We should not have felt ourselves justified in passing unnoticed the defects which we have indicated; the more that the following stanzas evince the ability of the writer, when he gives to natural thoughts their natural expression, to avoid these and kindred errors: 'GLANCING my vision o'er the world's affairs, Surveying this and that, of strange and common, Its double singles and divided pairs, Its human brutes and brutes that might be human, All vexing life with sad and fruitless cares, Yet all made agents of that creature, woman; I've come to this conclusion: that 't were better If we poor bachelors had never met her. 'Better we had not seen and could not fancy So sad and strange conception; could not want Her presence, nor beneath her necromancy Feel the torn bosom and vex'd pulses pant, With dreams and hopes that not a step advance ye To health or happiness, but rather daunt, At each impassion'd move, the weary spirit, That sees the joy receding as we near it. 'Better in single blessedness had Adam, Stout father-farmer, in his garden trod; Unvexed by daily strife with maid or madam, And free to eat his fruit and meet his God: I'm sure his fate had not been half so sad--am Certain he had not then been thrust abroad With breeches made of fig-leaves, quickly rended, More quickly than his wife could get them mended. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'Have you not seen her in the public way, Snare-setting? In the ball-room marked her eyes, Pursuing, like a very snake's, her prey? And vainly would he dodge them, and be wise! In flight alone is safety. Do you stray Beside her, when the moon is in the skies? Or by the brooklet, or along the sea, Or in the garden, parlor, buttery?' 'Do you stray beside her in the--_buttery_!' Does not this word 'buttery' seem _impressed_ for the sake of oddity and the rhyme? To our apprehension and ear it is objectionable, alike in truth and in sound; scarcely less so, indeed, than the close of the annexed lines, which require no comment. DON PONCE, a Spanish knight, 'Had passed his days in _stupor most sublime_, His nights in deep allegiance to his pillow; Untroubled by the crown, the church-bell's chime, Sleep, garlic, wine, and oil, a _constant fill o'_!' In prose as well as in verse Mr. SIMMS, by common consent of his critics, fails in the humorous. It is not his rôle. How much more creditable, even than the foregoing, are the subjoined stanzas, illustrating the fact that it is mental and not physical suffering which constitutes the pain of death; the 'parting from those who loved and love us:'