his assurance that "by fitting to metrical arrangement a selection of the real language of men in a state of vivid sensation, that sort of pleasure and that quantity of pleasure may be imparted, which a poet may rationally endeavour to impart;" yet no sooner does he meet with a stanza constructed after this manner, by an author of deserved reputation, than he avows his contempt for it. With like apparent sincerity, he says "If the Poet's subject be judiciously chosen, it will naturally, and upon fit occasion, lead him to passions, the language of which, if selected truly and judiciously, must necessarily be dignified and variegated, and alive with metaphors and figures;" but when the happiest illustration of the fact is adduced from the pen of another, he quotes it as “an instance of the language of passion wrested from its proper use, and applied upon an occasion that does not justify such violent expressions." The cultivated reader will readily perceive that the lines embodying these "violent expressions" are the most poetical of those which comprise the stanza. Refined as was the author's taste, he was peculiarly felicitous in clothing the dying reverberation of a "knell" in the rocks and valleys with the metaphorical attribute of a sigh,—and equally so in contrasting it with the more cheerful result of a summons to the house of God, on the return of a sabbath.

Not more arrogantly did Wordsworth labour to multiply the verbal difficulties of every writer besides himself, than he did to show that Nature is so exclusive in her dispensations, that few can pretend to be gifted with the faculty of delineating her charms, or of penetrating the secret operations by which she ministers to the beneficent designs of Heaven. "Not in the lucid

intervals" of "party-strife," or of pleasurable excitement, nor during the necessary cessation of commercial enterprise, he contends, "is Nature felt, or can be." A more naked and false assumption could hardly be propagated. The brightest statesmen, while invested with the dignity and responsibilities of office, have found leisure to identify themselves with the interests of literature, and have not unfrequently delighted one class as much by the exercise of imagination, as they have fascinated another by their commanding eloquence. Goldsmith's inspiration will not be questioned; yet he, like Burns, was no less devoted to the shrine of luxury than to that of the Muses: and Glover reconciled the profoundest regard to the duties of a commercial life with the utmost refinement in poetry. Indeed, an appeal to the records of the literary republic would present an almost unbroken refutation of Wordsworth's visionary supposition. Still speaking Still speaking as the self-appointed oracle of Nature, he says,

"Nor do words,

Which practised talent readily affords,

Prove that her hand has touched responsive chords;"

This is undoubtedly true; and I challenge the whole army of British reviewers, search where they may, to find an author, whose verse affords a more pitiful exemplification of the fact than does that of William Wordsworth! Proceeding in the stealthy current of his spleen, he adds, with especial reference to Byron,

"Nor has her gentle beauty power to move
With genuine rapture and with fervent love

The soul of Genius, if he dare to take
Life's rule from passion craved for passion's sake;
Untaught that meekness is the cherished bent
Of all the truly great and all the innocent."

Now what share can "meekness," to which the Poet attaches so much importance, have in obtaining an insight to the boundless treasures of Nature? Patience is indispensable to the investigation of truth; but meekness is unavailable; and, like most other passive virtues, it is rarely combined with a full development of those active properties of the mind which are essential to the true interest of poetry. Neither does it form a conspicuous element in the constitution of man: so that he who, under no greater impulse than is prescribed by meekness, should, like Wordsworth, attempt to portray the passions; or who, aided by warmth of imagination, should conceive meekness to be the prevailing characteristic of mankind, would inevitably fail to give effect to his colouring. Perpetually as the late Laureate amused himself in dallying with Nature, it is difficult to arrive at a precise conception of the light in which he viewed her. At one time the word is used synonymously with Heaven. Thus:

"The stars are mansions built by Nature's hand.”

"All that we see is dome, or vault, or nest,

Or fortress, reared at Nature's sage command."

At another it is employed in a highly restrictive sense:

Not otherwise, O Nature! we are thine,

Through good and evil thine, in just degree
Of rational and manly sympathy."

Then with greater latitude-though obviously with some

reservation :

"But thou, a school-boy, to the sea hadst carried
Undying recollections; Nature there

Was with thee; she, who loved us both, she still
Was with thee; and even so didst thou become
A silent poet."

And now she is identified with the Parent of all things:

"The spot was made by Nature for herself."

Thus limiting the province of Nature, or stretching it to an indefinite extent, as should best serve his purpose, how could he profitably address himself to the understanding of his readers, or determine the fitness of another to do so? Whilst professing to be the great interpreter of Nature, he had evidently no fixed principle on which to base his system, unless his advocates be prepared to admit that Nature was his God. This granted, much that is now involved in mysticism would be at once intelligible. Then could I understand why meekness was enjoined on Nature's worshippers,- why those who, presuming to meddle with her institutions without acknowledging her divine sovereignty, should be treated as aliens and false oracles in her dominion, — and why the Poet congratulated himself on the better place he occupied in her councils than was conceded to the poetical heretics of his day. Nature, I am aware, is allowably "the poet's goddess; " but to say

"By grace divine,

Not otherwise, O Nature! we are thine,"

is to exalt her divinity beyond the prescriptive right of even poetry. Nature is properly understood to comprise the system of things of which ourselves are a part, and which, like ourselves, we conceive to be born. or brought into existence, and not to exist as of itself;" and truly as that man holds the most distinguished place in this comprehensive system, does he feel a secret prompting to investigate the laws by which it affects his moral and physical well-being. We are not then to suppose that this boundless field of instruction is the inheritance only of those who delight in the "simple landscape-painting of trees, clouds, precipices, and flowers," or who yet farther pursue a train of moral reflection, the purport of which is to convince us, that by cultivating a refined intercourse with animate and inanimate objects, we may, without the guidance of Heaven, purify the affections, and enlarge our capacity for good, until we shall be fit for the communion of angels. A similar doctrine was taught before the birth of Christianity; but every age has attested its fallacy, from the brilliant era in which it was propounded by Epicurus, down to our own time. So far from yielding to poetry the exclusive privilege of revealing to us the hidden beauties of Nature, it is by no means clear that she sustains her pretensions to transcend other forms of intelligence illustrative of the subject. What comparison can she hold with astronomy, that surveys the depths of illimitable space,-computes the number, magnitude, and distances, of the heavenly bodies, pursues them in their several orbits, and exhibits them to our astonished view," all proclaiming, in sublime, stupendous silence, the perfections of Him of whom they witness ?"