The rain and sunshine are my caterers, "Then Rhocus, with a flutter at the heart, But with a glimpse of sadness in her tone, "Now, in those days of simpleness and faith, So Rhocus made no doubt that he was blest, Earth seemed to spring beneath him as he walked, "Young Rhocus had a faithful heart enough, Deemed it the world, and never looked beyond. Some comrades who were playing at the dice, "The dice were rattling at the merriest, And Rhocus, who had met but sorry luck, Just laughed in triumph at a happy throw, When through the room there hummed a yellow bee That buzzed about his ear with down-dropped legs As if to light. And Rhocus laughed and said, Feeling how red and flushed he was with loss, By Venus! does he take me for a rose ?' And brushed him off with rough, impatient hand. But still the bee came back, and thrice again Rhœcus did beat him off with growing wrath. Then through the window flew the wounded bee, And Rhocus, tracking him with angry eyes, Saw a sharp mountain-peak of Thessaly Against the red disc of the setting sun, And instantly the blood sank from his heart, As if its very walls had caved away. Without a word he turned, and, rushing forth, Ran madly through the city and the gate, And o'er the plain, which now the wood's long shade, By the low sun thrown forward broad and dim, Darkened wellnigh unto the city's wall. "Quite spent and out of breath he reached the tree, And, listening fearfully, he heard once more The low voice murmur Rhocus!' close at hand : Me, who would fain have blest thee with a love We ever ask an undivided love, And he who scorns the least of Nature's works Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all. "Then Rhœcus beat his breast, and groaned aloud, And cried, Be pitiful! forgive me yet 6 This once, and I shall never need it more!' 'Alas!' the voice returned, ' 't is thou art blind, Not I unmerciful; I can forgive, But have no skill to heal thy spirit's eyes; With that again there murmured 'Nevermore!' Deepened, and on his forehead smote the breeze: But from that eve he was alone on earth." "A Glance behind the Curtain" is excellent in parts, but is a terribly protracted glance. The "Chippewa Legend" is very good, except the improvement, which has no other fault but that of being unnecessary. One cant expression in the poem should be blotted out in the next edition; "Old lies and shams." The affected writers have repeated the word sham so often, that no respectable author can use it safely for the next hundred years. We have no great fondness for sentimentality in type. Much of this in the present volume would have been better omitted. Subjective feelings, to use the jargon of philosophical criticism, should be but rarely and reservedly expressed in books. The sonnets are the least successful pieces; especially those addressed to Wordsworth, which, so far as they have any meaning at all, have an assuming one. We close our extracts with the fine poem called "The Heritage." "THE rich man's son inherits lands, And piles of brick, and stone, and gold, And he inherits soft, white hands, A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. "The rich man's son inherits cares; The bank may break, the factory burn, And soft, white hands could hardly earn One scarce would wish to hold in fee. "The rich man's son inherits wants, His stomach craves for dainty fare; With sated heart, he hears the pants Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare, And wearies in his easychair; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. "What doth the poor man's son inherit? A heritage, it seems to me, "What doth the poor man's son inherit ? A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. "What doth the poor man's son inherit ? To make the outcast bless his door; A heritage, it seems to me, "O, rich man's son! there is a toil, That with all others level stands; Large charity doth never soil, But only whiten, soft, white hands, A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being rich to hold in fee. "O, poor man's son! scorn not thy state; There is worse weariness than thine, In merely being rich and great; Toil only gives the soul to shine, Worth being poor to hold in fee. "Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, Well worth a life to hold in fee." We have endeavoured to do justice to the merits of this young and gifted poet, while we have pointed out, with perfect candor, the faults that still inhere in his poetical manner, and the dangerous influences to which his poetical genius is exposed. That he will soar above the spirit of coteries; that he will reject the bad taste of cultivating singularities in thought and expression, and descend from the clouds of vague philosophy and Utopian reforms; that he will brace his mind with strengthening knowledge in science, history, and social life; and that he will thus create a noble sphere for the exercise of his fine powers, and give additional lustre to a name already crowned with the honors of professional, literary, and mercantile eminence; is what we not only hope, but, in the faith of achievements already performed, confidently predict and believe. ART. III. Report of the Land Agent of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, laid before the Legislature, January 10th, 1844. By GEORGE W. COFFIN. 8vo. pp. 12. * IN a former number of this Journal, we devoted some attention to the forest trees of America, and took a passing notice of the lumberer; † we propose, now, to give a brief * N. A. Review, Number XCV. The necessity of introducing new words into a language grows out of the changes effected from time to time in the circumstances and pursuits of men. The use of the word lumber and its derivatives is peculiar to this |