Hearer of this distorted language found himself in a perturbed and unusual state of mind; when affected by the genuine language of passion, he had been in a perturbed and unusual state of mind also: in both cases he was willing that his common judgment and understanding should be laid asleep, and he had no instinct. ive and infallible perception of the true, to make him reject the false; the one served as a passport for the other. The agitation and confusion of mind were in both cases delightful, and no wonder if he confounded the one with the other, and believed them both to be produced by the same, or similar causes. Besides, the Poet spake to him in the character of a man to be look in order entirely to enjoy the Poetry which I'am re- | language of men in any situation. The Reader or commending, it would be necessary to give up much of what is ordinarily enjoyed. But, would my limits aave permitted me to point out how this pleasure is produced, I might have removed many obstacles, and assisted my Reader in perceiving that the powers of language are not so limited as he may suppose; and that it is possible for poetry to give other enjoyments, of a purer, more lasting, and more exquisite nature. This part of my subject I have not altogether neglected; but it has been less my present aim to prove, that the interest excited by some other kinds of poetry is 'ess vivid, and less worthy of the nobler powers of the mind, than to offer reasons for presuming, that, if the object which I have proposed to myself were adequate-ed up to, a man of genius and authority. Thus, and ly attained, a species of poetry would be produced, which is genuine poetry; in its nature well adapted to interest mankind permanently, and likewise important in the multiplicity and quality of its moral relations. From what has been said, and from a perusal of the Poems, the Reader will be able clearly to perceive the object which I have proposed to myself: he will determine how far I have attained this object; and, what is a much more important question, whether it be worth attaining: and upon the decision of these two questions will rest my claim to the approbation of the Public. NOTE. from a variety of other causes, this distorted language was received with admiration; and Poets, it is probable, who had before contented themselves for the most part with misapplying only expressions which at first had been dictated by real passion, carried the abuse still further, and introduced phrases composed apparently in the spirit of the original figurative language of passion, yet altogether of their own invention, and distinguished by various degrees of wanton deviation from good sense and nature. It is indeed true, that the language of the earliest Poets was felt to differ materially from ordinary language, because it was the language of extraordinary occasions; but it was really spoken by men, languaga which the Poet himself had uttered when he had been affected by the events which he described, or which he had heard uttered by those around him. To this See page 667,-" by what is usually called POETIC DICTION." language it is probable that metre of some sort or other was early superadded. This separated the genuAs, perhaps, I have no right to expect from a Reader ine language of Poetry still further from common life, of an Introduction to a volume of Poems that attentive so that whoever read or heard the poems of these perusal without which it is impossible, imperfectly as earliest Poets felt himself moved in a way in which I have been compelled to express my meaning, that he had not been accustomed to be moved in real life, what is contained therein should, throughout, be fully and by causes manifestly different from those which understood, I am the more anxious to give an exact acted upon him in real life. This was the great temptnotion of the sense in which I use the phrase poetication to all the corruptions which have followed: under diction; and for this purpose I will here add a few the protection of this feeling succeeding Poets conwords concerning the origin of the phraseology which I have condemned under that name. The earliest poets of all nations generally wrote from passion excited by real events; they wrote naturally, and as men: feeling powerfully as they did, their language was daring, and figurative. In succeeding times, Poets, and Men ambitious of the fame of Poets, perceiving the influence of such language, and desirous of producing the same effect without having the same animating passion, set themselves to a mechanical adoption of these figures of speech, and made use of them, some-spirit of a fraternity, they arrogated it to themselves times with propriety, but much more frequently applied 'them to feelings and ideas with which they had no natural connection whatsoever. A language was thus insensibly produced, differing materially from the real structed a phraseology which had one thing, it is true, in common with the genuine language of poetry, namely, that it was not