thetic consists entirely in feeling, but no man can describe feelings, emotions, and sympathies, which he never felt, except he imitate, and even then he can describe only individual, or disjointed feelings, for he can never describe how they arise out of each other, without feeling them himself. Pope might have succeeded in copying the description of an individual emotion, but, unless he felt the emotion himself, he I could never describe the varied succession of feelings and emotions that would naturally arise from it. Pope, then, could have been no imitator, in describing all the feelings, emotions, and regrets of Eloisa; all the mental tumults that arise from a conflict between religion and love, if he were himself incapable of sympathizing with her by whom they were felt. The pathetic pieces, however, which were produced during what is termed the classical age, are, in general, clothed in the light and airy drapery of fancy; and the pathetic muse seems to have forsaken us entirely, and either to have returned, like Astrea, to heaven, or sought some happier clime upon earth, after the death of Goldsmith. With him, also, may be said to end the classical school of poetry.

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After the death of the simple, natural, classical, and pathetic Goldsmith, Cowper was the first poet who attracted any notice. He is allowed, both by the Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews, to be the patriarch and founder of the romantic, or present school of poetry. When we say, present, we ought to recollect, that there is a Lake, as well as a romantic school. After the extinction of the classical school, many bold and daring innovators arose, each of whom laboured to erect a school of his own. volutions in poetry, are like revolutions in religion. When Luther raised the standard of rebellion against the Catholic church, his disciples, Calvin and Zunglius, and God knows how many, raised the standard of rebellion against him, and against each other. Who was right, or who was wrong, or whether either was right or wrong, are questions on which we dare not presume to offer an opinion. The moment we are brought into the fierce arena of religious controversy,

we humbly acknowledge our intellectual impotency, not that we think ourselves more ignorant than other men, but that we think the subject of controversy placed, not only above our reach, but above those who have divided the christian world into sects and parties, Who can pretend to explain revealed religion; for if it could be explained, what need was there of Revelation. Whatever is placed within the grasp of reason, needs not Revelation to make it known, and whatever is above reason, cannot possibly be a subject of argument, for we can only reason from what we know. One thing, however, we must say, that a school of which that " moonstruck prophet, Cowper, was the founder, is a school of which we should not wish to become disciples. Is poetry run mad? or is that poetry good for nothing, which is not run mad? So it would seem, from making Cowper the founder of that school which established itself on the ruins of the classical. The Quarterly and Edinburgh Reviews give him the credit of being the founder of this school,-a school of which they are themselves admirers, and yet they know he was a fanatic.

But, whoever may be considered the founder, it is certain that, after the death of Goldsmith, a complete change took place in our national poetry. Religious fanaticism had a great share in introducing what is now called the romantic school of poetry, out of which another school arose, called the Lake school, and out of which many others will arise, unless we put a check to the progress of false taste, and false refinement.

What appears most surprising, however, is, that the critics of the present day look back to the school of poetry that preceded the classical, as the school of nature, and upon the classical school, as the school of art; and accordingly advise (and we regret the advice has been too implicitly followed) the poets of the present day, to make the elder poets, or the master spirits, as they are pleased to call them, their models. And yet there is no man who is not a prostrate slave to the cant of criticism, but must perceive that the poetry of those "elder," or " master spirits," was entirely the production of art, and that they sacrificed nature

