ot time
for the Epic. If anything with us is good, it is superlatively good for
being brief. Short sermons, short prayers, short hymns, and short metre
are peculiarly interesting. We are, too, a miscellaneous people, and we
are peculiarly fond of miscellanies. The age of folios and quartos is
forever past with Young America. Octavos are waning, and more in need of
brushing than of burnishing. But still we must have Poetry--_good_
Poetry; for we Americans prefer to live rather in the style of good
lyric than in that of grave, elongated hexameter. Variety, too, is with
us the spice of life. We are not satisfied with grand prairies, rivers,
and cataracts, and even cascades and _jet d'eaus_!

Collections of miscellaneous Poetry seem alike due to the Poetic Muse
and to the American people. We love variety. It is, as we have remarked,
the spice of American life; and our country will ever cherish it as
being most in harmony with itself. It is, moreover, more in unison with
the conditions of human nature and human existence. There is, too, as
the wisest of men and the greatest of kings has said, 'a time for every
purpose and for every work.' No volume of Poetry or of Prose can,
therefore, be popular or interesting to such a nation as we are, that
does not adapt itself to the versatile genius of our people, and to the
ever-varying conditions of their lives and fortunes.

There is, therefore, a propriety in getting up good selections, because
a greater advantage is to be derived from well selected specimens of the
Poetic Muse than from the labors of any one of the great masters of the
Lyre! Who would not rather visit a rich and extensive museum of the
products and arts of civilized life--some well assorted repository of
its scientific or artistic developments, than to traverse a whole state
or kingdom in pursuit of such knowledge of the wisdom, talents, and
contrivances of its population?

Of all kinds of composition, Poetry is that which gives to the lovers of
it the greatest and most enduring pleasure. Almost every one of them can
heartily respond to the beautiful words of one who was not only a great
Poet, but a profound philosopher--Coleridge--who, speaking of the
delight he had experienced in writing his Poems, says: 'Poetry has been
to me its own exceeding great reward. It has soothed my afflictions; it
has multiplied and refined my enjoyments; it has endeared solitude; and
it has given me the habit of wishing to discover