heard in ordinary conversation; that it was unusual. But the first Poets, as I have said, spake a language which, though unusual, was still the language of men. This circumstance, however, was disregarded by their successors; they found that they could please by easier means: they became proud of a language which they themselves had invented, and which was uttered only by themselves; and, with the as their own. In process of time metre became a symbol of promise of this unusual language, and whoever took upon him to write in metre, according as he possessed more or less of true poetic genius, introduced less or more of this adulterated phraseology into his compositions, and the true and the false became so inseparably interwoven that the taste of men was gradually perverted; and this language was received as a natural language: and at length, by the influence of books upon men, did to a certain degree really become Abuses of this kind were imported from one nation to another, and with the progress of refinement this diction became daily more and more corrupt, thrusting out of sight the plain humanities of nature by a motley masquerade of tricks, quaintnesses, hieroglyphics, and enigmas. 80. It would be highly interesting to point out the causes of the pleasure given by this extravagant and absurd language; but this is not the place; it depends upon a great variety of causes, but upon none, perhaps, more than its influence in impressing a notion of the peculiarity and exaltation of the Poet's character, and in flattering the Reader's self-love by bringing him nearer to a sympathy with that character; an effect which is accomplished by unsettling ordinary habits of thinking, and thus assisting the Reader to approach to that perturbed and dizzy state of mind in which if he does not find himself, he imagines that he is balked of a peculiar enjoyment which poetry can and ought to bestow. and be wise: which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, provideth her meat in thy summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest. How long wilt thou sleep, O Sluggard? when wilt thou arise out of the sleep? Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep. So shall thy poverty come as one that travelleth, and thy want as an armed man." Proverbs, chap. vi. One more quotation, and I have done. It is from "Religion! what treasure untold Ye winds, that have made me your sport, 66 The sonnet which I have quoted from Gray, in the Preface, except the lines printed in Italics, consists of I have quoted this passage as an instance of three little else but this diction, though not of the worst kind; different styles of composition. The first four lines are and indeed, if I may be permitted to say so, it is far poorly expressed; some Critics would call the language too common in the best writers both ancient and mod-prosaic; the fact is, it would be bad prose, so bad that ern. Perhaps I can in no way, by positive example, it is scarcely worse in metre. The epithet churchmore easily give my Reader a notion of what I mean going" applied to a bell, and that by so chaste a writer by the phrase poetic diction than by referring him to a as Cowper, is an instance of the strange abuses which comparison between the metrical paraphrase which we Poets have introduced into their language, till they and have of passages in the Old and New Testament, and their Readers take them as matters of course, if they those passages as they exist in our common Translation. do not single them out expressly as objects of admiraSee Pope's "Messiah" throughout; Prior's " Did sweet- tion. The two lines "Ne'er sighed at the sound," &c. er sounds adorn my flowing tongue,"&c. &c. "Though are, in my opinion, an instance of the language of pasI speak with the tongues of men and of angels,"&c. &c. sion wrested from its proper use, and, from the mere See 1st Corinthians, chapter xiiith. By way of imme- circumstance of the composition being in metre, ap diate example, take the following of Dr. Johnson:plied upon an occasion that does not justify such violent expressions; and I should condemn the passage, though perhaps few Readers will agree with me, as vicious poetic diction. The last stanza is throughout admirably expressed it would be equally good whether in prose or verse, except that the reader has an exquisite pleasure in seeing such natural language so naturally connected with metre. The beauty of this stanza tempts me to conclude with a principle which ought never to be lost sight of,-namely, that in works of imagination and sentiment, in proportion as ideas and feelings are valuable, whether the composition be in prose or in verse, they require and exact one and the same language. Metre is but adventitious to composition, and the phraseology for which that passport is necessary, even where it is graceful at all, will be little valued by the judicious. "Turn on the prudent Ant thy heedless eyes, From this hubbub of words pass to the original. APPENDIX IV. MEMOIR OF THE REV. ROBERT WALKER.