so as to shew the finely turned arm in front. And then, the gentlemen with their high heeled shoes, their velvet coats with full skirts, their swords and sword-knots, their becoming periwigs and pretty little cocked hats with gold bindings just resting on the white powdered curls: the point lace ruffles, and the fingers, peeping from beneath the broad square cuff: begemmed with sparkling rings. And here gay bursts of merriment would interrupt her tales, and the elder girls would say "I am glad we did not live in those days, for I could never have loved such funny figures:"but then we were reminded that the formality of the velvet coats was well suited to the landscaped petticoats.

It was pleasant to our young ears to listen to such narratives from lips that had been taught the first rudiments of speech by Dean Swift, and that had moved in youthful eloquence to sages, poets, and wits long numbered with the dead!-to hear recounted days of intellectual delight, passed with Pope in his favourite garden at Twickenham, where, seated beneath the enclustering shade of a woodbine bower, whilst the silvery tide of Thames glided by. she had often heard the magic bard breathe his mellifluous numbers, in the soft stillness of a Summer's evening, before fame had borne them on her out-spread wing to every quarter of the globe.

The spirit that loved to impart these blissful scenes has long since flown to its home in the skies. And the bearts that beat high with delight, the eyes that glistened in brilliant pleasure, the cheeks that mantled into the blush of joy at her recitals, are

become old. The blue lustre of the eye is gone: the round rosy cheek is pale and thin; but the heart-that is not faded. It still beats high at pleasure's call, or throbs at the tale of woe. With the young it is joyous and glad; with the wise and learned, it is . enthusiastically delighted; with Old age it is sweetly serene; time and experience have filled it with gratitude, with exalted love, and adoration of its all-bountiful Creator!

There is nothing melancholy in the close of a life well spent. It is but the evening of a bright day. The young should not shun it, but by their innocent mirth be to the old what the bright stars are to a calm night lending it light and lustre. By reposing their young spirits sometimes beneath its shade, they invigorate their strength, and can return to day's warmth with refreshened beauties.

In my youth I was always proud of being noticed by persons whose age and experience I could look up to with deference and respect. I seemed to have two distinct characters, one for the seniors, and one for the juniors of my society, and I believe I was generally most happy with the former. Eager to obtain information, I listened enraptured at "the feast of reason and the flow of soul," and it was my good fortune to move in circles where learning was diffused without pedantry, and wit without ribaldry. In the elevated converse of a Porteus, a Vincent, and a Windham, what young spirit but would soar to meet theirs? In the magic ring where wit sparkled in metaphor from a Sheridan, and a laughter loving Pindar, what youthful heart but would bound responsive to their playful sallies? And when the phosphoric glare of Modern Philosophy shone in the walks of society, my young mind was amused but not dazzled by its lurid blaze. Like a phantasmagoria. I admired the ingenuity of those who could, through artificial gloom, make pigmy figures grow into gigantic forms so as to strike terror into the hearts of the spectators, until real light dispersed the aerial vision!

When T......ll, It......t, and G......n dreamed dreams, and waking, told them as truths, I have listened amused, but never persuaded. I had a better shield than human reason against such sophistry,-Religion. These mental recreations in the days of my youth were sweetly interspersed by the arts. Music has ever been to me what the Sun is to the flowers. Oh! let me say in music's own words, her strains are to my soul,

"Like the sweet south upon a bank of violets
"Stealing and giving odour.-

When listening to the divine harmonies of Handel, from the voices of Mara, Billington and Bartleman, my delighted spirit seemed wafted on seraph's wing to Heaven's own choir. And

when the silver tones, drawn by a Viotti, Cramer, Salomon, and Pinto, by turns astonished their auditors through all the varied powers of the violin,

"Less then a God, methought, there could not dwell,
Within the hollow of that shell,

That spoke so sweetly and so well!"

Music, Poetry, and Painting, were always linked in my love. The two former breathed around me every where through life's path. I found them in the sighing breeze; in the gurgling brooks; in the merry waking morn; in the sunny glow of noon; in the soft twilight of evening, when the little birds poured forth their vesper songs, and flowers folded their silky leaves in sleep, and a misty veil threw its silvery shade over the landscape; and in the starry night, whilst the glow-worm's emerald spark glistened along the hedge-rows, and the sweet Nightingale gave her long drawn note of love "most musical most melancholy." In all, in every thing music and poetry blended their influence and charmed my senses; nor was my heart less alive to the powers of the graphic art. In viewing a fine collection of pictures, I have been transported over the world with as much ease as Zambullo was wafted round Madrid by Asmodeus.

