DEAR SIR,-You must excuse me for occupying this third number by an inquiry exclusively my own. Do not suppose that I am wholly unjust to my deplored friend Q. Z. X. in this proceeding; for it is on a subject which he had much at heart; namely, the discovery of anonymous authors. Not indeed that Q.Z.X. had sifted the evidence touching the particular person of whom I am in search, but in general, he was uneasy till he could assign nameless works, or those bearing fictitious or wrong names, to some tangible personage. Indeed he had made some progress in discovering who has written Moore's Almanack, since the death of venerable Francis the Philomath; that erudite book of prognostics being still graced with his signature, as the annual composer thereof, although he has long since left the world to lament his loss.

You will see that my present subject of research is the name of the person who has composed what are called The Scotch Novels. I know that divers conjectures have been put forth, but as none of them are satisfactory to me, I pass them by; and lest other conjectural critics should travel over ground, where I have sought in vain, I will first begin with discussing the claims of those persons of whom I had some susVOL. VIII.

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Now I had shrewd suspicions that it might be Mr Maturin; and they were founded on these similar circumstances. Mr M.'s" Women," and "Melmoth," are so far anonymous, as that they only allow in their title-pages, that they are by The Author of "Bertram." Ivanhoe," and "The Monastery" are in the same way declared to be by The Author of " Waverley.” Moreover, the Tales of my Landlord bear the fabulous name of Jedediah Cleishbotham, as Editor; and Mr M. the writer of "The Family of Montorio," walked forth heretofore, in the quaint disguise of Dennis Jasper Murphy. Surely these coincidences were wondrous! But alas! one author, in referring from book to book, drops the inquirer without betraying himself at the end of the chain; for if you trace the title-pages back from "The Abbot," to the earliest of the tribe, you will find no more at last than "Waverley; or, "Tis Sixty Years Since," and a preface full of perhapses. Per2 Y

haps the author may be a soldier or a sailor-perhaps a priest or a lawyeran old man or a young one-a fine gentleman or a scrub-and it concludes nothing. Whereas, if we travel from "Melmoth" to "Pour et Contre," and thence to "Manuel," and so get, by regular stages to "Bertram," there we alight upon an explicit avowal that the Reverend Charles R. Maturin is the inditer thereof; and by logical consequence, of those divers and sundry aforenamed contributions to the stores of the reading public. As therefore Mr M.'s concealment neither is, nor is meant to be, complete, I think this difference between him and the other writer so great, that I have reason to strike him off my list of competitors for the Waverley laurel.

Without all doubt, the author of "Waverley" can vary his manner, and so, at will, be grave or gay, lively or severe. Hence, I once thought to have found him in the person of Mr Leigh Hunt; (whose name, by the bye, is James Henry Leigh Hunt-I like to be accurate-vide his Juvenilia, in which there is also a demure portrait of him ;) for he is described by his admirers as great in many species of authorship great, as a political writergreat, as a poet-great, as a dissertator in prose, or story-teller-a sort of Hermes Trismegistus-in short, he may be reckoned omni-scriptive or pangraphic. Among other proofs, you may see an admirer's address to him, which he has printed, and it concludes thus: "Wit, poet, prose-man, party-man, translator,

H.

your best title yet is Indicator."

But my particular suspicions of him originated in this; that the fourth number of his Indicator contained a story of "The Beau-Miser, and what happened to him at Brighton." This was written with such verisimilitude, as Mr H. himself affirms, that some of his readers took it for a true circumstance, like those, I suppose, under the head of Police Intelligence in the Examiner newspaper. In the fifth number, therefore, to stop the spreading of this delusion, Mr H. was obliged to give notice that it was purely his own fabrication. "We wish," says he, "to correct this mistake; and shall make a point hereafter, of so wording any thing we write in the shape of a narrative, that a mere fiction shall not

be confounded with our personal experience." What a proof of the beaunaturel of the Beau-Miser! which, by the bye, does not mean a Wretched Beau, but a Penurious one. Now I am sure it will be granted that the Scotch Novels have scenes which quite as much resemble every-day life, as those in Mr L. H.'s misleading narrative-ergo, there is presumptive proof that they may have been written by the same accurate painter of manners. Nevertheless, I am induced to withdraw Mr H.'s claim; for, upon a comparison of styles, I find that of the Brighton incident, different from that in which the author of " Waverley" writes. The latter does not talk of a man "being twitched and writhed up;" nor of a clipped off lock of hair being glossy and healthy!" Nor do I find in the Scotch works, any instance of a stranger having given a gentleman, as he talked with him, "a thump on the shoulder, which made him jump"-nor of a beau having unconsciously walked about with an enormous coal-heaver's hat on his head, without finding it out, even when he went a-courting. All which, decorate the said truth-like fable of Mr H. So that, altogether, I dismiss Mr J. H. L. Hunt from the imputation of having had any concern with "Waverley," and its associates.

