MR. WAKLEY AND THE POETS.

BY THE EDITOR.

Hark thee, Thomas, do thine ears know the singing of Blondel from the braying of an ass?-THE TALISMAN.

Ir must often have puzzled our fellow Editors as well as ourselves, to account for the deluge of Poetry, so called, which of late years has poured into the Balaam-boxes of the periodicals. Indeed, there is no Magazine or Literary Journal but from time to time has had to announce the utter impossibility of returning such contributions to the authors-just such an impossibility as beset Mrs. Partington when she attempted to send back the Atlantic.

For our own part, the phenomenon has been a standing wonder; as month after month we found our library-table covered with fresh verse -rhyme enough to fill whole magazines. Where could it all come from? What sort of laborious creatures could thus keep spin, spin, spinning on, without profit, and without encouragement, for not a hundredth— no, not a thousandth part obtained insertion.

The mystery, however, is solved. The deluge of bad poetry-the rush of rhyme is accounted for; and Editors in future will be able to attribute any extraordinary high-tide of sing-song to its true source. Astounding as it my seem, considering his multifarious occupations as Member of Parliament, Coroner, and Editor of a medical work, yet by his own confession during the debate on the Copyright Bill, Mr. Wakley, besides spouting, sitting on bodies, and Lancet-grinding, has actually been composing poetry--not by the page or sheet, but by the standard mile and the imperial bushel.

It would of course be impossible to trace all the effusions of such a very prolific versifier: but personally we are convinced that we have been favoured with at least a few pecks, and rods poles or perches of the manufacture of this new Thomas the Rhymer. All the anonymous pieces were his of course, as well as those signed T. or W., and we venture to attribute to the same hand, on internal evidence, a few furlongs of poetry that have been sent under other initials. But the mass had all one common characteristic; a certain wooden style, strongly reminding us that the author represents Finsbury-square, where, as we all know, the Temple of the Muses was turned into an Upholstery Warehouse.

And, now, do we envy the new Poet his extraordinary facility? Do we begrudge him his miraculous knack of rhyming, his poetical bottom and long-windedness? Not a jot. But we do resent the ungraciousness with which, after confessing himself a Bard, he turned round on the Brotherhood, and like a Malay running a-muck, made a rush at a venerable Poet, whose age and character ought to have secured him from such an onset. Could there be in the case any of that literary jealousy so commonly attributed to the sons of song? The poetry of Mr. Wordsworth has certainly obtained admirers, where that of Mr. Wakley has not yet found readers: and while every man of taste is familiar with the Lyrical Ballads, it is difficult to meet with even a Bluestocking who can quote two lines by the honourable Member for Fins

bury. Otherwise, if not from envy, why did Rhyming Thomas recite and publicly ridicule in the House the stanzas of the Bard of Rydal, and why all his unnecessary outcry against protecting bad poetry? Mr. Wakley ought to know, that with or without legislation, bad poetry protects itself as a woman does-by its weakness. For instance, the miles and bushels of Finsbury verses will, we venture to say, enjoy a perpetual copyright, uninfringed by pirates, foreign or domestic, from this day till the day of judgment.

It may be taken for granted, then, that the true opposition was to the protection and encouragement of good and successful authors-of Poets more popular than him of the mile and bushel.

"It is impossible," said Mr. Wakley, "to satisfy a disappointed author." And having failed so egregiously in his own poetical pursuits, we can imagine him to have been particularly dissatisfied with those of his contemporaries who had obtained name and fame, and money into the bargain. Accordingly, sweeping together the best and brightest names in our literature, he called them all, and in particular the copyright petitioners," a set of literary quacks." As to authors, what were they in usefulness compared to Doctors, or even Apothecaries? What was a Shakspeare, a Milton, a Scott, or a Wordsworth to any Ollapod who, when a farmer fell from a load of hay and fractured his skull, could raise up the depressed bone again with an instrument called an elevator?

We thank thee, Jew, for teaching us that word!

