conduct of which
it would not be easy to point out a blemish. None have that completeness
which constitutes one of the chief merits of Fielding's Tom Jones. There
is always either an improbability, or a forced expedient, or an
incongruous incident, or an unpleasant break, or too much intricacy, or
a hurried conclusion. They are usually languid in the commencement, and
abrupt in the close; too slowly opened, and too hastily summed up. Guy
Mannering is one of those in which these two faults are least apparent.
The plot of Peveril of the Peak might perhaps, on the whole, have been
considered the best, if it had not been spoiled by the finale.

_Scott and Shakspeare._

It may be said of the novels of Sir Walter Scott, as of the plays of
Shakspeare, that though they never exhibit an attempt to enforce any
distinct moral, they are, on the whole, favourable to morality. They
tend (to use a common expression) to keep the heart in its right place.
They inspire generous emotions, and a warm-hearted and benevolent
feeling towards our fellow-creatures; and for the most part afford a
just and unperverted view of human character and conduct. In them a very
sparing use is made of satire--that weapon of questionable
utility--which perhaps has never yet done much good in any hands, not
even in those of Pope or Young. Satire is thought useful, too much
because it gratifies the uncharitableness of our nature. But to hold up
wisdom and virtue to our admiration, is better than to apply the lash,
however dexterously, to vice and folly. There are, perhaps, no fictions
exciting the imagination so strongly as the Waverley Novels, which have
a less tendency to corrupt the heart; and it is, chiefly, because they
do not exhibit flattering and delusive pictures of crime. In this again
they resemble the plays of Shakspeare. Forcibly as that great dramatist
has depicted vice, and ably as he has sometimes shown its coexistence
with physical energy and intellectual superiority,--much as he may teach
us to admire the villain for some of his attributes, he never confounds
the limits of right and wrong. He produces no obliquity in our moral
sense, nor seduces us to lend our sympathy against the dictates of our
better reason. Neither in his graver, nor in his gayer scenes, is there
aught which can corrupt. He invests profligacy with no attractive
colours, nor lends a false and imposing greatness to atrocious villany.
We admire the courage of Macbeth, the