Dr Drake has tried his hand at a tale occasionally; and of late, in his" Winter Nights," he has given us his fireside story, called, "The Fate of the Bellardistons ;" and pretty enough it is. But, after all, I suspect that he is not the required author, as his taste in poetry differs so considerably from the Waverley wight, whose mottos, quotations, and small original pieces, betray that he adores the divine writers of the most palmy times of our literature, and at the same time possesses a keen relish for the best of those who now flourish. On the contrary, Dr D. has, I fear, a palate easily tickled with very homely condiments-he is far gone as a lover of mediocrity in poetry. Witness the laud he gave to Cumberland's Calvary, and to Mason Good's Translation of Lucretius; and, from the living aspirants to poetic fame, he presents to notice, as bards of most excellent promise, Messrs C. Neale, H. Neele, and J. Bird. No-Dr Drake must be acquitted of having written the works in question. I will not trouble you with my rea

sons for giving up my suspicions of Dr Mavor, Mr Pinkerton, Mr Coxe, and some others, whose sole ground of resemblance was in their fecundity, each, like the author of " Waverley," having sent at least a score volumes a-piece into the world.

A novel-reading lady friend of mine, recommended me to seek among the writers for Mr Lane's Minerva Press; but I did it without profit; for there is this difference between the writings of the Scotch Novelist, and those of Miss Haynes, Miss Stanhope, Anne of Swansea, and Mr Francis Lathom, that his run through many editions, while the public are well content with one edition of theirs. It is curious that some difficult lines in Milton may be explained by this latter circumstance. He says,

“That two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no

more."

The two-handed engine is evidently a printing-press; (say that of Minerva :) Publishers do actually talk of striking off an impression; and every one knows, that to strike and to smite are synonymous, and the words once and no more, can only allude to a single edition of a book. So that by the practice of the Minerva Press, we get an elucidation, which we should have never found had our attention been restricted to such

rapidly reprinted publications as those of the author of "Waverley."

My critica vannus having winnowed away those who are not the desired authors, I trust that I can now present him who is, and this is no less a personage than CHRISTOPHER NORTH, Esq. Editor of Blackwood's Magazine, &c. &c. &c.

Let me then advance to the proof of it. My grounds for thinking you the public benefactor in this particular, lie in these circumstances:-1st, The author of " Waverley" chooses a sort of concealment; 2dly, He has great versatility in his style of composition; 3dly, He is well versed in the Scotish language; 4thly, He betrays a love of good cheer; 5thly, He is a Tory; and, 6thly, He cannot but be amassing

wealth.

Now, is it not odd enough, that all these characteristics tally with the habits, tastes, and conditions of Squire North? Aut Erasmus, aut Diabolusif you are not the author of " Waverley," the deuce is in it. But let me

soberly shew the parallelism under all the heads above stated.

1. You have no objection to play bopeep with the public; for we, who live at a distance, cannot forget, that for a long time you were only known to us, (if it can be called known,) as the Veiled Conductor. Just as a lamp of ground glass diffuses radiance, and yet suffers not any one to see the exact shape of the flame within; so, while the Veiled Conductor flourished, we saw that some one was edifying us, but his name and features we knew not; all that we were permitted to discern was, that he was sensible and jocular; but this did not inform us whether his name was North or South; for you may recollect that acuteness and facetiousness have, in times past, been the property of persons bearing both these appellations. Dr South was (saving your presence) as witty as you; and the late Lord North was as ready at a repartee or a gibe, as even the great Edinburgh North of the present day. Now this hankering for the coy disguise of anonymity in you and in the Novelist, is very symptomatic of the identity of the two authors. For let us know in what degree is the title of The Veiled Conductor a whit more explanatory than that of The Author of" Waverley?"

2. Let the different Tales be allowed to display as much versatility of genius as possible, yet they can hardly be pronounced to evince more than you possess; knowing, as we do, from your own confession, that most of the anonymous Articles in the Magazine are of your own writing. So that in this point, there is no bar to your being the author of whom we are in search; on the contrary, the likelihood is great and astounding.

3. The Novels demonstrate the writer's admirable acquaintance with the Scottish language. Now different references in your Magazine shew that Dr Jamieson's Etymological Dictionary is frequently at your elbow; and your occasional use of a word or two, proves your proficiency in that venerable tongue. Doubtless, you have possessed advantages for learning it, which do not fall to the lot of all; for I am told by a friend who has visited Edinburgh of late, that the use of that least corrupted dialect of the Anglo-Saxon, namely, the gude braid Scots, is not even now wholly superseded by the