* In the year 1709, Robert Walker was born at UnderCrag, in Seathwaite; he was the youngest of twelve children. His eldest brother, who inherited the small family estate, died at Under-Crag, aged ninety-four, being twenty-four years older than the subject of this Memoir, who was born of the same mother. Robert was a sickly infant; and, through his boyhood and youth continuing to be of delicate frame and tender health, it was deemed best, according to the country phrase, to breed him a scholar; for it was not likely that he would be able to earn a livelihood by bodily labour. At that period few of these Dales were furnished with schoolhouses; the children being taught to read and write in the chapel; and in the same consecrated building, where he officiated for so many years both as preacher and schoolmaster, he himself received the rudiments of his education. In his youth he became schoolmaster at Lowes-water; not being called upon, probably, in that situation, to teach more than reading, writing, and arithmetic. But, by the assistance of a "Gentleman" in the neighbourhood, he acquired, at leisure hours, a knowledge of the classics, and became qualified for taking holy orders. Upon his ordination, he had the offer of two curacies; the one, Torver, in the vale of Coniston,―the other, Seathwaite, in his native vale. The value of each was the same, viz. five pounds per annum ; but the cure of Seathwaite having a cottage attached to it as he wished to marry, he chose it in preference. The young person on whom his affections were fixed, though in the condition of a domestic servant, had given promise, by her serious and modest deportment, and by her virtuous dispositions, that she was worthy to become the helpmate of a man entering upon a plan of life such as he had marked out for himself. By her frugality she had stored up a small sum of money, with which they began housekeeping. In 1735 or 1736, he entered upon his curacy; and nineteen years afterwards, his situation is thus described, in some letters to be found in the Annual Register for 1760, from which the following is extracted: *See Note 9, to " Poems of the Imagination." "I was the other day upon a party of pleasure, about five or six miles from this place, where I met with a very striking object, and of a nature not very common. Going into a clergyman's house (of whom I had frequently heard) I found him sitting at the head of a long square table, such as is commonly used in this country by the lower class of people, dressed in a coarse blue frock, trimmed with black horn buttons; a checked shirt, a leathern strap about his neck for a stock, a coarse apron, and a pair of great wooden-soled shoes, plated with iron to preserve them, (what we call clogs in these parts,) with a child upon his knee, eating his breakfast: his wife, and the remainder of his chil dren, were some of them employed in waiting upon each other, the rest in teazing and spinning wool, at which trade he is a great proficient; and moreover, when it is made ready for sale, will lay it, by sixteen or thirty-two pounds weight, upon his back, and on foot, seven or eight miles will carry it to the market, even in the depth of winter. I was not much surprised at all this, as you may possibly be, having heard a great deal of it related before. But I must confess myself astonished with the alacrity and the good-humour tha appeared both in the clergyman and his wife, and more so, at the sense and ingenuity of the clergyman himself." * * Then follows a letter from another person, dated 1755, from which an extract shall be given. "By his frugality and good management, he keeps the wolf from the door, as we say; and if he advances a little in the world, it is owing more to his own care, than to any thing else he has to rely upon. I don't find his inclination is running after further preferment. He is settled among the people, that are happy among themselves; and lives in the greatest unanimity and riend ship with them; and, I believe, the minister and people are exceedingly satisfied with each other; and in deed how should they be dissatisfied, when they have a person of so much worth and probity for their pastor! A man, who, for his candour and meckness, his sober, chaste, and virtuous conversation, his soundness in principle and practice, is an ornament to his profession, and aa honour to the country he is in; and bear with me if I say, the plainness of his dress, the sanctity of his manners, the simplicity of his doctrine, and the vehemence of his expression, have a sort of fesemblance to the pure practice of primitive Christianity." We will now give his own account of himself, to be found in the same place. From the Rev. ROBERT Walker. "SIR, "Yours of the 26th instant was communicated to me by Mr. C—, and I should have returned an immediate answer, but the hand of Providence then lying heavy upon an amiable pledge of conjugal endearment, hath since taken from me a promising girl, which the disconsolate mother too pensively laments