to pun, conceit, wit, and the incorrigible affectation of producing effect. The classical school is called artificial, and the reason assigned for it, is the very reason that proves it the natural, as well as the classical school of English poetry. We are told, that our classical poets were too studious of expression; and this study, in the eyes of modern critics, assumes too much the appearance of art. But, if they examined the matter a little closer, they would find that all this art is the closest approach to nature. Perhaps we should apologize for requiring of them to examine closely before they came to a conclusion; for they could not examine without study, and all study, in their eyes, is art. Their principle is, to speak and write whatever strikes them at first, because they imagine, the first thought must be the natural thought; and, accordingly, what they write to day, they contradict to-morrow; for, unhappily, these first thoughts are almost always at variance with each other. All just and natural thought is the result of meditation, examination, and reflection; and it is just for this very reason, that the classical school is the natural school of English poetry. Their being studious of expression, instead of proving their productions to be artificial, proves them to be natural; for who is studious of expression, but he who seeks to convey the sentiment or idea, which he wishes to express, in the most appropriate words; that is, in words that express this idea or sentiment exactly as it exists in his mind, without addition or diminution? If he does so express it, the expression must be natural, if the idea or sentiment be originally natural, and if it be unnatural, no form of expression can make it harmonize with nature. No form of expression, or selection of words, can, therefore, be natural, which does not express the idea which we wish to express, exactly as it exists in the mind, or as the mind conceives it; but we can never express ideas as we conceive them, without studying very attentively the precise and radical meaning and value of words; for, if we use words that express either more or less than what we mean, or if, in the

structure of our sentences, we connect these words in such a manner as obscures or alters our meaning, we either write what has no meaning, or, at least, a meaning different from what we intended; that is, we think one thing, and express another. Behold what modern critics call natural writing!!

It is, therefore, evident, that we cannot be too studious of expression, and that we cannot write_naturally without being so, for it is the very height of fanaticism, it is actually presuming that we are inspired, to suppose that words will come of their own accord, without studying which is least or most appropriate. Those who are best acquainted with language, find themselves frequently at a loss for terms to express exactly what they mean; and yet, if they will not wait to discover these terms, they evidently think one thing, and write another. In fact, no man can write as he thinks, without studying very attentively the meaning of words, and structure of sentences, unless he be inspired; and, as we have no faith in this inspiration, we believe every man a fanatic who pretends to it. No writer, then, can be too classical, chaste, correct, or perspicuous; and no writer can be classical, chaste, correct, or perspicuous, without having recourse to what modern critics call the language of art, but which is, in reality, the language of nature. We would ask these critics, whether we, who know nothing of music, could play a simple air as naturally as Rossini? According to them, we should play it better; for he plays entirely by art, and we could not play otherwise than by nature, as we never studied the science of music, and, consequently, know nothing of its art. Having, therefore, no rule to guide us, our fingers would move as chance directed, and it is this chance which the critics call nature; for it is in writing asimusic: he who knows not the full meaning of words, is only right by chance. But would chance ever enable us to play "God save the King," as naturally as Rossini? It is, then, as proper to say,

All art is nature, though unknown to thee,

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as to say with our great classical poet,

All nature is, but art, unknown to thee;

for, as the original works of nature are themselves the works of art, that is, the works of an architect who did nothing by chance, but had a fixed design in all his works, so, also, is the rules of art only a closer approximation to nature. The greater the art, the more natural the production. The painter, who has devoted all his life to the study of his art, will produce a more natural painting than he who, unacquainted with the principles of the art, paints as his natural feelings and judgment direct him. All that is, therefore, said of the art of the classical school, is the mere cant of criticism. All that proceeds from true art is natural ; for nature itself is but concealed art, and the art of concealing art is, therefore, the nearest approach to nature. Who dances most naturally, most gracefully, with most ease, and least appearance of art, the peasant, whose every movement is unpremeditated, and undirected by principles of art, or the dancing master, whose every movement is studied, and the result of principles founded in art? If we believe Pope,

Those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.

From every view, then, which can be taken of the subject, art will always triumph over that nature which the critics would substitute in its stead; and, therefore, we pronounce every stanza and line of modern poetry written without art,-written on the principles of the Lake and Romantic schools,-to be spurious, and the result of false taste, false reasoning, and false criticism.

The poets of the present day, particularly the Lake poets, think it dangerous to be, acquainted with the arts and sciences. A poet, according to them, must be a perfect child; and an increase of knowledge appears to them, destructive of infantine simplicity. We admit that the cultivation of letters cannot create a genius for poetry, but what poet ever became immortal with