MR. WAKLEY AND THE POETS.

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

Ir must often have puzzled editors 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 singsong to its true source. Astounding as it may 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 suca a very prolific versifier: but personally we are convinced

that we have been favoured with at least a few pecks, and rod 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?

"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 Story-teller that whilst his surgeon was setting to rights the broken skull of one farmer, our Authors were operating beneficially on the brains of Millions!

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