for which they furnished the material—how each different character gave its cast to its opinion, while every different volume seems to bring back the friend with whom it was the favourite. No book is fairly judged till it is read twice, and at distant periods. It is curious to note the variation of taste in ourselves. I can remember I devoured the story keenly, dwelt on all that partook of sentiment, and never questioned the depth of any remark. I now find that I take chief interest in what brings out character. I enter more into the humourous, and am every now and then tempted to analyse the truth of a deduction. I think more over what I am reading, and delight more in connecting the world of fiction with that of reality.
In the "Monastery," Scott has gone back upon that more fanciful and legendary vein, which originated the "Lay of the Last Minstrel." He admits frankly the failure in the introduction of supernatural agency—on, however, what scarcely appears to me the true ground. The supernatural has even now hold on human imagination, if it be linked with its fears, or its sentiments. Look at the effect produced in the "Bride of Lammermuir," where the agency is that of the terrible, and Scott himself points out the charm of the exquisite story of "Undine," where the fancy is awakened through the affections. But the supernatural has its keeping as well as the real. Now the White