An Elevator!-why what is Poetry but an elevator, not of a paltry bit of bone, but of the Human Soul? We concede, then, to Mr. Wakley the full advantage of his surgical case-we allow all the blessing of the poor agriculturist being enabled, within five minutes, to sit up in bed and receive the caresses of his wife and children: but we really must beg leave to remind the Honourable Storyteller that whilst his surgeon was setting to rights the broken skull of one farmer, our Authors were operating beneficially on the brains of Millions!

FINE ARTS.

THE PONIATOWSKI GEMS.

THERE is not a more unpromising feature in the tone and temper of the present time in England, than the apathy which pervades all classes, in regard to high Art in all its departments, but especially those which are the highest of all, and therefore the least amenable to the purposes of that utility which gives its name and character to our age. No marked attention can nowadays be obtained towards any thing connected with what is really great or good in art, unless the matter can be so fashioned as to make appeal to the speculative and commercial spirit of the time. The world is going mad about " Art Unions,” and subscribing its money to them by tens of thousands, on the mere

"good-luck" chance of getting it back again with a thousand per cent. profit attached to it. In the mean time, the noblest and most beautiful collection of objects of high art, of their kind, existing in the world, is lying perdue, in the "cold obstruction" of a private gentleman's residence, as little cared for, and almost as little known, to the general public who form the great body of Art Unionists, as when it was purposely hidden from the ravages of those barbarian hordes who blotted out from Europe all but the name of that country of which it formed the noblest treasure.

We allude to what are now called "THE PONIATOWSKI GEMS,"a collection of more than twelve hundred Intaglios, on classical subjects, commenced by the last Kings of Poland, and completed in nearly its present form by the late Prince Stanislaus Poniatowski, during his residence at Rome, after the downfall of his noble country. To those who have inspected these Gems with that feeling of mingled love and admiration for high art, which can alone generate the power of duly appreciating its efforts, it is extremely difficult to speak of them in terms which will not lie open to the shallow imputation of extravagance-especially when, as in the present instance, the limits of the vehicle destined to convey the writer's opinion to others, forbid any thing like detail. We have therefore felt some reluctance, and allowed some delay, in alluding at all to this wonderful collection, any one object of which, out of the twelve hundred which it includes, could not be adequately described merely, in a less space than that which must suffice for all we may say on them. This restriction, however, would be any thing but an excuse for total silence. Yet on the other hand, as this unrivalled collection of artistical skill and poetic beauty united, is not at present open to public inspection, it would be but tantalizing our readers to bid them go and bow down before them in mingled wonder and admiration, as we have done. It is true the proprietor of them, Mr. John Tyrrell, of Craven-street, Strand, has hit upon the happy expedient of publishing casts from about one-fifth of the objects of his collection, and promises to give effigies of the whole of them to the world in this form: and even so they will present a source of delight and instruction not to be met with in any other similar collection in the world. But it is only from the original Gems themselves that those impressions can be derived, which it is the best office of works of this nature to convey. Putting the wondrous truth and beauty of the representations for the moment out of the question (for they can be as well appreciated in the casts as in the originals), it is only by looking on the actual works themselves, as they existed in, and passed from, the actual living hands of their originators, that we can adequately feel, and therefore accurately judge, the powers and attributes demanded for their production-powers and attributes which, it is clear, have for the present at least passed from the face of our planet,-banished thence, we verily believe, by that sordid spirit of "commercial enterprise," as it is magnificently termed, and that blight of blind" Utilitarianism," which we have assigned, at the outset of these remarks, as the reasons why these splendid productions have been comparatively neglected or overlooked since their advent to this country about three years ago.

"The Poniatowski Gems" are twelve hundred in number, all of them

Intaglios, executed evidently by various hands, and therefore with dif ferent degrees of skill, and with a difference in the tone of feeling and the style of conception and execution displayed in them. But all are of the highest class; every one is a complete conception in itself, executed in a high and pure spirit of antique art-most of them in the very highest and purest-the same spirit which pervades the Athenian Marbles of the time of Pericles and Phidias; the designs are all, without exception, on what are understood by classical subjects,-viz., the Divinities and Demigods of the Greek Mythology-incidents from Fabulous and Heroic History-from the Odyssey, the Eneid, &c. ; and the whole, we have no hesitation in saying, combine a greater amount of poetical conception, profound knowledge of art, consummate practical skill, and surpassing pictorial beauty, than can be found united together in any other similar collection now existing in the world.

