These are charming volumes, written with a freshness and spirit that delights and would surprise us were we not familiar with the first work of their author. Mrs. Kirkland has opened a new vein in our national literature. Her sketches of forest scenery and wood-craft, with all its varied details, are not less true than graphic. We Americans are probably inclined to think too lightly of the vigor and intelligence displayed in them; that bad old adage about the estimate of a prophet in his native land unfortunately applies with force to Mrs. Kirkland, Mrs. Brooks and some other writers of this country whose works, while they excite comparatively little attention here, are passing through numerous editions abroad. All the world has read the pleasant stories in “Our Village,” by Miss Mitford. We institute no comparison between her and our own “Mary Clavers,” but we think our countrywoman has exhibited powers infinitely superior to those of the popular delineator of English rural life. She is sometimes _extravagant_, indeed; but a tendency to extravagance has its foundation in nature, and is necessary in all works of art, from pen or pencil, to produce a true impression. Having made a pedestrian tour through the country about “Montecute,” a few years ago, and gained by observation some knowledge of its inhabitants, we thought after glancing at a few of Mrs. Kirkland’s chapters that she had exaggerated too much their peculiarities; but on closing her volumes we are as confident of their truth as of their extreme cleverness. One or two of Miss Mitford’s stories may be read with pleasure, and a philosopher can endure a third; but the fourth invariably induces sleep or weariness. There is, however, no monotony to pall in “Mary Clavers;” the tragic and the comic, the pathetic and the droll, succeed each other so rapidly in her works that they are as various in their tone as the inimitable “Don Juan.” We might find some faults in “Forest Life,” but its good qualities so predominate that the task becomes both difficult and ungracious. We will allude to one only—the too frequent introduction of French words and phrases—not, certainly, from vanity, for no woman has less affectation than our author—but doubtless from habit and a desire of condensation. A pithy French phrase of three words, _to those who understand the language_, will frequently convey more meaning than half a dozen English lines; but, Mrs. Clavers, there are in this world a vast number of very decent people who know as little of French as a politician does of honesty. * * * * * _The American in Egypt, with Rambles through Arabia Petræa and the Holy Land, during the Years 1839 and 1840. By James Ewing Cooley. Illustrated with numerous Steel Engravings, and Etchings by D. C. Johnston. One vol. 8vo., pp. 610. New York, D. Appleton & Co., 1842._