ng of freedom," etc., etc.

"These are merely a few, a very few instances, taken at random from
among a multitude of _willful_ murders committed by Miss Fuller on
the American of President Polk. She uses, too, the word 'ignore,' a
vulgarity adopted only of late days (and to no good purpose, since
there is no necessity for it) from the barbarisms of the law, and
makes no scruple of giving the Yankee interpretation to the verbs
'witness' and 'realize,' to say nothing of 'use,' as in the sentence,
'I used to read a short time at night.' It will not do to say in
defense of such words, that in such senses they may be found in
certain dictionaries--in that of Bolles', for instance;--_some_ kind
of 'authority' may be found for _any_ kind of vulgarity under the sun.

"In spite of these things, however and of her frequent unjustifiable
Carlyleisms, (such as that of writing sentences which are no
sentences, since, to be parsed, reference must be had to sentences
preceding,) the style of Miss Fuller is one of the very best with
which I am acquainted. In general effect, I know no style which
surpasses it. It is singularly piquant, vivid, terse, bold,
luminous--leaving details out of sight, it is everything that a style
need be.

"I believe that Miss Fuller has written much poetry, although she has
published little. That little is tainted with the affectation of the
_transcendentalists_, (I used this term, of course, in the sense which
the public of late days seem resolved to give it,) but is brimful of
the poetic _sentiment_. Here, for example, is something in Coleridge's
manner, of which the author of 'Genevieve' might have had no reason to
be ashamed:--

A maiden sat beneath a tree;
Tear-bedewed her pale cheeks be,
And she sighed heavily.

From forth the wood into the _light_
A hunter strides with carol _light_
And a glance so bold and bright.

He careless stopped and eyed the maid;
'Why weepest thou?' he gently said;
'I love thee well, be not afraid.'

He takes her hand and leads her on--
She should have waited there alone,
For he was not her chosen one.

He _leans_ her head upon his breast--
She knew 'twas not her home of rest,
But, ah! she had been sore distrest.

The sacred stars looked sadly down;
The parting moon appeared to frown,
To see thus dimmed the diamond crown.

Then from the thicket starts a deer--
The huntsman seizing _on_ his spear
Cries, 'Maiden, wait