 this introductory essay, thinking some readers may account as
curious, the first attempts at romantic composition by an author who has since
written so much in that department.* And those who complain, not unreasonably,
of the profusion of the Tales which have followed Waverley, may bless their
stars at the narrow escape they have made, by the commencement of the inundation
which had so nearly taken place in the first year of the century, being
postponed for fifteen years later.
    This particular subject was never resumed, but I did not abandon the idea of
fictitious composition in prose, though I determined to give another turn to the
style of the work.
    My early recollections of the Highland scenery and customs made so
favourable an impression in the poem called the Lady of the Lake, that I was
induced to think of attempting something of the same kind in prose. I had been a
good deal in the Highlands at a time when they were much less accessible and
much less visited than they have been of late years, and was acquainted with
many of the old warriors of 1745, who were, like most veterans, easily induced
to fight their battles over again for the benefit of a willing listener like
myself. It naturally occurred to me that the ancient traditions and high spirit
of a people who, living in a civilised age and country, retained so strong a
tincture of manners belonging to an early period of society, must afford a
subject favourable for romance, if it should not prove a curious tale marred in
the telling.
    It was with some idea of this kind that, about the year 1805, I threw
together about one-third part of the first volume of Waverley, It was advertised
to be published by the late Mr. John Ballantyne, bookseller in Edinburgh, under
the name of »Waverley, or 'Tis Fifty Years Since,« a title afterwards altered to
»'Tis Sixty Years Since,« that the actual date of publication might be made to
correspond with the period in which the scene was laid. Having proceeded as far,
I think, as the Seventh Chapter, I showed my work to a critical friend, whose
opinion was unfavourable; and having then some poetical reputation, I was
unwilling to risk the loss of it by attempting a new style of composition. I
therefore threw aside the work I had commenced, without either reluctance or
remonstrance. I ought to add, that though my ingenious friend's sentence was
afterwards reversed on an appeal to the public, it cannot be considered as any
imputation on his good taste, for the specimen subjected to his criticism did
not
