native genius; and the period is not far distant when Wellington and
the paladins of the late war, transported from this earthly scene by the
changes of mortality, will take lasting and immortal place in the fields
of romance.

The success of many of the novels of recent times, in the conception of
which most genius has been evinced, and in the composition most labour
bestowed, has been endangered, if not destroyed, by inattention to this
principle in the choice of a subject. There is great talent, much
learning, and vigorous conception, in the _Last Days of Pompeii_ by
Bulwer; and the catastrophe with which it concludes is drawn with his very
highest powers; but still it is felt by every class of readers to be
uninteresting. We have no acquaintance or association with Roman manners;
we know little of their habits; scarce any thing of their conversation in
private: they stand forth to us in history in a sort of shadowy grandeur,
totally distinct from the interest of novelist composition. No amount of
learning or talent can make the dialogues of Titus and Lucius, of Gallius
and Vespasia, interesting to a modern reader. On the other hand, the _Last
of the Barons_ is an admirably chosen historical subject, worked out with
even more than the author's usual power and effect; and but for a defect
in composition, to be hereafter noticed, it would be one of the most
popular of all his productions. Great talent and uncommon powers of
description have been displayed in Oriental novels; but they have not
attained any lasting reputation--not from any fault on the part of the
writers, but the want of sympathy in the great majority of readers with
the subject of their compositions. Strange to say, we feel nothing foreign
in James's _Attila_. So deeply were we impregnated with barbarian
blood--so strongly have Scythian customs and ideas descended to our
times--that the wooden palace of the chief of the Huns, surrounded with
its streets of carts, and myriads of flocks and herds, in the centre of
Hungary, is felt as nothing alien. On the other hand, some of Sir Walter's
later productions have failed, notwithstanding great ability in the
execution, from undue strangeness in the subject. _Anne of Geierstein_,
and the Indian story in the _Chronicles of the Canongate_, belong to this
class; and even if _Robert of Paris_ had not been written during the decay
of the author's mental powers, it would probably have failed, from the
impossibility