the loss of; though we have yet eight living, all healthful, hopeful children, whose names and ages are as follows:-Zaccheus, aged almost eighteen years; Elizabeth, sixteen years and ten months; Mary, fifteen; Moses, thirteen years and three months; Sarah, ten years and three months; Mabel, eight years and three months; William Tyson, three years and eight months; and Anne Esther, one year and three months: besides Anne, who died two years and six months ago, and was then aged my own diligent endeavours, the kindness of friends, "Your much obliged and most obedient humble Servant, About the time when this letter was written, the Bishop of Chester recommended the scheme of joining the curacy of Ulpha to the contiguous one of Seathwaite, and the nomination was offered to Mr. Walker; but an unexpected difficulty arising, Mr. W., in a letter to the Bishop, (a copy of which, in his own beautiful handwriting, now lies before me,) thus expresses himself: "If he," meaning the person in whom the difficulty originated, "had suggested any such objection before, I should utterly have declined any attempt to the curacy of Ulpha: indeed, I was always apprehensive it might be disagreeable to my auditory at Seathwaite, as they have been always accustomed to double duty, and the inhabitants of Ulpha despair of being able to support a schoolmaster who is not curate there also; which suppressed all thoughts in me of serving them both." And in a second letter to the Bishop he writes:— "My LORD, between nine and ten; and Eleanor, who died the 23d inst., January, aged six years and ten months. Zaccheus, the eldest child, is now learning the trade of "I have the favour of yours of the 1st instant, and tanner, and has two years and a half of his apprentice- am exceedingly obliged on account of the Ulpha affair. ship to serve. The annual income of my chapel at if that curacy should lapse into your Lordship's hands, present, as near as I can compute it, may amount to I would beg leave rather to decline than embrace about 171. 10s., of which is paid in cash viz. 51. from it; for the chapels of Seathwaite and Ulpha, annexed the bounty of Queen Anne, and 51. from W. P. Esq. together, would be apt to cause a general discontent of P—, out of the annual rents, he being lord of the among the inhabitants of both places; by either think manor, and 31. from the several inhabitants of Ling themselves slighted, being only served alternately, settled upon the tenements as a rent-charge; the house and gardens I value at 41. yearly, and not worth more; and I believe the surplice fees and voluntary contributions, one year with another, may be worth 37.; but, as the inhabitants are few in number, and the fees very low, this last-mentioned sum consists merely in freewill offerings. "I am situated greatly to my satisfaction with regard to the conduct and behaviour of my auditory, who not only live in the happy ignorance of the follics and vices of the age, but in mutual peace and good-will with one another, and are seemingly (I hope really too) sincere Christians, and sound members of the established church, not one dissenter of any denomination being amongst them all. I got to the value of 401. for my wife's fortune, but had no real estate of my own, being the youngest son of twelve children, born of obscure parents; and, though my income has been but small, and my family large, yet by a providential blessing upon or neglected in the duty, or attributing it to covetousness in me; all which occasions of murmuring I would willingly avoid." And, in concluding his former letter, he expresses a similar sentiment upon the same occasion, "desiring, if it be possible, however, as much as in me lieth, to live peaceably with all men." The year following, the curacy of Seathwaite was again augmented; and, to effect this augmentation, fifty pounds had been advanced by himself; and, in 1760, lands were purchased with eight hundred pounds, Scanty as was his income, the frequent offer of much better benefices could not tempt Mr. W. to quit a situ ation where he had been so long happy, with a consciousness of being useful. Among his papers I fina the following copy of a letter, dated 1775, twenty years after his refusal of the curacy of Ulpha, which will show what exertions had been made for one of his sons. “May it please your Grace, “Our remote situation here makes it difficult to get the necessary information for transacting business regularly; such is the reason of my giving your Grace the present trouble. "The bearer (my son) is desirous of offering himself candidate for deacon's orders at your Grace's ensuing ordination; the first on the 25th instant, so that his papers could not be transmitted in due time. As he is now fully at age, and I have afforded him education to the utmost of my ability, it would give me great satisfaction (if your Grace would take him, and find him qualified) to have him ordained. His constitution has been tender for some years; he entered the college of Dublin, but his health