a manner extremely different from that which is adopted in modern times; and in the ages that have passed away since the overthrow of the Roman empire, various systems of poetical rhythmus have started up, prevailed for a time, and then been abandoned, till, at last, what we now call rhyme, or the coincidence of similar, sounds, recurring at the end of a certain number of syllables, has acquired the predominance above all others, and is now, by many, thought to constitute the discriminative characteristic of poetry.

The rhythmical cadence of the Greeks and Romans was so accurately settled, that it could be distinguished in whatever way it was written; but as by this rhythmus the whole composition was divided into regular parts, by peculiar cadences recurring pretty regularly, these divisions, consisting each of a certain number of lesser metrical divisions, which have been technically named feet, have been called lines, and are now regularly written or printed, each in a stretch without a break, one below the other. In imitation of this particular, modern poetry is, in general, arranged into lines likewise, each line consisting of a certain number of syllables, which must be so arranged as to follow each other in a kind of cadenced flow. Generally, two of these lines terminate with a syllable

having a similar sound, and this is called rhyme.

All these things, you yourself sufficiently know; nor will it probably have escaped your observation, that many writers, if they can tag together a certain number of lines, with the necessary appurtenance of rhyming syllables at their end, conceive that they are writing poetry; and immediately dub themselves poets. But here, you will perceive, that by mistaking a part for the whole, and that part too the meanest of all the constituent parts of poetry, they are guilty of a sad misdemeanour, and confound the making of verses, with the writing of poetry. These are two things extremely dif ferent; for poetry may exist even without verse, and far more without rhyme; and rhyme may be very perfect without the smallest spark of poetry.

Let me, therefore, caution you to endeavour to discriminate between these in the compositions of others; but above all things to guard against the too common error of believing, that you yourself are a poet, in case you should at any time accidentally discover that you have a knack at writing, with tolerable facility, a number of rhyming lines, usually called verses. believe there is no person existing, who has an

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ordinary fund of ideas, who cannot write verses. It is, indeed, a mere mechanical operation; and if a man has a natural ear for rhythmical arrangements, he will be able to make the syllables follow each other very smoothly. But if he has not a talent for great and bold conceptions; or for placing objects in such positions, as to excite new and vivid ideas, that produce pleasing images in the mind of the reader, the essence of poetry is wanting, and it is merely a dead and lifeless form. But if these great requisites are present, though the form of the verse itself, and rhymes, be totally wanting, it will be accounted poetry, in the strict and proper meaning of the word. The book of Job, for example, because it possesses these requisites in a high degree, is, by all mankind, admitted to be a poetical composition, though, in our version at least, it possesses none of the characteristics of verse. So far is verse indeed from being necessary to poetry, that we can produce many instances of poetical compositions being greatly injured by having been converted into verse. Of this the Psalms of David are a noted example: and there have been some poetical paraphrases, as they have been called, of several sublime passages in the Bible, lately made by well meaning men, which are still more liable

to objection, as degrading the Scriptures, than the version of David's Psalms, by Sternhold and Hopkins itself. These are striking examples, that verse may not only exist independent of poetry, but that it may even be employed as the means of murdering poetry where it already existed.

An old acquaintance of mine whom I much esteemed, who possessed a strong and vigorous understanding, and great talents in many respects, but upon whom heaven had not conferred the smallest share of the vis poetica, having discovered that he could number syllables, and class together similar sounds, in short that he could make verses, believed that little more was necessary to emulate Homer; and that he could write a poem, which would be equally immortal as the Iliad itself. He therefore set himself to contrive the plan of an epic poem, on the model of Homer; and, by dint of immense labour and perseverance, at length produced a work, consisting of a great many thousand verses divided into a certain number of books, which he called an epic poem. This performance was constructed according to the rules of Aristotle. It had a regular beginning, a middle, and an end. In imitation of Homer, too, it began with an in

vocation; many battles were fought between valiant heroes, much blood was spilt, and various wounds were inflicted and described, with, I suppose, great anatomical precision :— episodes too were introduced,-orations were pronounced,-funeral games were celebrated,similes, and all the figures of speech that have been enumerated by rhetoricians as necessary to add dignity to composition, were occasionally introduced to embellish it. It was, in short, as exact an imitation as the writer could make of Homer's Iliad, but without one spark of poetical fire from the beginning to the end. It might be said to bear such a resemblance to the Iliad, as the corse of Hector, when chained to the chariot of Achilles, bore to the living Hector, triumphant as he drove the trembling Grecians to their ships. It was a resemblance that brought nothing but the melancholy recollection of the loss that had been sustained by the absence of the original. I need scarcely add, that the work to which I here allude, is the Epigoniad of Wilkie. Wilkie was a man whom I knew well, and whom I esteemed both for his talents and disposition, almost above all others. And though it was impossible for him to discover defects which nature had deprived him of the faculties of discriminating; so that