nothing to do with it.  Mr. Scott has great intuitive power of fancy, great vividness of pencil in placing external objects and events before the eye.  The force of his mind is picturesque, rather than moral.  He gives more of the features of nature than the soul of passion.  He conveys the distinct outlines and visible changes in outward objects, rather than “their mortal consequences.”  He is very inferior to Lord Byron in intense passion, to Moore in delightful fancy, to Mr. Wordsworth in profound sentiment:  but he has more picturesque power than any of them; that is, he places the objects themselves, about which they might feel and think, in a much more striking point of view, with greater variety of dress and attitude, and with more local truth of colouring.  His imagery is Gothic and grotesque.  The manners and actions have the interest and curiosity belonging to a wild country and a distant period of time.  Few descriptions have a more complete reality, a more striking appearance of life and motion, than that of the warriors in the Lady of the Lake, who start up at the command of Rhoderic Dhu, from their concealment under the fern, and disappear again in an instant.  The Lay of the Last Minstrel and Marmion are the first, and perhaps the best of his works.  The Goblin Page, in the first of these, is a very interesting and inscrutable little personage.  In reading these poems, I confess I am a little disconcerted, in turning over the page, to find Mr. Westall’s pictures, which always seem fac-similes of the persons represented, with ancient costume and a theatrical air.  This may be a compliment to Mr. Westall, but it is not one to Walter Scott.  The truth is, there is a modern air in the midst of the antiquarian research of Mr. Scott’s poetry.  It is history or tradition in masquerade.  Not only the crust of old words and images is worn off with time,—­the substance is grown comparatively light and worthless.  The forms are old and uncouth; but the spirit is effeminate and frivolous.  This is a deduction from the praise I have given to his pencil for extreme fidelity, though it has been no obstacle to its drawing-room success.  He has just hit the town between the romantic and the fashionable; and between the two, secured all classes of readers on his side.  In a word, I conceive that he is to the great poet, what an excellent mimic is to a great actor.  There is no determinate impression left on the mind by reading his poetry.  It has no results.  The reader rises up from the perusal with new images and associations, but he remains the same man that he was before.  A great mind is one that moulds the minds of others.  Mr. Scott has put the Border Minstrelsy and scattered traditions of the country into easy, animated verse.  But the Notes to his poems are just as entertaining as the poems themselves, and his poems are only entertaining.