ke School. Some years ago I might have
been induced, by an occasion like the present, to attempt a formal
refutation of their doctrine; at present it would be a work of
supererogation. The wise must bow to the wisdom of such men as Coleridge
and Southey, but being wise, have laughed at poetical theories so
prosaically exemplified.

"Aristotle, with singular assurance, has declared poetry the most
philosophical of all writings--but it required a Wordsworth to pronounce
it the most metaphysical. He seems to think that the end of poetry is,
or should be, instruction; yet it is a truism that the end of our
existence is happiness; if so, the end of every separate part of our
existence, everything connected with our existence, should be still
happiness. Therefore the end of instruction should be happiness; and
happiness is another name for pleasure;--therefore the end of
instruction should be pleasure: yet we see the above-mentioned opinion
implies precisely the reverse.

"To proceed: _ceteris paribus_, he who pleases is of more importance to
his fellow-men than he who instructs, since utility is happiness, and
pleasure is the end already obtained which instruction is merely the
means of obtaining.

"I see no reason, then, why our metaphysical poets should plume
themselves so much on the utility of their works, unless indeed they
refer to instruction with eternity in view; in which case, sincere
respect for their piety would not allow me to express my contempt for
their judgment; contempt which it would be difficult to conceal, since
their writings are professedly to be understood by the few, and it is
the many who stand in need of salvation. In such case I should no doubt
be tempted to think of the devil in 'Melmoth,' who labors indefatigably,
through three octavo volumes, to accomplish the destruction of one or
two souls, while any common devil would have demolished one or two
thousand.

"Against the subtleties which would make poetry a study--not a
passion--it becomes the metaphysician to reason--but the poet to
protest. Yet Wordsworth and Coleridge are men in years; the one imbued
in contemplation from his childhood; the other a giant in intellect and
learning. The diffidence, then, with which I venture to dispute their
authority would be overwhelming did I not feel, from the bottom of my
heart, that learning has little to do with the imagination--intellect
with the passions--or age with poetry.

"'Trifles, like