represents, we are told, "Le
Bon Sens," might break the heart of Clenardus, if not the head of
Priscian.

_The Thousand and One Quarter Hours_, or _Contes Tartares_, have as
little of the Tartar as those above mentioned of the Chinese, but if
somewhat verbose, they are not wholly devoid of literary quality. The
substance is, as in nearly all these cases, _Arabian Nights_ rehashed;
but the hashing is not seldom done _secundum artem_, and they have, with
the _Les Sultanes de Gujerate_ and _Nouveaux Contes Orientaux_, which
follow them, the faculty of letting themselves be read.

The best of these[237] (except the French translation of the so-called
Sir Charles Morell's (really James Ridley's) _Tales of the Genii_ (see
above)) is perhaps, on the whole, _Les Sultanes de Gujerate_, where not
only are some of the separate tales good, but the frame-story is far
more artistically worked in and round and out than is usually the case.
But taking them all together, there is one general and obvious, as well
as another local and particular objection to them. Although the
sub-title (_v. sup._ again) lets them in, the main one regards them
with, at best, an oblique countenance. The differences between the
Western fairy and the Eastern _peri_, _dive_, _djin_, or whatever one
chooses to call her, him, or it, though not at all easy to define, are
exceedingly easy to feel. The magicians and enchanters of the two kinds
are nearer to each other, but still not the same. On the other hand, it
is impossible for any one who has once felt the strange charm of the
_Arabian Nights_ not to feel the immense inferiority of these rehashes
and _croquettes_ and _rissoles_, and so forth, of the noble old haunch
or sirloin. Yet again, from the special point of view of this book,
though they cannot be simply passed over, they supply practically
nothing which marks, or causes, or even promises an advance in the
general development of fiction. They may be said to be simply a
continuation of, or a relapse upon, the pure romance of adventure, with
different dress, manners, and nomenclature. There is hardly a single
touch of character in any one; their very morals (and no shame to them)
are arch-known; and they do not possess style enough to confer
distinction of the kind open to such things. If you take _Les Quatre
Facardins_, before most of them, and _Vathek_[238] (itself, remember,
originally French in language), after them all, the want of any kind of
ge