I've felt full many a heart-ach in my day, At the mere rustling of a muslin gown, And caught some dreadful colds, I blush to say, While shivering in the shade of beauty's frown. They say her smiles are sunbeams--it may be-- But never a sunbeam would she throw on me. It has been said by a writer, whose genius and scholarship are in the highest degree honourable to his country, that our Parnassus is fruitful only in weeds, or at best in underwood. Notwithstanding the general correctness of this assertion, a modest wild-flower now and then delights the eye, and points that rainbow adventurer HOPE to the brilliant future; in which some master of song shall disclose in a broad and clear light, _Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray._ American literature, it must be admitted, is comparatively feeble in many of its branches; but while the names of FRANKLIN and RUSH, DENNIE and BROWN, of WALSH and IRVING, are remembered, it is entitled to the respectful consideration, even of foreign criticism. The extract given above is made from a writer, who has furnished some evidence of poetic talent in sundry occasional playful pieces, published originally in the New York Evening Post, under the signature of CROAKER & Co. However unprepossessing may be the name which he has chosen to assume, his notes instead of reminding us, as might be inferred, of the frog or the raven; at times successfully rival those of the favourite songsters of the grove. From this stanza, we learn that the author is a BACHELOR; who like too many of his brethren, delights to dwell on the fancied cruelty of the fair; and to pour the unheeded complaints of his sorrows on the dull and listless ear of indifference. To this portion of society, little commisseration is extended from any quarter; and the general sentiment is responsive to that contained in the following couplet of POPE: _Let sinful bachelors their woes deplore; Full well they merit all they feel and more._