'my master, Mr. Jones was sitting in the next room, and methought he looked melancholy. La! savs I, Mr. Jones, what's the matter? a penny for your thoughts, says I. Why, hussy, says he, starting up from a dream, what can I be thinking of, when that angel your mistress is play"ing? And then squeezing me by the hand, On! Mrs. Honour, says he, how happy will that man be!--and then he sighed. Upon my troth, his 'breath is as sweet as a nosegay.-But to be sure ' he meant no harm by it. So I hope your lady'ship will not mention a word: for he gave me a 'crown never to mention it, and made me swear upon a book, but I believe, indeed, it was not the Bible.'

Till something of a more beautiful red than vermillion be found out, I shall say nothing of Sophia's colour on this occasion. Ho-nour,' says she,

I-if you will not mention this any more to me,— nor to any body else, I will not betray you—I ' mean, I will not be angry; but I am afraid of your tongue. Why, my girl, will you give it such liberties?'- Nay, ma'am,' answered she, to 'be sure, I would sooner cut out my tongue than 'offend your ladyship. To be sure, I shall never ' mention a word that your ladyship would not have me.' Why I would not have you mention this any more,' said Sophia, for it may come to my father's ears, and he would be angry with Mr. Jones; though I really believe, as you say, he meant nothing. I should be very angry myself, if I imagined-.' -Nay, ma'am,' says Honour, I protest I believe he meant nothing. I thought he talked as if he was out of his senses; nay, he 'said he believed he was beside himself when he had spoken the words. Ay, sir, says I, I believe so too. Yes, says he, Honour.-But I ask your ladyship's pardon; I could tear my tongue out for offending 'you.'-' Go on,' says Sophia; you may mention

--

any thing you have not told me before. Yes, Honour, says he (this was some time afterwards, ' when he gave me the crown), I am neither such a 'coxcomb, or such a villain, as to think of her in any other delight but as my goddess; as such I will always worship and adore her while I have breath. This was all, ma'am, I will be sworn, to 'the best of my remembrance. I was in a passion with him myself, till I found he meant no harm.' -Indeed, Honour,' says Sophia, I believe you have a real affection for me. I was provoked the ' other day when I gave you warning; but if you 'have a desire to stay with me, you shall.'—' To bẹ sure, ma'am,' answered Mrs. Honour, I shall never desire to part with your ladyship. To be sure, I almost cried my eyes out when you gave me warning. It would be very ungrateful in me 'to desire to leave your ladyship; because as why, 'I should never get so good a place again. I am 'sure I would live and die with your ladyship; for, as poor Mr. Jones said, happy is the man-'

Here the dinner-bell interrupted a conversation which had wrought such an effect on Sophia, that she was, perhaps, more obliged to her bleeding in the morning, than she, at the time, had apprehended she should be. As to the present situation of her mind, I shall adhere to a rule of Horace, by not attempting to describe it, from despair of success. Most of my readers will suggest it easily to themselves; and the few who cannot, would not understand the picture, or at least would deny it to be natural, if ever so well drawn.

THE

HISTORY

OF A

FOUNDLING.

BOOK V.

Containing a portion of time somewhat longer than half a year.

CHAP. I.

Of the SERIOUS in writing, and for what purpose it is introduced.

PERADVENTURE there may be no parts in this prodigious work which will give the reader less pleasure in the perusing, than those which have given the author the greatest pains in composing. Among these probably may be reckoned those initial essays which we have prefixed to the historical matter contained in every book; and which we have determined to be essentially necessary to this kind of writing, of which we have set ourselves at the head.

For this our determination we do not hold ourselves strictly bound to assign any reason; it being abundantly sufficient that we have laid it down as a rule necessary to be observed in all prosai-comi-epic writing. Who ever demanded the reasons of that nice unity of time or place which is now established

THE HISTORY OF A FOUNDLING.

207 to be so essential to dramatic poetry? What critic hath been ever asked, why a play may not contain two days as well as one? Or why the audience (provided they travel, like electors, without any expense) may not be wafted fifty miles as well as five? Hath any commentator well accounted for the limitation which an ancient critic hath set to the drama, which he will have contain neither more nor less than five acts? Or hath any one living attempted to explain what the modern judges of our theatres mean by that word low; by which they have happily succeeded in banishing all humour from the stage, and have made the theatre as dull as a drawing-room? Upon all these occasions the world seems to have embraced a maxim of our law, viz. cuicunque in arte sua perito credendum est: for it seems perhaps difficult to conceive that any one should have had enough of impudence to lay down dogmatical rules in any art or science without the least foundation. In such cases, therefore, we are apt to conclude there are sound and good reasons at the bottom, though we are unfortunately not able to see so far.

Now, in reality, the world have paid too great a compliment to critics, and have imagined them men of much greater profundity than they really are. From this complaisance, the critics have been emboldened to assume a dictatorial power, and have so far succeeded, that they have now become the masters, and have the assurance to give laws to those authors from whose predecessors they originally received them.

The critic, rightly considered, is no more than the clerk, whose office it is to transcribe the rules and laws laid down by those great judges whose vast -strength of genius hath placed them in the light of legislators, in the several sciences over which they presided. This office was all which the critics of old aspired to; nor did they ever dare to advance

a sentence, without supporting it by the authority of the judge from whence it was borrowed,

But in process of time, and in ages of ignorance, the clerk began to invade the power and assume the dignity of his master. The laws of writing were no longer founded on the practice of the author, but on the dictates of the critic. The clerk became the legislator, and those very peremptorily gave laws whose business it was, at first, only to transcribe them.

Hence arose an obvious, and perhaps an unavoidable error; for these critics being men of shallow capacities, very easily mistook mere form for substance. They acted as a judge would, who should adhere to the lifeless letter of law, and reject the spirit. Little circumstances, which were perhaps accidental in a great author, were by these critics considered to constitute his chief merit, and transmitted as essentials to be observed by all his successors. To these encroachments, time and ignorance, the two great supporters of imposture, gave authority; and thus many rules for good writing have been established, which have not the least foundation in truth or nature; and which commonly serve for no other purpose than to curb and restrain genius, in the same manner as it would have restrained the dancing-master, had the many excellent treatises on that art laid it down as an essential rule that every man must dance in chains.

To avoid, therefore, all imputation of laying down a rule for posterity, founded only on the authority of ipse dixit,-for which, to say the truth, we have not the profoundest veneration,-we shall here wave the privilege above contended for, and proceed to lay before the reader the reasons which have induced us to intersperse these several digressive essays in the course of this work.

And here we shall of necessity be led to open a new vein of knowledge, which, if it hath been dis