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iar method merely propose to take them upat intervals, one by one, and give rough and running sketch oi them, with perhaps now and then short specimen of their powers. The reader will find them, as I said before, to be but crayon sketches--per- haps imperfect ones--for am conscious of being in no way fitted for the task, except that possess a great love for poetry, and have been very eonversant with the writings of all our American poets. Neither has 1t been our habit. under guise of the Walking Gentleman. to play the stern and unjust critic, and our sketches will rather incline to praise than to censure.

 BRYANr.-Wc place his name first, be- cause he has been very frequently and al- most generally ranked us tiIe fflsi poet ii iii America-not because we ourselves agree l ln the opinion, or have in our own mind, set him up as "the great Napoleon of the realms of rhyme.o And yet no one can be unwilling to assign him an elevated place among our bards, even considering the little he has done. Bryant's poetry fhas sorne- thing of the tone of Wordsworth's--an IS also more like the regular systematic move ment of the verse of Pope and Dryden.- There is calm, and almost stern quietude of feeling about itA--a majestic, measured movement, like some of the adagios of Haydn--a vein of philosophy, and, witha, cold, apathetie appearance of repose, that IS ever mark of great genius. It is like statue heBn of narble-grand, sublime, and beautiful-but notonless, still, and calm. There Is nothing of the outbreaking of vivid feelmg-of intense and soaring passion-of fiery and irregular imagination about 1t. The genius of Bryant IS like the eagle-resting in the broad space of the eternal air, with his wide white wings folded calmly under him-broad awake and mo- tionless-yet capable Of the highest and most sustained flights. His poetry reminds you strongly of Dorie temple--with it's chaste, silent grandeur and republican sim plicity--with few, very few ornameuts--But those few more efficient than the glittering l splendor of many of his compeers. Bry- ant isvery little of an iruitator. The mould Of h,s mind IS not framed after any man I and 1t IS proof of his talent, that the little 1 he has written has given him so high rank as poet. He has given the world no iong poeln-and his fame Is built more upon what he could do, than what be has done.-- He Is now one of the editors of the New l York Evening Post, violent partizan pa- per-and there Is no true lover of poetry who does not regret 1t. It is degrading to think that the very highest order of intellect should be debased to such purposes. Per haps, however, 1t is his necessities which have driven him to it--and If so, he cannot be blamed, but should be pilied--for noth- ing Is so irksome to the poet as a continual strife and turmoil--a continual contact with the worst passions of mankind and no true poet will long submit to it. Necessity IS an lmperious mistress, and will be obey- ed--but such men as Bryant were not made to toll fer a faction and to prostitute their fine talents 10 so ignobie a purpose. Bry- ant owes it to his country and his own char acter, that he should give to the world some connected poem--and whenever he does 1t, we should not be surprised if that coun- try awarded to him the highest place among her sons oi song.

 ] HALLEcK.-Fitz Greene Halleck Is a New Yorker. To him also has been award ed by the vote of some part of the public, the highest rank among American poets and It may be doubted whether sufficient development of his genius, and a long and sustained flight might not entitle him to contend for that honor. He possesses much of the true spirit of poetry-and with less stateliness and dignity than Bryant, he has far more fire and spirit. He has shown himself equal to the highest fights-and has written some things that stir the blood like trumpet. There is an impetuosity- a rapidity of thought and brilliance of im- agery about him, that belongs only to poets of the highest order-for his imagery and ornament are never merely fanciful and pretty, but have grandeur and sublimity, which reminds one of Byron. His mind is not so much ike the Composite order with its fowery carving and light beauties, as the Ionic, with its chastely beautiful and simple ornaments-and his poetry has more of the brilliance of Mozart than the flowe- ry viyidness of Rossini. His Marco Boz zuis is fine thng-spirited, enthusiastic and original. He has succeeded, too, as a satirist-and few things are better than his address to Recorder Riker-keen. cutting, and polished. One passage we remember, though it is long since we read it

 "Cesar passed the Rubicon,

 Dashing his war horse through the waters; l Tie Riker would have built barge

 Or steam boat, at the city's charge,

 And pass'd 1t with his wife and daughters" 1 There is, about both Bryant and Halleck, much of that indescribable, and almost in- l 1