character of the music of the great master--as more
discriminating than that of Beethoven--a perfect description besides of
the author of _Fidelio_. The sonnets appear curious to us as sparklings
of aesthetic poetry beyond the seas.

The sentiments of American pride and of national susceptibility vibrate
here and there in all this poetry, but not very often. The remembrance
of the early emigrants, the description of America when inhabited by
savage hordes, and the comparison of this barbaric state with the
industrial wonders of the nineteenth century, are themes somewhat rare,
but which are nevertheless not forgotten. We have also noticed two or
three pieces which brought a smile upon our lips--where the shades of
old Indian sachems appear to bless modern civilization, and seem ready
to thank the Great Spirit for having exterminated their race, despoiled
and chased from their own native woods and prairies. There are besides a
few pieces borrowed from historic subjects, and a few dedicated to
individuals; some pages in honor of Washington and Napoleon, and this is
all. The rest is composed of mere musings, fancies, and elegies,
expressing no precise and distinct sentiment.

But what matters the relative weakness of this poetry? Let us rise to
higher spheres than that purely literary. The moral character and the
virtues which this collection of poetry suggests are superior to the
poetry itself. Who can tell, indeed, the good which may be done by these
musical reveries and innocent caprices? They have been composed in the
bosom of tranquility, by the fireside, among parents, children,
relatives, and friends. These were the public to which they addressed
themselves, who admired them, and drew from them their contributions to
the good and beautiful. Probably many chaste tendernesses are recognized
by the banks of these little limpid fountains of poesy; many hearts have
rejoiced in these tender harmonies; many a man, weary with the labors of
the day, has felt the sweet words of his daughter or his wife thrill his
soul; he has beheld the bright gleams of ideal realities, and laid
himself down and dreamed of images of higher beauty. In that hard,
practical country, many poetic germs have thus taken root, many coarse
natures have become more refined. What matters it, then, whether these
specimens of poetry be original or not?--they have been useful. We offer
our thanks to the female poets of America, for the seeds of piety,
vi