Observing  that  in  each  of  the  volumes  {Beiitley's  Miscellany,
American  edition)  before  us  there  was  one  tale,  and  one  only
from  his  pen,  and  finding  that  one  of  these  consisted  of  eighteen
and  the  other  of  twenty-five  pages,  small  duodecimo,  we  took
up  the  volume  with  a  light  heart,  and  went  to  work  with  some-
thing like  the  same  consolation  with  which  Fergus  M'lvor  went
to  the  scaffold.  *  Let  them  spin  out  the  business  as  they  will,'
said  he,  '  they  cannot  make  it  last  much  over  half  an  hour.'

"  Thus  it  was  that  we  became  acquainted  with  the  Public  Life
of  Mr.  Tulrumble,  and  the  Progress  of  Oliver  Twist,  the  Parish
Boy.  The  result  of  this  was,  that  we  were  not  only  confirmed
in  our  suspicions  of  the  true  character  of  the  writer,  but  that
our  indignation  was  strongly  excited  against  the  critic  who  had
palmed  him  on  our  notice.  We  felt  called  upon  to  expose  the
onei,  and  denounce  the  other  as  proper  objects  for  the  contempt
and  indignation  of  the  public.  To  qualify  ourselves  for  the
duty,  and  to  secure  ourselves  against  any  possibility  of  injustice,
we  undertook,  and  faithfully  accomplished,  the  loathsome  task
of  reading  these  volumes  through.  Having  completed  it,  we
determined  that  if,  from  this  time  forth,  any  of  our  readers
staffers  himself  to  be  cheated  out  of  his  money  or  his  time  by
Mr,  Boz  himself,  or  any  of  his  associates,  aiders  and  abetters,  it
shall  not  be  our  fault.  .   ."

"...  They  all  have  this  common  quality  of  being  the  worst
told  stories  that  we  ever  read.  There  is  scarcely  one  of  them  of
which  a  marginal  abstract  would  not  be  decidedly  better  than
the  tale  itself  as  told — not  one  that  would  not  be  improved  by
being  condensed  into  one  or  two  pages.  Such  of  them  as  are
worth  telling  at  all,  might  be  told  over  a  bottle  at  midnight,
and  a  good  story-teller  would  not  give  five  minutes  to  one  of
them.   .  ."

"...  Mr.  Boz  is  obviously  the  criterion  writer  by  whom  the

14—2


212  CRITICAL.
