bear on his story-the very wardrobe of poor Pamela, her gown of sad-coloured stuff, and her round-eared caps-her various attempts at escape, and the conveyance of her letters the hateful character of Mrs Jewkes, and the fluctuating passions of her master, before the better part of his nature obtains the ascendency-these are all touched with the hand of a master. The seductive scenes are too highly coloured for modern taste, and Pamela is deficient in natural dignity; she is too calculating, too tame and submissive; but while engaged with the tale, we think only of her general innocence and artlessness; of her sad trials and afflictions, down to her last confinement, when she hid her papers in the rose-bush in the garden, and sat by the side of the pond in utter despair, half-meditating suicide. The elevation of this innocent and lovely young creature to be the bride of her master is an act of justice; but after all, we feel she was too good for him, and wish she had effected her escape, and been afterwards united to some great and wealthy nobleman who had never condescended to oppress the poor and unfortunate. The moral of the tale would also have been improved by some such termination. Esquire B should have been mortified, and waiting-maids taught not to tolerate liberties from their young masters, because, like Pamela, they may rise to obtain their hand in marriage. romances of the heart, embellished by sentiment, and as such possess a deep and enchaining interest, and a power of exciting virtuous emotions, which blind us to blemishes in style and composi tion, and to those errors in taste and manners (partly characteristie of the past century) which are more easily ridiculed than avoided in works so voluminous, confined to domestic portraiture. The elaborate and minute details by which Richardson produces his dramatic scenes and pathetic incidents, render it difficult to make a quotation suited to our space, that shall convey any idea of his peculiar style. We venture, however, on one short extract: First Appearance of Pamela and her Master in Church after Marriage. Abraham, Benjamin, and Isaac, in fine new liveries in Yesterday (Sunday) we set out, attended by John, the best chariot, which had been new cleaned and lined, and new-harnessed; so that it looked like a quite new one. But I had no arms to quarter with my dear lord and master's, though he jocularly, upon my taking notice of my obscurity, said that he had a good mind to have the olive-branch, which would allude to his hopes, quartered for mine. I was dressed in the suit I mentioned, of white, flowered with silver, and a rich head, and the diamond necklace, ear-rings, &c. I also mentioned before. And my dear sir, in a fine laced silk waistcoat, with gold buttons and button-holes, and lined with white of blue paduasoy, and his coat a pearl-coloured fine cloth, silk; and he looked charmingly indeed. I said I was too fine, and would have laid aside some of the jewels: but he said it would be thought a slight to me from him, as his wife; and though, as I apprehended, it might be that people would talk as it was, yet he had rather they should say anything, than that I was not put upon an equal foot, as his wife, with any lady he might have married. It seems the neighbouring gentry had expected us, and there was a great congregation, for (against my wish) we were a little of the latest; so that, as we walked up the church to his seat, we had abundance of with so intrepid an air, and was so cheerful and comgazers and whisperers. But my dear master behaved plaisant to me, that he did credit to his kind choice, instead of shewing as if he was ashamed of it; and as I was resolved to busy my mind entirely with the duties of the day, my intentness on that occasion, and my thankfulness to God for his unspeakable mercies to me, so took up my thoughts, that I was much less concerned than I should otherwise have been at the gazings and whisperings of the ladies and gentlemen, as well as the rest of the congregation, whose eyes were all turned to our seat. Sir Charles Grandison is inferior in general interest, as well as truth, to either of Richardson's other novels. The 'good man' and perfect gentleman, perplexed by the love of two ladies whom he regarded with equal affection, is an anomaly in nature with which we cannot sympathise. The hero of Clarissa, Lovelace, being a splendid and accomplished, a gay and smiling villain, Richardson wished to make Sir Charles in all respects the very opposite: he has given him too little passion and too much perfection for frail humanity. In this novel, however, is one of the most powerful of all our author's delineations-the madness of Clementina. Shakspeare himself has scarcely drawn a more affecting or harrowing picture of high-souled suffering and blighting calamity. The same accumulation of details as in Clarissa, all tending to heighten the effect and produce the catastrophe, hurry on the reader with breathless anxiety, till he has learned the last sad event, and is plunged in unavailing grief. This is no exaggerated account of the sensations produced by Richardson's pathetic scenes. He is one of the most powerful and tragic of novelists; and that he is so, in spite of much tediousness of description, because the church should be pretty empty; but we When the sermon was ended, we staid the longer much repetition and prolixity of narrative, is the found great numbers at the church-doors, and in the best testimony to his art and genius. The extreme church porch; and I had the pleasure of hearing many length of our author's novels, the epistolary style commendations, as well of my person as my dress and in which they are all written, and the number of behaviour, and not one reflection or mark of disrespect. minute and apparently unimportant circumstances Mr Martin, who is single, Mr Chambers, Mr Arthur, and with which they abound, added to the more ener- Mr Brooks, with their families, were all there; and the getic character of our