wish we fervently breathed when reading it over--that all the young mothers in our land were as faithful to their little ones, and as capable of forming their minds to love excellence, and practise self-control as this amiable lady.

THE MUSEUM OF FOREIGN LITERATURE, SCIENCE AND ART, published by E. Littell, Philadelphia, is soon to be further improved and enlarged. Whoever wishes to read all the best articles of the English periodicals should subscribe for this Museum, and they will be gratified. There is no work of the kind in our country managed with equal taste and judgment. The engravings and execution of the work are in fine style.

THE EUTERPEIAD; a Musical Review and Table of the Fine Arts. Vol. II.

The numbers, thus far, of the second volume of this work are quite creditable to the industry and taste of Mr. Gates the new editor. The pages are graced by several well-known signatures; and by others that will be known, and by good selections. Hinda, Estelle, Rockwell, and Fairfield adorn the poetical department. The harp of Rockwell is now silenced for ever, but it has uttered tones we cannot soon forget.

We could wish, however, to see the work more decidedly American in its character. The fascination of music should be united with national feelings, and receive immortality from the sentiments which they adorn. We need not depend wholly and meanly on Italy, on Germany, or Great Britain for the melody and harmony that delight us in our celebrations,--in our worship, at our fire sides. Music may be as national as literature ;-it may be made of mighty influence in rousing national feeling, and shaping national character; and we hope that one day America will, like Scotland, and Ireland, and Switzerland, be proud of her own airs, and marches, and songs.

THE DUTCHMAN'S FIRESIDE we only name here as we have not room for the notice it deserves, and which we intend next month to give, to recommend to our readers as a work richly deserving a perusal. Mr. Paulding is, in heart and soul, an American writer, and that, with the merit of his works, entitle him to a high place in public favor.

THIS is the season when the faculty of locomotion, which Americans possess in a remarkable degree, is fully displayed. Persons of all classes are afflicted with a periodical restlessness; the cause we shall not stop to guess, but it is a national disorder, and every section of our country seems pretty equally affected by the mania. Travelling has been hitherto the grand specific, though a few, who might be supposed qualified to give an opinion, have recommended employment and exercise at home, if steadily and temperately followed, as equally safe and sure, and less expensive. But that remedy is not so agreeable, and it has hitherto found little favor, for there is no art in which mortals are more deficient, or less willing to be taught, than that of making their own happiness. We rarely study how to appreciate the blessings we do enjoy so as to compensate for those denied us. Yet this domestic manufacture of pleasure is within the scope of every person's abilities;

only work up the raw materials time and chance, which are accorded to all, ingeniously and advantageously, and you will always have some profit, and some beautiful fabricks. But to work up these at home is a secret Americans are yet to learn; at present they must have a broad space for the operation, and it seems to make little difference where they go, so they do but keep moving. The Southerners come North, and the Northerners go South, and both are benefited by the change. The Grand Tour is, however, the most desirable privilege of the traveller. It must certainly be a grand affair, and I should like to participate its advantages-but.-The reasons of that uncompromising monosyllable need never be told. It is sufficient when we meet with a "but" to know the objections are insurmountable; the matter settled definitely, if not satisfactorily.

But we were speaking of the Grand Tour as though it were the only one worth making. When a gentleman and lady start on their journey to New York, and then up the Hudson, and to Niagara, and through the Canadas, they are congratulated on the happiness they must enjoy. If the whole truth and nothing but the truth were told, if we could know all they suffer, their fears and fatigues, their perils and privations by flood and field, the scorchings, storms and sea-sickness they must endure, the stage joltings they feel, and the steam-boat accidents they fear, I hardly think we should consider that one in a hundred, who make the tour for pleasure merely, will find the balance in his or her favour. But then there are reasons which render travelling quite desirable and necessary. When, for instance, you have a given number of pages to write, and feel in your heart no inspiration, it is a fine thing to have an opportunity of seeing places and persons which will excite ideas. Yet even for this it is not absolutely indispensable to go abroad, if one could only possess the art to

Touch the familiar with the hues that trace
The spirit's freshness on the faded face.