Another feature, though by comparison a very minor one, in which these beautiful productions stand, as we conceive, entirely alone, is the extraordinary size, quality, rarity, and appropriate beauty of the stones on which they are engraved,-consisting of oriental sardonyx, amethyst, cornelian, chalcedony, onyx, &c.-but particularly the cornelians, which in number, size, and beauty, are perhaps, taken altogether, quite matchless.

LITERATURE.

DIARY OF THE COURT OF QUEEN CHARLOTTE.*

Ir would seem that there is no end to the variety and interest of this delightful work. We have now the third volume before us, and it decidedly outstrips its two predecessors, no less in literary and social than in historical value. It moreover "holds a glass which shows us many more;" and those of a character so curious, and at the same time so unique, that we are entirely at a loss to name any other known work by which the reader may judge of them beforehand nor indeed is this necessary; for there is an extrinsic interest about this third volune, and those which, as it appears, are presently to follow it, which must cause it to be eagerly sought for and read even in quarters where the previous volumes may not have penetrated. There is in fact-and it is fortunate that there is throughout all civilized nations,—from the highest and most cultivated intellects among them, to the lowest and most untutored,—something more than a mere curiosity—a strong and earnest desire to learn the actual effects of regal station, extensive power, and unlimited command of wealth, upon the minds and hearts of their (so deemed) fortunate possessors: and the only true means of learning this the only trustworthy evidence to the point is more rare of attainment than that appertaining to any other question without ex

* Diary of the Court of Queen Charlotte. By Madame D'Arblay.

ception, because nothing but the unconscious personal testimony of the parties themselves can be safely taken, either for or against them. Who shall cite kings and queens to appear personally in their private character and capacity, before the tribunal of public opinion? And yet who that would do justice to them can put faith in any thing that is said of them in that capacity, by either their friends or their enemies?

But Miss Burney, the reader may suggest, was highly favoured and distinguished by the royal personages who occupy so large a portion of the present volume of her" Diary," and therefore she can hardly be expected to speak of them with that impartiality which you admit to be so rare in such matters. True: and therefore, with all our confidence in her penetration and judgment in regard to human character, we would and do by no means place implicit faith in what she herself says of George the Third, Queen Charlotte, and those female branches of the royal family with whom she came into daily and almost hourly contact for more than six years of her life. But what we do put faith in, as implicitly as if we had witnessed it with our own senses, is, her report of what the royal personages in question say themselves, and what they do, during the daily course of her connexion with them. And as if conscious of this being the only true and fair criterion for judgment, the opinions Miss Burney expresses about her royal friends and companions are few and brief; while the materials which they themselves hourly present for the formation of opinions concerning them, are given with the minuteness of a legal reporter, and with a characteristic spirit and individuality which set doubt and cavil at defiance. The result may safely be left to the reader's own judgment: all we shall say on the point being, that the materials for forming such judgment are more curious and copious, and unquestionably more authentic, than any thing else of their kind

extant.

But although this third volume of Miss Burney's " Diary" is for the most part of the court, courtly," it is by no means exclusively so: or rather, although the writer never for a day during the whole period comprised in this volume quits her court duties to return to the interests and occupations of ordinary life, those extensive literary connexions which she had formed during the previous part of her career still occasionally find their way to her courtly seclusion, and lend a grace and variety to the details of her journal which remove from it any thing like that monotony and heaviness which might have resulted from its too exclusively confining itself to the sayings and doings of a court. Moreover, by means of those periodical changes which necessarily take place in the various characters forming the dramatis persona of the scene, and the frequent, indeed almost weekly changes of the scene itself,-from Windsor to St. James's-from St. James's to Kew-and from Kew back again to Windsor; and the variety in the nature of the life led at each of those royal residences respectively;— not to mention royal progresses to Oxford, temporary residences at Cheltenham, occasional visits to the high nobility, &c.: by reason, we say, of these incessant changes of scene and society, the Diary acquires, in the present volume, even more of movement, action and variety-it grows even more "audible and full of vent"-than when confined, as in the two previous volumes, to the ordinary literary and social materials appertaining to the private career of the writer herself.