novel-writing. One of the most palpable of those faults, is the want of contrivance and proper finish, in the construction of many of his stories. He, indeed, avows that his chief object in writing his narrative dramas (for this would seem to us to be their most appropriate appellation,) is to portray characters, rather than to unfold plots. In this design he has so perfectly succeeded, that we know no writer, with, perhaps the exception of Shakspeare, whom he has not surpassed. Notwithstanding this, we must be permitted to say, that as novels, we do not recollect one of his numerous productions, that we should recommend as a model in that species of literature; for either in the construction, or winding up of each of his stories, some deficiency is always discoverable, at which every reader must feel more or less dissatisfied. We know that there are abundance of isolated and detached beauties to atone for these deficiencies. If it were not so, neither the efforts of the witlings, nor the caprice of fashion, could long support the writer in the enviable eminence to which it has arisen amongst authors.

It is this eminence of the author of Waverly, however, that seems to have given rise to the opinion now so prevalent, that a well constructed plot is not essential to the formation of a good novel, although this author himself, in one of his earlier prefaces, expresses a different opinion, and acknowledges that he adhered chiefly to the delineation of character, after having attempted in vain to combine that species of writing, (which he found most suited to his genius,) with the formation of a perfect plot. It is evident, therefore, that he considers his novels to be imperfect, in so far as their plots are defective.

The imitators of this great writer, however, and they are now pretty numerous, seem to think, that in order to produce a good novel, nothing more is requisite, than to exclude from it all unity of story, and to make some attempt at sketching a series of unconnected scenes, and at daubing over, perhaps a half dozen of strange characters, who must in no respect resemble any of the descendants of Adam and Eve, least they should lose their pretensions to originality.

But these imitators of Waverly, and the reviewers who coincide with them, ought to remember, since the defence of their

doctrine is altogether founded on the successful example of the Great Unknown, that, in atonement for his defective plots, he has imbued his works with innumerable beauties inimitable by other writers, and sufficiently attractive to make the most fastidious reader overlook the deformities of his ill-contrived plots. Singularity of incident, perplexity of situation, graphic painting of scenery and action, discriminating individuality of character, correct and animated force of dramatic dialogue, vivacity of narration, and a constant flow of casy, nervous and perspicuous language, are the united charms to be found in rich abundance in the Waverly works. It is to these that they owe the attractions in which they surpass all other literary productions of the day, and by which they enchain the reader to their pages, in spite of their defective plotstheir extravagant and unnatural Fenellas, Nornas, and Black Dwarfs,—their occasional neglect of grammatical accuracy and euphony of language, and other minor faults, which no body but a pedant would stop to notice amidst the blaze of their innumerable beauties.

But the excellencies of this writer, numerous as they are, ought not to render us blind admirers of his imperfections. At all events, we must protest against his imperfections being accounted beauties, and exhibited to the world as specimens of excellence in novel writing, and models for imitation to all who aspire at eminence in that pursuit.

Before the appearance of the Waverly productions, no one was ever heard to maintain that an interesting story, embracing a well arranged and well conducted plot, was not essential to the formation of a good novel. It is not more than half a generation since the only opinion on this subject, which any man of letters would have thought of asserting to be orthodox, was, that a good novel, like a good epic poem, ought to possess a unity of plot, a beginning, a middle, and an end, which should carry the hero and heroine, through a variety of interesting and perplexing adventures, from which the reader should, at last, feel both relieved and rejoiced to find them delivered. In conformity with this doctrine, Dr. Blair eugolized the novel of Tom Jones, chiefly on account of the artful manner in which

all the incidents are made to contribute to the winding up of the plot, which gives to the whole story, a unity and an interest, that must be pleasing to every reader. The mind is kept agitated by the clouds of misfortune that are perpetually thickening round the hero, until he becomes enveloped in the darkest shades of misery; and the reader is almost in despair for his fate, when, all at once, the prospect brightens and the object of solicitude is relieved out of heart-rending distress, by means, which cannot fail to afford delight, both because they are unexpected and surprising, and because they are compatible with the nature of things, and our ideas of justice.

