“Curiosity,” the longest poem in the volume is entitled just to that amount of praise which we have awarded to the “Shakspeare Ode”—while its defects (of a similar character with those upon which we have commented) are scarcely so glaring. Its versification is superb—nothing could be better. Its thoughts are tersely put forth. The style is pungently epigrammatic. Upon the whole, it is fully as good a poem as Pope could have written, upon the same subject, in his finest hour of inspiration. We must bear in mind one important distinction, however. With Pope the ideas and the management of the piece would have been original—with Mr. Sprague they are Pope’s. We will end our comments upon “Curiosity” with the general remark that didactic subjects are utterly _beyond_, or rather beneath the province of true poesy. The “Lines on the Death of M. S. C.” are distinguished by all the minor beauties for which Mr. S. is so remarkable, while they abound in merit of a better, although still not of the highest order. They are pathetic and simple—but evince little ideality. “The Winged Worshippers” is, beyond question, a beautiful little poem, and relieves us from a distressing doubt we had begun to entertain—a doubt whether we should not, after all, be forced to look upon Mr. Sprague as merely a well-educated poetaster, of what is (satirically?) called _classical_ taste, of accurate ear, and of sound _negative_ judgment. * * * * * _“The Sovreignty of Mind.” A Poem delivered before the Philomathæan Society of Pennsylvania College, February 16, 1841. By John N. McJilton. Joseph N. Lewis, Baltimore._ Mr. McJilton is a gentleman for whose talents we have much respect—far more than for his performances. Indeed, while there is indication of genius in almost every thing he writes, he has yet written very little worth reading. We remember a short poem from his pen, first published in the “Casket,” and entitled “Serenade,” which was truly beautiful—but beyond this we can call to mind none of his compositions which, as a whole, are even tolerable. There are always fine imaginative passages:—but their merit is scarcely discernible through the clouds of verbiage, false imagery, bad grammar, and worse versification in which they are enveloped. We are grieved to see Mr. McJilton occupied in “delivering” poems to order before Philomathæan societies. It is a _business_ in which no man of talent should be employed—in which no man of genius could hope to succeed. As for The “Sovreignty of Mind” it is a hackneyed subject, and he has handled it in a hackneyed manner. It has some glowing paragraphs—but abounds in all the worst faults of the author. We do not feel justified in speaking of it at greater length. * * * * *