have some difficulty in bringing our selves to praise him as much as we wish, and as he must very naturally wish likewise; and, accordingly, he will no doubt be teazed by seeing us going about and about the bush, and not plumping at once upon our panegyric. But a Quaker ought not to be impatient; so, if he be at all a wet one, let him put down the Magazine, turn up his little finger, draw breath, and at it again.

Mr Barton will find the subject of the following discourse in a passage which we beg leave to quote from his Preface:

"The writer is well aware, that the power of absolute talent displayed in this volume, cannot bear comparison with those examples of high poetical genius, which are afforded in the works of several of the popular poets of the present day. He had never imposed upon himself by believing that he could enter into competition with these in point of ability; but he did think, nevertheless, that it was possible his humble productions might be usefully and not unfitly permitted to take their chance for public favour.

"They have found this in a degree beyond his anticipation; and their success, without altering his original estimation of his own talent as a poet, has given him pride as an author beyond what he could have experienced in the assurance of owing that success to genius of the first order. The indulgence with which these pieces have been received proves to him that the most poignant temptations, and brilliant seductions, addressed to the public taste and moral sentiment, have not yet extinguished, in the public breast, a genuine attachment to the sober and simple exercise of the gentler faculties of the muse; and that, even under the disadvantage of inferior power, readers willingly welcome those lays that appeal only to the pure, and quiet, and conscientious feelings of the heart.

"He does not scruple to confess, that his delight in this conviction is increased by what is personal to himself in the testimony just mentioned; but he can most sincerely declare, that the pleasure of finding his compositions generally praised for the absence of all deleterious moral quality, and their tendency to strengthen impressions favourable to virtue and to religion, has far outweighed other considerations in his mind."

This is a very well-written passage; but let us think a little on its assertions-And, first, what does he mean by being surprised that there is still unextinguished in the public heart a

genuine attachment to the sober and
simple exercise of the gentler faculties
of the muse, and so forth? Does he
absolutely so grossly deceive himself,
as to think that his poetry is remark-
able, in any way whatever, above the
rest of the poetry of this age, for pu-
rity of moral sentiment? With the
single exception of Byron-a great ge-
nius-all the poetry of this age is full
to overflowing of the best-finest-
purest-brightest-simplest-and in--
destructible emotions. There is not,
indeed, in the whole range of English
Poetry, one poet who may not be said
to be a benefactor to his species. When,
therefore, Mr Barton speaks of his own
compositions as meeting an unexpect-
ed reception, it is absurd for him to
wonder that the purity or gentleness
of their spirit had the charm of novelty.
Nothing of the kind. In that respect,
he is just as far inferior to the best li-
ving or dead poets, as he is inferior in
reach and grasp of thought, in power
of passion, and in winged imagination.
As to Byron's poetry, it never would
have prevailed as it has done by mere
pictures of ferocity or wild wicked-
ness-it is charged with beauty, ten-
derness, and pathos, and often thrills
to the inmost heart, by the power of
one line or word, more delightfully
than all the verses Mr Barton ever
wrote, or ever will write, till the ex-
tinction of Quakerism.

Secondly, Mr Barton rates his power of absolute talent" below that of" several of the popular poets of the present day." Now, he ought to be told, that it is below that of at least thirty writers of verse. Yet, notwithstanding, if he rank only as thirtyone, or forty-one, or fifty-one, he has no need to be ashamed, at a time when there are living, to our certain personal knowledge, about two thousand very respectable poets-not one of whom, any more than Mr Barton, has ever been reviewed in Blackwood.

Thirdly, Mr Barton declares that it gives him more satisfaction to think that his poetry is innocent and useful, than it would give him to know that he was a great and original genius. Now, confound us, if we can believe that. No doubt the honest Quaker speaks what he thinks the truth; but he is quite mistaken. If he really were a man of genius he would be miserable, unless the world allowed it; and although doing good to our fellow

creatures, by writing amiable verses, must be highly gratifying to every good Christian, yet Mr Barton may depend upon it, that he would exchange that consciousness, and that reputation, for the conviction and the fame of being a sad fellow indeed, but a great poet. Would he rather be BARTON than BYRON? We hope not-not only for his own sake, but for that of Quakerism and human nature at large.

