90 

 ROSCOE'S SPANISH NOVELISTS. 



A WISE man can look without being dazzled, on many sources of 

 pleasure, and while making his selection for the time present, will 

 give a careful glance at those he leaves, knowing they may be useful 

 to him at some future day. The times we live in are rife with plea- 

 surable excitements. It is not the man of science, the philosopher, 

 or the politician only, who finds himself under the power of a new 

 influence ; the gayest of the gay feels the movement, and has a fresh 

 interest in the proceedings of the age, The literature which was 

 prepared for the mere seekers of amusement some few years back, 

 could barely excite a momentary gratification ; now the same species 

 of composition has assumed an aspect of intelligence, of bright and 

 sportive, yet thoughtful intellectuality ; and there are not many 

 readers who could not select from the mass of fictitious writing, 

 some half dozen or dozen works which they would be glad to have 

 perused. English novelists, however, are, with few exceptions, 

 either mannerists or imitators. They are deficient in genuine vivacity 

 arid humour ; have narrow notions of human character ; are rarely 

 sentimental, without being affected; witty, without being gross; 

 satirical, without caricaturing; or didactic, without falling into dul- 

 ness. The most palpable cause of some of their deficiencies, is the 

 length to which the wishes of the publishers, on the one hand, and 

 the vanity of the writers, on the other, draw out the story. It must 

 be a full, -noble, active mind indeed, that can diffuse life through 

 such a vast mass of narrative as that contained within three goodly 

 sized volumes ; and as but very few romances have much sound 

 reason, much real acquaintance with the causes of things, or any 

 genuine knowledge of past times or scenes, the matter made use of 

 to fill up the gaps in the plot, or help belief from one piece of inven- 

 tion to another, or dress up the idols of the fancy into human shape, 

 will, for the most part, be of the least valuable kind ; and render, by 

 its want of utility and spirit, the whole novel itself a dull and useless 

 production. 



From this circumstance, and especially from the sameness and 

 mannerism of the great mass of English novels, he who thinks the 

 ingenuity of well managed fiction deserves to be reckoned among 

 the sources of pleasure, will hail with no little gratification the ap- 

 pearance of the work which has excited these remarks. The German 

 and Italian collections, from the pen of the same elegant translator, 

 were a valuable addition to our stores of romantic fiction. They 

 came upon us with fresh looks and voices. Our English fancy, sick 

 and jaded at the constant recurrence of worn-out plots, and the re- 

 appearance of characters more ghostlike at each new appearance, 

 rejoiced at the fresh and sparkling creations amid which it now found 

 itself. German mystery and Italian wit and tenderness, had few, if 

 any, parallels in the modern romance of this country. Mr. Roscoe's 

 translations, therefore, were well timed ; and considering that they 

 were intended for the general readers of fiction, and neither for 



