To publish a novel, to analyse, to eulogin it, and re commend its perusal to the good and pious, will appear no doubt very extraordinary, and offend the prejudices of many who have agreed among themselves to consider a novel, whoever may be its author, and whatever may be its subject, form, and design, as a pestilent production. If you ask them why? Because, they will reply because it is a novel! The answer is as wise as it is peremptory and decisive, and we will spare ourselves the useless trouble of replying to arguments so profound and powerful. We will, however, submit a few serious redeo tions to mind: of a less elevated order, were it only to prove that we can talk reasonably, even on the subject of novels.