·

It appears, however, that Mr Barton's volumes have met with considerable success; and, in our opinion, they deserve it. There may be something in the novelty of a Quaker Poet, though he is not the first of that sect who has wooed the muse with tolerable credit. Scott of Amwell* was, we believe, rather a popular versifier in his day; but he was far inferior to Mr Barton. He was rather given to drivelling, and

"Scott of Amwell, the Quaker and Poet, was, doubtless, a modest and amiable man, for Johnson declared he loved him.' When his poems were collected, they were reviewed in the Critical Review; very offensively to the Poet; for the Critic, alluding to the numerous embellishments of the volume, observed, that

"There is a profusion of ornaments and finery about this book, not quite suitable to the plainness and simplicity of the Barclean system; but Mr Scott is fond of the Muses, and wishes, we suppose, like Captain Macheath, to see his ladies well dressed.'

"Such was the cold affected witticism of the Critic, whom I intimately knew-and I believe he meant little harm! His friends imagined even that this was the solitary attempt at wit he had ever made in his life; for, after a lapse of years, he would still recur to it as an evidence of the felicity of his fancy, and the keenness of his satire. The truth is, he was a physician, whose name is prefixed as the editor to a great medical compilation, and who never pretended that he had any taste for poetry. His great art of poctical Criticism was always, as Pope expresses a character, to dwell in decencies :' his acumen, to detect that terrible poetic crime, false rhymes, and to employ indefinite terms, which, as they had no precise meaning, were applicable to all things; to com. mend, occasionally, a passage not always the most exquisite; sometimes to hesitate, while, with delightful candour, he seemed to give up his opinion; to hazard sometimes a positive condemnation on parts which often unluckily proved the most favourite with the poet and the reader. Such was this poetical Reviewer, whom no one disturbed in his periodical course, till the circumstance of a plain Quaker becoming a poet, and fluttering in the finical ornaments of his book, provoked him from that calm state of innocent mediocrity, into miserable humour, and illiberal Criticism.

"The effect, however, this pert criticism had on poor Scott, was indeed a calamity. It produced an inconsiderate Letter to the Critical Reviewers.' Scott was justly offended at the stigma of Quakerism, applied to the Author of a literary composition; but too gravely accuses the Critic of his scurrilous allusion to Macheath, as comparing him to a highwayman-he seems, however, more provoked at the odd account of his poems; he says, You rank all my poems together as bad, then discriminate some as good, and, to complete all, recommend the volume as an agreeable and amusing collection.' Had the Poet been personally acquainted with this tantalizing Critic, he would have comprehended the nature of the Criticism-and certainly would never have replied to it.

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"The Critic, employing one of his indefinite terms, had said of Amwell,’and some of the early Elegies,' that they had their share of poetical merit;' he does not venture to assign the proportion of that share, but the Amæbean and oriental eclogues, odes, epistles, &c. now added, are of a much weaker feature, and many of them incor

rect.'

"Here Scott loses all his dignity as a Quaker and a Poet-he asks what the Critic means by the affected phrase much weaker feature; the style, he says, was designed to be somewhat less elevated; and thus addresses the Critic:

"You may, however, be safely defied to pronounce them with truth, deficient either in strength or melody of versification! They were designed to be like Virgil's, descriptive of Nature, simple and correct. Had you been disposed to do me justice, you might have observed that in these eclogues I had drawn from the great prototype Nature, much imagery that had escaped the notice of all my predecessors. You might also have remarked, that when I introduced images that had been already introduced by others, still the arrangement or combination of those images was my own. The praise of originality you might at least have allowed me.'

"As for their incorrectness!-SCOTT points that accusation with a note of admiration, adding, with whatever defects my works may be chargeable, the last is that of incorrectness."

"We are here involuntarily reminded of Sir Fretful in the Critic,

I think the interest rather declines in the fourth act.'

pox; which, we understand, he abso-
futely did at last, in verification of his
own prophecies. This was being a Qua-

"Rises! you mean, my dear friend !'

