mischievous rift-raff."

* * * * *

R.H. Stoddard is preparing for the press of Ticknor, Reed & Fields, a
collection of his Poems, to include most of those he has contributed
to the periodicals since the appearance of his "Footprints," two years
ago. The book will be welcomed by the lovers of genuine poetry. Mr.
Stoddard is a young man of unquestionable genius, and we have been
pleased to observe that there is a decided improvement from time to
time in his compositions, indicating the industry and wise direction
of his studies, in refinement of taste, elegance of finish, and a
rapid and vigorous expansion of his imagination. His masterpiece, thus
far, is The _Castle in the Air_, fitly praised by our neighbor of the
_Albion_, as one of the finest productions of the present time. We do
not know of any poet at home or abroad to whose fame it would not have
added new luster. In the July number of the _Knickerbocker_ we find
the following "Dirge," which is not unworthy of him:

There's a new grave in the old church-yard,
Another mound in the snow;
And a maid whose soul was whiter far,
Sleeps in her shroud below.

The winds of March are piping loud,
And the snow comes down for hours;
But by-and-by the April rains
Will bring the sweet May flowers.

The sweet May flowers will cover her grave