would not permit him to continue there, or I would have supported him much longer. He has been with me at home above a year, in which time he has gained great strength of body, sufficient, I hope, to enable him for performing the function. Divine Providence, assisted by liberal benefactors, has blest my endeavours, from a small income, to rear a numerous family; and as my time of life renders me now unfit for much future expectancy from this world, I should be glad to see my son settled in a promising way to acquire an honest livelihood for himself. His behaviour, so far in life, has been irreproachable; and I hope he will not degenerate, in principles or practice, from the precepts and pattern of an indulgent parent. Your Grace's favourable reception of this, from a distant corner of the diocese, and an obscure hand, will excite filial gratitude, and a due use shall be made of the obligation vouchsafed thereby to "Your Grace's very dutiful and most obedient "Son and Servant, "ROBERT WALKER." trusting it to the care of a lady, who, as he says, “may sometimes frustrate his squandering it away foolishly," and promising to send him an equal allowance annually for the same purpose. The conclusion of the same letter is so characteristic, that I cannot forbear to transcribe it. “We," meaning his wife and himself, "are in our wonted state of health, allowing for the hasty strides of old age knocking daily at our door, and threateningly telling us, we are not only mortal, but must expect ere long to take our leave of our ancient cottage, and lie down in our last dormitory. Pray par don my neglect to answer yours: let us hear sooner from you, to augment the mirth of the Christmas holidays. Wishing you all the pleasures of the approaching season, I am, dear Son, with lasting sincerity, yours affectionately. "ROBERT WALKER.” He loved old customs and usages, and in some in stances stuck to them to his own loss; for, having had a sum of money lodged in the hands of a neighbouring tradesman, when long course of time had raised the rate of interest, and more was offered, he refused to accept it; an act not difficult to one, who, while he was drawing seventeen pounds a year from his curacy, declined, as we have seen, to add the profits of another small benefice to his own, lest he should be suspected of cupidity. From this vice he was utterly free; he made no charge for teaching school; such as could afford to pay, gave him what they pleased. When very young, having kept a diary of his expenses, however trifling, the large amount, at the end of the year, surprised him; and from that time the rule of his life was to be economical, not avaricious. At his decease he left behind him no less a sum than 20001.; and such a sense of his various excellencies was prevalent in the country, that the epithet of WONDERFUL is to this day attached to his name. The same man, who was thus liberal in the education of his numerous family, was even munificent in hospitality as a parish priest. Every Sunday, were served, There is in the above sketch something so extraordi upon the long table, at which he has been described nary as to require further explanatory details.—And to sitting with a child upon his knee, messes of broth, for begin with his industry; eight hours in each day, during the refreshment of those of his congregation who came five days in the week, and half of Saturday, except from a distance, and usually took their seats as parts of when the labours of husbandry were urgent, he was his own household. It seems scarcely possible that this occupied in teaching. His seat was within the rails custom could have commenced before the augmenta- of the altar; the communion-table was his desk; and, tion of his cure; and what would to many have been like Shenstone's schoolmistress, the master employed a high price of self-denial, was paid, by the pastor and himself at the spinning-wheel, while the children were his family, for this gratification; as the treat could only repeating their lessons by his side. Every evening, be provided by dressing at one time the whole, perhaps, after school hours, if not more profitably engaged, he of their weekly allowance of fresh animal food; con- continued the same kind of labour, exchanging, for the sequently, for a succession of days, the table was cover- benefit of exercise, the small wheel, at which he had ed with cold victuals only. His generosity in old age sate, for the large one on which wool is spun, the spinmay be still further illustrated by a little circumstance ner stepping to and fro. Thus, was the wheel conrelating to an orphan grandson, then ten years of age, stantly in readiness to prevent the waste of a moment's which I find in a copy of a letter to one of his sons; time. Nor was his industry with the pen, when occahe requests that half-a-guinea may be left for "little sion called for it, less eager. Intrusted with extensive Robert's pocket-money," who was then at school; in- | management of public and private affairs, he acted, in |