quality of good sense, more particularly as evinced in the management and keeping up of character, that the authors of Marmion and Waverley are in a great measure indebted for the strong interest with which their stories are read. When the ruling motives, habitual feelings, and occasional impulses of the agents are natural and consistent, and such as strike us by their analogy to what we have ourselves experienced: then distance of time, remoteness of place, strange incidents, unusual modes of society, no longer freeze our sympathies or dissipate our curiosity; we become domesticated in castles, convents, and Highland fastnesses; and we converse more sociably with Coeur-de-Lion and the Knight of Snowdoun, than with half the heroes of scandalous and fashionable novels, whose adventures happened last week, within a furlong of St. James's. The powerful operation of good sense is remarkably exemplified (if it be necessary to cite an example) in that gem of romantic fable, the Lay of the Last Minstrel. Such fantastic incidents, such grotesque superstitions, and a state of society so anomalous, as that story presents, might, notwithstanding the charms of its poetry, furnish matter of incurable offence to the prejudices of cultivated minds, but the characters are so distinctly conceived, and their parts in the action so judiciously assigned, their manners, words, and conduct on every occasion are so consistent, and so rationally adapted to their respective views, habits, and modes of life, that the wildest scenes assume an air of truth and reality, a persuasive natural grace, which fascinates and disarms of his objections (I will say, if you agree with me) the most discerning and experienced critic. The good sense I have thus highly commended may exhibit itself in two ways; either in the just delineation of characters, to which that quality is especially attributed, or in the discreet and masterly treatment of any character whatever: Lord Howard and the Lady of Branksome are strong instances of the first class, in the poem just alluded to; and Wat Tinlinn and William of Deloraine of the second. The novels being a species of composition better suited than poetry to the description of sober and unambitious excellencies, afford, in some of their heroes and heroines, more finished examples of wisdom and sound understanding than are found, or can reasonably be expected, in the metrical tales. I scarcely need mention, in support of this remark, the names (which you have no doubt anticipated) of Father Eustace, in the Monastery; Rebecca, the Jewess, a pearl-richer than all her tribe*;'-and the incomparable Jeany Deans, whose exquisite natural sagacity, so long and severely tried, compels me to believe, that her last witless adventure with Master Staunton, the Whistler, is a fable disingenuously palmed upon Peter Pattieson by some envious detractor. Of characters not distinguished by strong sense in themselves, but bearing testimony, by the manner in which they are drawn, to the accurate judgment and nice discretion of the writer, every volume of the novels will supply abundant examples. One of the first inquiries that suggest themselves in such investigations as the present is, how far the authors resemble each other in their style of composition. You must have observed, however, that in the novels, as well as in the prose works of the author of Marmion, the style seldom presses itself on our consideration: some glorious and some discreditable exceptions will immediately occur to you; but, generally speaking, it is the spirit, not the structure, of the sentence that obtains our attention, and if the language * Othello. becomes elevated and enriched, the thought also rises in proportion, and maintains its ascendancy. In this respect the novels before us differ strikingly from the work of Mr. Hope, already alluded to, where the elegance and aptness of the style add sensibly, nay, perhaps too obviously, to the effect of every passage, and equally assert their claim to praise in the gayest, the saddest, and the tenderest scenes. You will remark also, that those parts of the novels in which fine thoughts and fine composition have been most successfully united, are evidently, from the peculiar nature of their subjects, and from their highly imaginative or passionate character, unfit to be placed in comparison with any passage of a sober literary essay, or historical memoir, though proceeding from the same pen. I might transcribe the parting harangue of Meg Merrilies to Godfrey Bertram*, the young fisherman's funeral in the Antiquary†, the death of Mucklewrath the preacher, Jeany Deans's supplication to - Queen Caroline§, the dissolution of the Chapter at Templestowe by Coeur-de-Lion ||, or Elizabeth's torchlight procession to Kenilworth ¶, all specimens of admirable composition; but would it not be absurd to inquire what these extracts have in common with any page selected from the Life of Swift or Dryden, from the Essay on Border Manners and History**, or even from Paul's Letters? If, however, we view the style of the novels at its ordinary level, we shall, I think, find it bear as great resemblance to Guy Mannering, vol. i. ch. 8. + Vol. iii. ch. 2, 3. § Heart of Mid-Lothian, vol. iii. ch. 12. | Ivanhoe; vol. iii. ch. 14. Kenilworth, vol. iii, ch. 5. ** Prefixed to the Border Minstrelsy, vol. i. that of the other prose works as can exist between two modes of writing, when both are unmarked by any strong characteristic feature. Neither the author of Waverley, nor the editor of Dryden, is to be recognized by a frequent or ambitious use of antithesis, inversion, re-iteration, or climax; by sententious brevity or sounding circumlocution; by studied points or efforts to surprise; or, in short, by any of those artifices which, often repeated, form obvious peculiarities in style. The prose of these writers is, on the contrary, remarkable (if it can in any respect be deemed so) for plainness, and for the rare occurrence of ornaments produced by an artful collocation of words. Nothing seems attempted or desired, except to compose at as little expense of labour as possible consistently with the ease of the reader. Their style is therefore fluent, often diffuse, but generally perspicuous: if it is sometimes weakened by a superabundance, it is seldom darkened by a penury of words. We may remark as a characteristic circumstance, that they constantly express thoughts in the regular form of simile, which other writers would condense into metaphor. Their usual phraseology is of that learned and somewhat formal description, very generally adopted for the ordinary purposes of literature, and which, with reference to the business of authorship, may be called technical; a kind of language differing from that in which we converse, or correspond on familiar subjects, as printed characters from a free hand-writing. Yet the tone and spirit in which they deliver themselves are remarkably free from all appearance of pedantry and authoritative stiffness; there is, on the contrary, a winning air of candour in their address, which deserves to be numbered among their chief excellencies. They urge opinions and impart knowledge in the frank, unassuming, and courteous manner of a friend communicating with a friend. The use of irony or sarcasm appears repugnant to their natural openness and good humour; and accordingly they seldom employ these weapons unless it be for the prosecution of fictitious conflicts be-tween imaginary personages. But there is a kind of serious banter, a style hovering between affected gravity and satirical slyness, in which both writers take an unusual delight: it is a vein which may be traced through almost all their compositions, even, I think, to the poems, but which most frequently discloses itself in the telling of a story. One or two brief instances will bring a multitude to your remembrance. 6 • St. Cuthbert,' says the author of Marmion, in a note on the second canto of that poem, was, in the choice of his sepulchre, one of the most mutable and unreasonable 'saints in the calendar. He died A. D. 686, in a her'mitage upon the Farne islands.—His body was brought 'to Lindisfarne, where it remained until a descent of the 'Danes, about 763, when the monastery was nearly de'stroyed. The monks. fled to Scotland with what they ' deemed their chief treasure, the reliques of St. Cuthbert. • The saint was, however, a most capricious fellow-traveller; 'which was the more intolerable, as, like Sinbad's Old 'Man of the Sea, he journeyed upon the shoulders of his 'companions. They paraded him through Scotland for 'several years. He at length made a halt at Norham; from 'thence he went to Melrose, where he remained stationary for a short time, and then caused himself to be launched 6 upon the Tweed in a stone coffin, which landed him at Tilmouth, in Northumberland.-From Tilmouth Cuth6 bert wandered into Yorkshire; and at length made a long stay at Chester-le-Street, to which the bishop's see was 'transferred. At length, the Danes continuing to infest the |