r of profundity,
by their utter contempt of perspicuous language, and a petulant
disregard of even that rhythm, or regulated harmony, which has been
supposed to distinguish verse from prose. For very manifest reasons,
however, these are not the occasions on which we prefer to test the
critical powers of Mrs Margaret Fuller. It is more advisable to
observe her manner when occupied upon established reputations, such as
Scott, and Byron, and Southey.

Our critic partakes in the very general opinion which places the prose
works of Sir Walter Scott far above his poetry. It is an opinion we do
not share. Admirable as are, beyond all doubt, his novels, Sir Walter
Scott, in out humble estimation, has a greater chance of immortality
as the author of the Lay of the Last Minstrel, than as the author of
Waverley. That, perhaps, is our heresy, and Mrs Fuller may be
considered here as representing the more orthodox creed. And thus it
is she represents it.

"The poetry of WALTER SCOTT has been _superseded_ by his prose, yet it
fills no unimportant niche in the literary history of the last half
century, and may be read, _at least once in life_, with great
pleasure. Marmion, The Lay of the Last Minstrel, &c., cannot, indeed,
be companions of those Sabbath hours of which the weariest, dreariest
life need not be destitute, for their bearing is _not upon the true
life of man_, his immortal life." (If Mrs Fuller wrote in the language
of the conventicle this would be intelligible; but she does not; what
does she mean?) "Coleridge felt this so deeply, that in a lately
published work, he is recorded to have said, 'not twenty lines of
Scott's poetry will ever reach posterity; it has relation to
nothing.'" (Vol. i. p. 63.)

If Coleridge said this in the haste and vivacity of conversation, it
was great in justice to his memory to record and print it. "Not twenty
lines!"--"relation to nothing!" Why, there are scores of lines in his
earliest poem alone, which will ring long in the ears of men, for they
have relation to the simple unalterable, universal feelings of
mankind.

"Oh, said he that his heart was cold!"

We will not believe it. We are tempted to answer with a torrent of
quotation; but this is not the place.

"To one who has read," continues Mrs Fuller, "Scott's novels first,
and looks in his poems for the same dramatic interest, the rich
humour, the tragic force, the highly wrought, yet flowing dialogue,
and the countless minu