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deeds of their bold fathers before them with their boundless forests and savannahs, swarming with anecdotes of of solitary adventure - with Niagara thundering in their ears, and the Spirit of Freedom hovering above them, it is clear that they do not lack material for song. Shakspeare, indeed, will probably reign for ever without an equal; and some time may elapse before an American Milton shall rise in that majestic country; but the period will come at last; and in the meantime, there will be many who may justly lay claim to the leaves and branches of the true laurel-who will earn for themselves the love and respect of their countrymen, and deservedly occupy all the other gradations of renown. Already there are candidates in the field, with whom it is an honour to run in the honourable race of fame. Mr. Cooper (a host in himself) may, on his own ground, dare competition with any writer whatever; Brockden Brown,

Washington Irving, Paulding, and Miss Sedgwick, are all writers of high and unquestioned talent; and Mr. Bryant, Mr. Halleck, and Mr. Willis, stand out from the ranks of common poets. What precise station on the two-forked hill these latter gentlemen have a right to occupy, it is not for us, their cotemporaries, to decide. We are ourselves in a state of sufficient uncertainty as to our position. We cannot, in short, determine, without much hazard and presumption, on the exact quantity of fame which belongs to our American brothers. But we may, if we look steadily and search fairly, see enough, in what they have accomplished, to attract our good-will, and to excite genuine admiration; and it would surely be as creditable to us to confess this, and to give pleasure to those who have pleased us, as to rake up the bitter ashes of enmity, and foment anger and useless jealousy between two great countries.

Feeling all this, and entertaining a due sense of

the genius of Mr. Willis, I have ventured to introduce his writings to the English public. I do this with pleasure, as I have said, but with sincere diffidence also, and with the most perfect consciousness that they can gain nothing from whatever so humble a person as I am can say in their favour. Luckily, they can speak eloquently for themselves, and to this eloquence I leave them.

B. C.

NOTE BY THE AUTHOR.

The Author may be excused, perhaps, for stating, that he came to England merely in the course of travel, without the most distant idea of publishing a volume of Poems. The appearance in different periodicals of some of his early verses (the kindly meant office of some of the literary friends he has had the happiness to meet) induced him, on the principle of a choice in evils, to take his poetical reputation into his own hands. A selection from former publications was already in possession of the publishers, when it occurred to him that he might as well turn a London winter to account, and most of

the poems in the first part of the volume date accordingly from the corner of a Club in the ungenial month of January. The book is divided, rather ambitiously it may seem, into three parts; but the interval of four years which has occurred since he last meddled with rhyme, extends also between the dates of the second and third parts of the volume-a difference in the ages at which they were severally written which he thought it as well to mark by a formal division, and upon which he claims a corresponding indulgence.

While he has the parole, the Author may, perhaps, be permitted to express his sense of the manner, most gratifying with respect to his country, and most flattering with respect to himself, in which his humble volume is introduced to the English reader. Love of England (he speaks not alone for himself) would be a difficult lesson to unlearn on the other side of the water, whatever party critics of either nation may say, and however readers of little thought and less liberality may feel. In this particular case, he is content to sink or swim as the eloquent and generous sentiments of his preface find, or not, a grateful response in the best hearts of his country. If he could have read his horoscope before leaving its shores, the honour of seeing his name associated in any way with that of Barry Cornwall, would have satisfied him with the potency of his star. It could not be in more fortunate conjunction, either for friendship or fame.

Athenæum Club, Feb. 1835.

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