he anecdote which we have quoted respecting Invernahyle, they have been
carefully disguised and blended with such as are purely imaginary. We
now proceed to a more particular examination of the volumes before us.

They are entitled "Tales of my Landlord": why so entitled, excepting to
introduce a quotation from Don Quixote, it is difficult to conceive: for
Tales of my Landlord they are _not_, nor is it indeed easy to say whose
tales they ought to be called. There is a proem, as it is termed,
supposed to be written by Jedediah Cleishbotham, the schoolmaster and
parish clerk of the village of Gandercleugh, in which we are given to
understand that these Tales were compiled by his deceased usher, Mr.
Peter Pattieson, from the narratives or conversations of such travellers
as frequented the Wallace Inn, in that village. Of this proem we shall
only say that it is written in the quaint style of that prefixed by Gay
to his Pastorals, being, as Johnson terms it, "such imitation as he
could obtain of obsolete language, and by consequence in a style that
was never written nor spoken in any age or place."

* * * * *

We have given these details partly in compliance with the established
rules which our office prescribes, and partly in the hope that the
authorities we have been enabled to bring together might give additional
light and interest to the story. From the unprecedented popularity of
the work, we cannot flatter ourselves that our summary has made any one
of our readers acquainted with events with which he was not previously
familiar. The causes of that popularity we may be permitted shortly to
allude to; we cannot even hope to exhaust them, and it is the less
necessary that we should attempt it, since we cannot suggest a
consideration which a perusal of the work has not anticipated in the
minds of all our readers.

One great source of the universal admiration which this family of Novels
has attracted, is their peculiar plan, and the distinguished excellence
with which it has been executed. The objections that have frequently
been stated against what are called Historical Romances, have been
suggested, we think, rather from observing the universal failure of that
species of composition, than from any inherent and constitutional defect
in the species of composition itself. If the manners of different ages
are injudiciously blended together,--if unpowdered crops and slim and
fairy shapes are c