"Perhaps the most extraordinary examples of the irritation of a Poet's mind, and a man of amiable temper, are those parts of this letter in which the Author quotes large portions of his poetry, to refute the degrading strictures of the Reviewer.

"This was a fertile principle, admitting of very copious extracts; but the ludicrous attitude is that of an Adonis inspecting himself at his mirror.

"That provoking see-saw of Criticism, which our learned physician usually adopted in his Critiques, was particularly tantalizing to the Poet of Amwell. The Critic condemns. in the gross, a whole set of eclogues; but immediately asserts of one of them, that the whole of it has great poetical merit, and paints its subject in the warmest colours." When he came to review the odes, he discovers that he does not meet with those polished numbers, nor that freedom and spirit, which that species of poetry requires ;' and quotes half a stanza, which he declares is abrupt and insipid. From twenty-seven odes!' exclaims the writhing Poet- are the whole of my lyric productions to be stigmatized for four lines which are flatter than those that proceeded them!' But what the Critic could not be aware of, the Poet tells us he designed them to be just what they are. I knew they were so, when they were first written; but they were thought sufficiently elevated for the place. And then he enters into an inquiry what the Critic can mean by polished numbers, freedom, and spirit.' The passage is curious.

"By your first criticism, polished numbers, if you mean melodious versification, this If you mean classical, chaste diction, free perhaps the general ear will not deny me. from tautologous repetitions of the same thoughts in different expressions; free from bad rhymes, unnecessary epithets, and incongruous metaphors; I believe you may be safely challenged to produce many instances wherein I have failed.

"By freedom, your second criterion, if you mean daring transition, or arbitrary and desultory disposition of ideas, however this may be required in the greater ode, it is now, I believe, for the first time, expected in the lesser ode. If you mean that careless, diffusive composition, that conversation-verse, or verse loitering into prose, now so fashionable, this is an excellence which I am not very ambitious of attaining. But if you mean strong, concise, yet natural easy expression, I apprehend the general judgment will decide in my favour. To the general car, and the general judgment, then, do I appeal, as to an impartial tribunal.' Here several odes are transcribed. By spirit, your third criticism, I know nothing you can mean but enthusiasm; that which transports us to every scene, and interests us in every sentiment. Poetry without this cannot subsist; every species demands its proportion, from the greater ode, of which it is the principal characteristic, to the lesser, in which a small portion of it only has hitherto been thought requisite. My productions, I apprehend, have never before been deemed destitute of this essential constituent. Whatever I have wrote, I have felt, and I believe others have felt it also.'

"On epistles' which had been condemned in the gross, suddenly the Critic turns round courteously to the Bard, declaring they are written in an easy and familiar style, and seem to flow from a good and a benevolent heart.' But then sneeringly adds, that one of them being entitled An Essay on Painting, addressed to a young Artist,' had better have been omitted, because it had been so fully treated in so masterly a manner by Mr Hayley. This was letting fall a spark in a barrel of gunpowder. Scorr immediately analyses his brother poet's poem, to shew they have nothing in common; and then compares those similar passages the subject naturally produced, to shew that his poem does not suffer greatly in the comparison. You may,' he adds, after giving copious extracts from both poems, persist in saying that Mr Hayley's are the best. Your business then is to prove it. This, indeed, had been a very hazardous affair for our medical Critic, whose poetical feelings were so equable, that he acknowledges Mr Scott's poem is just and elegant,' but Mr Hayley's is likewise just and elegant ;' therefore, if one man has written a piece just and elegant,' there is no need of another on the same subject' just and elegant."

·

"To such an extreme point of egotism was a modest and respectable Author most cruelly driven, by the callous playfulness of a poetical Critic, who himself had no sympathy for poetry of any quality or any species, and whose sole art consisted in turning about the canting dictionary of Criticism. Had Homer been a modern candidate for poetical honours, from him Homer had not been distinguished, even from the mediocrity of SCOTT of Amwell, whose poetical merits are not, however, slight. In his Ama bean eclogues, he may be distinguished as the poet of Botanists."-D'Israrli.

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