ll these attracted some attention at the time. Mr. Parsons,
the proprietor of the magazine, was thoroughly convinced of the vigor
and originality of the young man's mind, and informed him that one of
his poems, "Autumnal Nightfall," had been attributed to Bryant, while
his name was mentioned in the "Galaxy" on a level with that of Bryant
and Percival. The leadership of Bryant was of course unquestioned at
that period, and Longfellow many years after acknowledged to that poet
his indebtedness, saying, "When I look back upon my early years, I
cannot but smile to see how much in them is really yours. It was an
involuntary imitation, which I most readily confess."

Still more interesting as a study in the "Literary Gazette" itself are
three prose studies, distinctly after the manner of Irving, and headed
by a very un-American title, "The Lay Monastery." There is a singular
parallelism between this fanciful title and the similar transformation
in verse, at about the same time, in the "Hymn of the Moravian Nuns" at
the consecration of Pulaski's banner. As in that poem a plain Moravian
sisterhood, who supported their house by needlework, gave us an
imaginary scene amid a chancel with cowled heads, glimmering tapers, and
mysterious aisles, so the solitary in this prose article leads us into
the society of an old uncle whose countenance resembles that of Cosmo on
the medallions of the Medici, who has been crossed in love, and who
wears a brocade vest of faded damask, with large sprigs and roses. The
author thus proceeds in his description of the imaginary uncle and the
marvellous surroundings:--

"When my uncle beheld my childish admiration for his venerable
black-letter tome, he fondly thought that he beheld the germ of an
antique genius already shooting out within my mind, and from that day I
became with him as a favored wine. Time has been long on the wing, and
his affection for me grew in strength as I in years; until at length he
has bequeathed to me the peculiar care of his library, which consists of
a multitude of huge old volumes and some ancient and modern manuscripts.
The apartment which contains this treasure is the cloister of my
frequent and studious musings. It is a curious little chamber, in a
remote corner of the house, finished all round with painted panellings,
and boasting but one tall, narrow Venetian window, that lets in upon my
studies a 'dim, religious light,' which is quite appropriate to them.

"Everyt