little
surprised at such a question, I told my _litterateur_, that Ivanhoe
appeared to me to be very unequal, the first half being incomparably the
best, but that, as a whole, I thought it stood quite at the head of the
particular sort of romances to which it belonged. The Antiquary, and Guy
Mannering, for instance, were both much nearer perfection, and, on the
whole, I thought both better books; but Ivanhoe, especially its
commencement, was a noble poem. But did I not condemn the want of
historical truth in its pictures? I did not consider Ivanhoe as intended
to be history; it was a work of the imagination, in which all the
fidelity that was requisite, was enough to be probable and natural, and
that requisite I thought it possessed in an eminent degree. It is true,
antiquarians accused the author of having committed some anachronisms,
by confounding the usages of different centuries, which was perhaps a
greater fault, in such a work, than to confound mere individual
characters; but of this I did not pretend to judge, not being the least
of an antiquary myself. Did I not think he had done gross injustice to
the noble and useful order of the Templars? On this point I could say no
more than on the preceding, having but a very superficial knowledge of
the Templars, though I thought the probabilities seemed to be perfectly
well respected. Nothing could _seem_ to be more true, than Scott's
pictures. My guest then went into a long vindication of the Templars,
stating Scott had done them gross injustice, and concluding with an
exaggerated compliment, in which it was attempted to persuade me that I
was the man to vindicate the truth, and to do justice to at subject that
was so peculiarly connected with liberal principles. I disclaimed the
ability to undertake such a task, at all; confessed that I did not wish
to disturb the images which Sir Walter Scott had left, had I the
ability; and declared I did not see the connexion between his
accusation, admitting it to be true, and liberal principles.

My visitor soon after went away, and I saw no more of him for a week,
when he came again. On this occasion, he commenced by relating several
_piquant_ anecdotes of the Bourbons and their friends, gradually and
ingeniously leading the conversation, again, round to his favourite
Templars. After pushing me, for half an hour, on this point, always
insisting on my being the man to vindicate the order, and harping on its
connexion with liberty