This art I have been endeavoring to acquire of late, and as I cannot well make the Grand Tour, I have concluded to call the Tour I can make Grand. It is a new route for a tourist, and a beautiful one, as all our citizens, who are now exploring and admiring the wonders of other cities, will testify, unless they fear to hazard a comment respecting the scenery of a place of which they know so little. I heard a lady of Boston remark, (she

had just returned from a visit to New York,) that she was repeatedly asked how she liked the Battery? if she did not think it as fine as the Common? &c. and she was obliged to decline answering because she had not noticed, hardly seen the Mall this season. She visited it as soon as she could after her return, and was enchanted with its beauties. Ah, if it were not our own, so constantly to be seen, so easily accessible it would be a paradise-but men never value their Eden while they can enjoy it securely and without effort. We must banish them, and then they will begin to count its worth. Self banishment, on the contrary, disposes us to depreciate what we renounce. If any of my readers have been exiles from the Mall this season, I hope they will not refuse to visit it with me, and listen while I sketch the scenery, incidents, thoughts and fancies that have at various times amused me in my walks around it. None but faint, slight and imperfect sketches are attempted. Pictures of the imagination are never transferable through the medium of the alphabet. Go, see the Common, and feel its beauty, and draw your own pictures.

We will take the true paradisaical hour, the cool of the morning for this exploration. Our fresh country looks best in the early day. It is for hoary antiquity to shrink and conceal herself beneath the mantle of night,

"It will not bear the brightness of the day,

Which streams too much on all years, man hath reft away.'

No prating, then, about moon-beams, and the pale light of the stars, and the "silver edging of imagery." Come at half-past five, if you can rise so early, or six o'clock at farthest. We will enter from Boylston street, because that is the best point for the opening of the scene. The effect as you advance, and see the avenue, which seemed closing at a little distance before you, widening and lengthening, and the Common, with its wealth of fresh, green, living trees, expanding as though it were bursting away in joy from the close streets and dingy houses which press upon it on the South and East, till the view of the wide meadows and bright waters brings the assurance of life, liberty and fresh air, is so exhilarating, that I am sure the veriest dyspeptic, who has failed to find a relief from Halsted's "pickling and ironing," would feel himself better for the sight.

The sun is shining, but the high buildings on Tremont street intercept every ray, and the gravelled walk has a deep shade

resting all along beneath the thick boughs of the old trees, as though night were loath to leave the place where her reign has so often been called "beautiful." It is all grey and gloomy up the long avenue, except where an opening between the buildings permits one bright line of sunbeams to stream, like a burning meteor across the path. Now there is a demonstration that contrast heightens beauty, and that the rare has a wonderful influence on fancy. The sun is shining on the Common, meadows, waters, on the far off villages, and hills, and woods, but nowhere do his beams look so bright, so pure, so heavenly, in short, as though they might typify the glory above, as where they pierce through the deep gloom of the avenue, turning to molten gold the roots of that dark tree, and bathing the ground with a light on which you would hardly dare set your foot—it looks hallowed. And then your fancy is busy suggesting comparisons-that stream of sunshine through the shade—it is like hope in affliction (that is hacknied,)-like a gift to the destitute-like the smile of a friend when one is encompassed with enemies ;—it is like the glow of holy faith on the dark places of the grave.

*

The Romantic. One very essential requisite in working up a romantic description or picture is to place your principal figures at a distance, and involve them in a good degree of obscurity. The romantic can no more bear the close investigation of sight and thought than a ghost could endure broad daylight. These are the reasons that make ruined castles and tangled forests of such mighty importance to the writers of romance. Now here, on the right, is a beautiful range of houses, or a range of beautiful houses, which you will, and I presume there may be those within who world adorn a novel;-beings of poetry, young, beautiful, happy or sorrowful; and yet I cannot think of these same houses only as comfortable and elegant tenements of brick and mortar, where the people live for the important purposes of eating, sleeping and dressing, as though these were the chief things to be done under the sun.

But just glance your eye, turn, if you please, across the Common, and meadows, and waters, to yonder white cottages that are peeping from amid the trees on that far off hill side: there I would go to find a heroine. See, how soft the lights and shades blend in the distance, and what an air of repose, of unworldliness, there is over the villages and houses that are be