The novel of the Vicar of Wakefield is scarcely inferior to that of Tom Jones, in respect to a perfect story. In some other respects it is perhaps superior, and its popularity is equal to its merits, and will be as lasting as the language of which it forms one of the purest and most classical specimens. We may here observe, that the unity of plot so remarkable in both of these novels, has never, we believe, been objected to them as a blemish. Indeed, before the star of Waverly arose upon the admiring world, with a lustre which has induced mankind to overlook the numerous specks on its disk, no writer of romance ever thought to gain public favour without the aid of an interesting story. To narrate adventures seemed to be the business of a novelist; and no reader ever opened a work professing to be a novel, without expecting to have his curiosity interested by a narrative of connected events tending to the accomplishment of some particular end, or to the bringing about of some catastrophe, to point a moral perhaps, or perhaps merely to explain a mystery.

But of late years a class of Waverly imitators, have appeared in the guise of novelists, who, finding themselves unable to invent effective stories, content themselves, sometimes with sketching scenes, and sometimes with drawing characters. These writers think that in so doing, they are taking the shortest road to fortune and literary fame, because they suppose they are following the footsteps of the great novelist. If the defective nature of their plots is objected to them, they or their admirers immediately protest against plots much in the same

manner, and for the same reason, that the Byronians protest against harmony.

"A Plot!" they exclaim- Surely no one can think a plot necessary to a novel! Such an opinion is by much too old fashioned for the present day. The author of Waverly has taught the world better; and has nobly broken the fetters which the necessity of telling a story had imposed on the novelists of older times. Drawing characters, and sketching scenes, are all the qualities, in these indulgent days, necessary for a good novel. Thanks to the Great Unknown, who first discovered other means of interesting readers, than by the excitement of curiosity, or the production of alarm and sympathy for the fate of human characters led through a series of affecting and interesting adventures!"

The advocates of storyless novels, who in this manner plead the example of the unknown Scottish romancer, seem to forget that his works are not altogether so destitute of plots as they would make us believe. It is true, as we have already observed, the unity of his tales appears to be of less consideration with him than the giving strong colouring to his scenes and characters. But he has alway sufficient story to keep alive expectation; and if his catastrophe fails, as it generally does, to give satisfaction, the progress of the narrative seldom fails to excite curiosity and inspire an interest in the result. In contemplating his works, we cannot avoid admiring the entire fabric of even the least finished, although we feel that there is something wanting in its construction to make it what it should be. The particular parts, however, are mostly so perfect as to command our unqualified approbation, and so beautiful that they never fail to atone for both the want of contrivance in adapting them to each other, and the remissness in giving to the edifice, when put together, the proper finish.

But it is surely unreasonable to esteem this want of contrivance, and this remissness in finishing, advantageous to his works, or to cite them as improvements in novel writing. They are blemishes, let inconsiderate critics say as they please, and such considerable ones too, that it frequently requires all the fascination possessed by the separate parts of the productions to neutralize the

disagreeable effects of these blemishes, and save some of the novels from utter condemnation. If these imperfections in the construction of the Waverly plots did not exist, is there any one who will be hardy enough to say, that the works would not be more perfect, give more entire satisfaction, and obtain more unanimous applause, than they do? At all events, there can be no greater instance of injudicious criticism, than that of eulogizing the defects of these, or any other works of genius; nor can there be a more absurd fashion in literature, than that of looking upon such defects as models worthy of imitation.

For our parts, we have always thought it dangerous to praise defects, and wrong to imitate them, no matter how great or glorious the original from which they spring. The world will always, one day or other, see the cheat and desist from supporting it. The wry neck of Alexander the Great, and the hunch back of Richard the Third, could not be permanently converted into personal beauties, although flattery for a time rendered them fashionable. In both cases, the world in a few years resumed its primitive taste, and deformity was again declared to be deformity. Such has always been, and always will be, the fate of bad literature. During the reign of bad taste, it may flourish; but bad taste seldom reigns long. The whims of fashion which support it, are formed of slight and brittle materials. They are prone to sudden overthrow; and in their fall the veil which false taste throws over the faults of authors, is torn, and the true marks of distinction between the beauties and blemishes of the same production, are exposed to a fairly judging public, and the just and proper character awarded to each.

There is, indeed, in the human mind, a latent relish for truth and nature, which, although the gale of capricious fashion may occasionally drive it astray, sooner or later, returns to the right path, and, in the end, never fails to attain the goal of correct judgment. Absurd opinions and perverted tastes have sometimes arisen to a perfect mania; but reason has generally detected the error. Mankind have often become ashamed of their conduct; and have retraced their steps from the wilderness of whim and folly, to the more genial regions of reason, nature and propriety.