cceeded by others (omitted in our extract) where the
idea is followed into its details; and there is another passage in
which, through no less than seventeen lines, she compares herself to
an inland stream disturbed and hurried on by the mingling with it of
the sea's tide. Thus also one of the most elaborate descriptions in
the poem,--an episode in itself of the extremest beauty and finish,
but, as we think, clearly misplaced,--is a picture of the dawn over a
great city, introduced into a letter of Philip's, and that, too,
simply as an image of his own mental condition. There are but few
poets for whom it would be superfluous to reflect whether pieces of
such-like mere poetry might not more properly form part of the
descriptive groundwork, and be altogether banished from discourse and
conversation, where the greater amount of their intrinsic care and
excellence becomes, by its position, a proportionally increasing load
of disregard for truthfulness.

For a specimen of a peculiarly noble spirit which pervades the whole
work, we would refer the reader to the character of Arthur Audley,
unnecessary to the story, but most important to the sentiment; for a
comprehensive instance of minute feeling for individuality, to the
narrative of Lindsay and the corrections of Arthur on returning from
their tour.

"He to the great _might have been_ upsoaring, sublime and ideal;
He to the merest _it was_ restricting, diminishing, dwarfing;"

For pleasant ingenuity, involving, too, a point of character, to the
final letter of Hobbes to Philip, wherein, in a manner made up of
playful subtlety and real poetical feeling, he proves how "this
Rachel and Leah is marriage."

"The Bothie of Toper-na-fuosich" will not, it is to be feared, be
extensively read; its length combined with the metre in which it is
written, or indeed a first hasty glance at the contents, does not
allure the majority even of poetical readers; but it will not be left
or forgotten by such as fairly enter upon it. This is a poem
essentially thought and studied, if not while in the act of writing,
at least as the result of a condition of mind; and the author owes it
to the appreciations of all into whose hands it shall come, and who
are willing to judge for themselves, to call it, should a second
edition appear, by its true name;--not a trifle, but a work.

That public attention should have been so little engaged by this poem
is a fact in one respect somewhat remark