By the glowing pencil of Claude, I have basked in the sunny skies of Italy; by the magical power of Reubens, I have found myself in the presence of the "Holy family," and his inspired pencil has fixed on my mind the divine image of Heavenly glory. West!-Columbia's darling West, the Father of Britannia's artists, has often led my youthful spirits through sublime scenes of scriptural beauty. And not alone through the eyes had this Great Master the power to touch the heart. I have listened to his converse until my delight of the Art, was excelled by my admiration of the Artist. Among the varied resources of my juvenile pleasures, I must not forget the Drama! that vast mirror, in which we see reflected nature through all her different stages; where all the Arts combine to form one grand display of their

powers.

When childhood's face was lighted up with joy at the recital of the excellent performances of Garrick, Macklin, and Barry, I did not anticipate the exquisite delight that was, in my day, to shine through a Kemble and a Siddons, a Parsons, a King, a Lewis, and a Farren. When I look back to such a brilliant epoch of dramatic talent, it is not among the smallest of my gratifications to have lived in such days, when splendid excellence drove back meagre prejudice, and hung never fading laurels on the brows of Thalia and Melpomene. Genius, or the endowment of superior qualities, ever commanded my respect and admira

tion; and when I have seen the possessor of such great gifts, turn them to a bad account. I grieved that they should have been so ill bestowed, but without harbouring any feeling of disrespect for the real value of the treasure.

Too often the fame and estimation of the art hangs on the conduct of the Artist. In all our worldly pleasures we should consider that it is the abuse, not the use of them that brings their condemnation. And now my young friends, if ye have listened with kind complacency to my fire-side chat, we will meet again, and I will recount to you many a Winter's tale, and many a Summer's ramble-till then-Farewell!

FOR THE AMERICAN MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

TALES IN THE WEST,

OR

A WEEK IN THE PRAIRIES.

No. I.

IMPORTANT business obliged me, in the close of the winter of 1822, to leave Lexington on a journey to a small settlement near the head of the Illinois river. I had hoped to have crossed the White and Wabash rivers before the flood which follows the vernal equinox would have rendered them impassable; but the difficulties of the road and the thousand petty accidents that befall travellers in a thinly settled country, particularly at that season, detained me so long, that when I reached the N. and S. branches of the former stream, the flood was so great that myself and companions were obliged to take up our residence in a a small Inn in the neighbourhood, and wait till a boat could be procured for us at another settlement several miles further down. As this could not be obtained for some days, and probably a week (for there was no certainty that the waters had spared one even there) the whole party was compelled to postpone all hopes of a speedy departure; and in the mean time, we resolved to amuse ourselves in the best manner that the nature of the place would admit.

However it is surely time for me to inform the reader, as he may be likely to enjoy their company for a month or two longer,

who these fellow-travellers were. I therefore beg leave to introduce to his particular favour, Mr. Alexander M'Farland and his Lady, and Mr. Isaac Donne, an elderly New-Jersey Farmer-all three of whom were travelling in company to a post west of the Mississippi-Mynheer Heltzenspacker on a scientific tour, by order of a German University, to the head waters of the same river; and Monsieur St. Faux, a personage whom you would have known from bis dress and manners, to be of the old regime. These with myself and servant, were now detained at a vile Inn, in a viler country, by the accident of the loss of a boat.

The accomodations of our residence were far from being of the first order. The whole tenement consisted of but two rooms on the ground floor, and a loft, in which, and in the stable, the family of our host took refuge during our stay. But the faults of the establishment, numerous as they were, were abundantly atoned for, in the opinion of the owner, by a large patriotic sign of Gen. Montgomery, suspended over the road, which creaked so on a windy evening, that all the wolves within a mile fled for fear. In the lower rooms the guests were lodged, the smaller of the two being allotted to the Scottish couple, and the larger to the rest of the company," though Monsieur at first observed that being the cousin of a Marquis, he was entitled to "de room to himself," yet he good naturedly dispensed with this mark of respect, on being allowed the only bedstead in the apartment.

Thus being made undisputed master of one room, in a sevenhoused village, unknown to geographers, we soon became familiar, every one indulging himself without ceremony in his own manner. No one yawned when Monsieur dilated upon the Palace of Versailes as it was in his "youthful days;" and Mynheer told interminable stories about Leipsic without interruption, and then giving two deep sighs, turned to hear Mr. M'Farland describe the prospect from that "braw place Arthur's seat." The second day to our great delight commenced clear, the clouds of the preceding had totally disappeared, and the bright sun shone with vernal magnificence upon the prairies. We testified our joy at this fortunate circumstance, by leaving Gen. Montgomery and our landlord to their meditations, and traversing all the country on our side of the river. Monsieur and myself trying our skill as marks-men; whilst Mynheer led another detachment on a botanical expedition into the forests. We might by these excursions have succeeded in putting a whole army of megrims to flight, if the state of the weather had been answerable to that of our spirits; but on Day the Third, a drizzle and fog commenced, which becoming still more serious on the following, threw us all into despair. A few books. which Mr. Landlord (I forget his name, though it shone in yellow letters over the door) found with Vol. No. v.

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