subsequent literature, have four gentlemen came up to us before we went into the tended to cast Richardson's novels into the shade. chariot, and in a very kind and respectful manner, comEven Lord Byron could not, he said, read Clarissa.plimented us both; and Mrs Arthur and Mrs Brooks We admit that it requires some resolution to get through a fictitious work of eight volumes; but having once begun, most readers will find it difficult to leave off the perusal of these works. They are eminently original, which is always a powerful recommendation. They shew an intimate acquaintance with the human heart, and an absolute command over the passions; they are, in fact, 732 thousand were so kind as to wish me joy. And Mrs Brooks said: 'You sent Mr Brooks, madam, home t' other day quite charmed with a manner which you have convinced a me great honour, madam,' replied I; 'such a good lady's persons this day is natural to you.' 'You do approbation must make me too sensible of my happiness. My dear master handed me into the chariot, and stood talking with Sir Thomas Atkyns at the door of it (who was making him abundance of compliments, and is a very ceremonious gentleman, a little too extreme in was found. The writer, it appears, was 'ROBERT that way), and I believe to familiarise me to the gazers, PALTOCK or PULTOCK of Clement's Inn, Gentlewhich concerned me a little; for I was dashed to hear man;' and he had disposed of his tale for £20, the praises of the country-people, and to see how they with twelve copies of the work, and a set of the crowded about the chariot. Several poor people begged first impressions of the engravings that were to my charity; and I beckoned John with my fan, and said: 'Divide in the further church-porch that money to accompany it. The tale is dedicated to Elizabeth, Countess of Northumberland-an amiable and the poor, and let them come to-morrow morning to me, and I will give them something more if they don't accomplished lady, to whom Percy inscribed his importune me now.' So I gave him all the silver I had, Reliques, and Goldsmith the first printed copy of which happened to be between twenty and thirty shill- his Edwin and Angelina. The dates of the diffings; and this drew away from me their clamorous erent editions are 1750, 1751, 1783, 1784. To the prayers for charity. countess, Paltock had been indebted for some personal favour-'a late instance of benignity;' and it was after the pattern of her virtues, he says, that he drew the mind of his heroine Youwarkee. Nothing more is known of Paltock. He was most probably a bachelor-a solitary bencher-for had he left descendants, some one of the number would have been proud to claim the relationship. Having delivered his wild and wondrous tale' to the world, he retired into modest and unbroken obscurity. The title of Paltock's story may serve for an index to its nature and incidents: The Life and Adventures of Peter Wilkins, a Cornish Man: relating particularly his Shipwreck near the South Pole; his wonderful Passage through a subterraneous Cavern into a kind of New World; his there meeting with a Gawrey, or Flying Woman, whose Life he preserved, and afterwards married her; his extraordinary Conveyance to the Country of Glumms and Gawreys, or Men and Women that Mr Martin came up to me on the other side of the chariot, and leaned on the very door, while my master was talking to Sir Thomas, from whom he could not get away, and said: 'By all that's good, you have charmed the whole congregation. Not a soul but is full of your praises. My neighbour knew, better than anybody could tell him, how to choose for himself. Why,' said he, 'the Dean himself looked more upon you than his book!' 'O sir,' said I, 'you are very encouraging to a weak mind.' 'I vow,' said he, 'I say no more than is truth. I'd marry to-morrow if I was sure of meeting with a person of but one-half of the merit you have. You are,' continued he-' and it is not my way to praise too much-an ornament to your sex, an honour to your spouse, and a credit to religion. Everybody is saying so,' added he, 'for you have by your piety edified the whole church.' As he had done speaking, the Dean himself complimented me, that the behaviour of so worthy a lady would be very edifying to his congregation, and encouraging to himself. Sir,' said I, 'you are very kind : I hope I shall not behave unworthy of the good instruc-ly: likewise a Description of this strange Country, tions I shall have the pleasure to receive from so worthy a divine.' He bowed and went on, Sir Thomas then applied to me, my master stepping into the chariot, and said: 'I beg pardon, madam, for detaining your good spouse from you. But I have been saying he is the happiest man in the world.' I bowed to him; but I could have wished him further, to make me sit so in the notice of every one: which, for all I could do, dashed me not a little. Mr Martin said to my master: 'If you'll come to church every Sunday with your charming lady, I will never absent myself, and she'll give a good example to all the neighbourhood.' 'O my dear sir,' said I to my master, you know not how much I am obliged to good Mr Martin: he has by his kind expression made me dare to look up with pleasure and gratitude.' Said my dear master: "My dear love, I am very much obliged, as well as you, to my good friend Mr Martin.' And he said to him: We will constantly go to church, and to every other place where we can have the pleasure of seeing Mr Martin.' Mr Martin said: Gad, sir, you are a happy man, and I think your lady's example has made you more polite and handsome too, than I ever knew you before, though we never thought you unpolite neither.' And so he bowed, and went to his own chariot; and as we drove away, the people kindly blessed us, and called us a charming pair. ROBERT PALTOCK. Southey has acknowledged that he took the idea of his Glendoveers, those winged celestial agents in the Curse of Kehama The loveliest race of all of heavenly birth, Hovering with gentle motion o'er the earthfrom the neglected story of Peter Wilkins. The author of this story was long unknown; but in 1835, at a sale by auction of books and manuscripts which had belonged to Dodsley the publisher, the original agreement for the copyright of the work with the Law, Customs, and Manners of its Inhabitants, and the Author's remarkable Transactions among them: taken from his own Mouth on his Passage to England from off Cape Horn in America, in the Ship Hector; with an Introduction giving an Account of the Surprising Manner of his coming on Board that Vessel, and his Death on his landing at Plymouth in the year 1739; by R. S., a Passenger in the Hector. The initials, R. S.' may either have been designed to remind the reader of Gulliver's cousin, Richard Sympson who stands sponsor for the redoubted Captain Lemuel-or inserted by an oversight of the author, who signs his proper initials, R. P., to the dedication and introduction. The name of the hero, and the first conception of the story, would seem to have been suggested by Bishop Wilkins's Discovery of a New World, in which there are speculations on the possibility of a man being able to fly by the application of wings to his body. Having taken up this idea of a flying human race, Paltock modelled his story on that of Robinson Crusoe, making his hero a shipwrecked voyager cast upon a solitary shore, of which he was for a time the sole inhabitant. The same virtues of fortitude, resignation, and patient ingenuity are assigned to both, with a depth and purity of religious feeling in the case of Peter Wilkins which was rare at that time in works of fiction. The literal, minute, matter-of-fact style of Defoe is copied with success; but except in his description of the flying heroine, Paltock is inferior to the old master. At least one-half of the tale is felt to be tedious and uninteresting. Its principal charm consists in the lonely situation and adventures of the hero, struggling with misfortunes and cut off from society, and moirs of the Life of Parnese, a Spanish Lady, &c. Translated He is supposed, however, to be author of another work, Mefrom the Spanish MS. by R. P. Gent. London, 1751. in the original and beautiful conception of the flying woman, who comes, endowed with all feminine graces and tenderness, to share his solitude and affection. When Wilkins describes the flying nation, their family alliances, laws, customs, and mechanical works, the romance disappears, and we see only a poor imitation of the style or manner of Swift. The language of this new race is also singularly inharmonious. The name of the country, Nosmnbdsgrsutt, is unpronounceable, and glumm and gawrey, man and woman, have nothing to recommend their adoption. The flying apparatus is termed a graundee, and a flight is a swangean. The locale of Wilkins's romance is a grassy plain by the side of a lake, surrounded by a woody amphitheatre, behind which rises a huge naked rock, that towers up to a great height. In this retreat he constructs a grotto, and with fruits and fish subsists pleasantly during the summer. Winter approaches, and strange voices are heard. He sallies out one evening, and finds a beautiful woman near his door. This is Youwarkee, the heroine. She had been engaged with a party of young people of the flying nation, resident on the other side of the great rock, chasing and pursuing one another, when falling among the branches of a tree, her graundee became useless, and she sank to the ground stunned and senseless. The graundee, with its variety of ribs, drapery, and membrane, is described at length; but we may take the more poetical miniature sketch of it given by Leigh Hunt in his work The Seer: A peacock, with his plumage displayed, full of "rainbows and starry eyes," is a fine object, but think of a lovely woman, set in front of an ethereal shell, and wafted about like a Venus. This is perhaps the best general idea that can be given of Peter Wilkins's bride. In the first edition of the work, there is an engraved explanation of the wings, or rather drapery, for such it was when at rest. It might be called a natural webbed silk. We are to picture to ourselves a nymph in a vest of the finest texture, and most delicate carnation. On a sudden, this drapery parts in two, and flies back, stretched from head to foot behind the figure like an oval fan or umbrella; and the lady is in front of it, preparing to sweep blushing away from us, and "winnow the buxom air."' The picture is poetical and suggestive, though in working it up, the author of the story introduces homely enough materials. Peter Wilkins and his Flying Bride. I passed the summer-though I had never yet seen the sun's body-very much to my satisfaction, partly in the work I have been describing-for I had taken two more of the beast-fish, and had a great quantity of oil from them-partly in building me a chimney in my ante-chamber, of mud and earth burnt on my own hearth into a sort of brick; in making a window at one end of the above-said chamber, to let in what little light would come through the trees, when I did not choose to open my door; in moulding an earthen lamp for my oil; and, finally, in providing and laying in stores, fresh and salt-for I had now cured and dried many more fish-against winter. These, I say, were my summer employments at home, intermixed with many agreeable excursions. But now the winter coming on, and the days growing very short, or indeed, there being no day, properly speaking, but a kind of twilight, I kept mostly in my habitation. An indifferent person would now be apt to ask, what would this man desire more than he had? To this I answer, that I was contented while my condition was such as I have been describing; but a little while after the darkness or twilight came on, I frequently heard voices, sometimes a few only at a time, as it seemed, and then again in great numbers. In the height of my distress, I had recourse to prayer, with no small benefit; begging that if it pleased not the Almighty Power to remove the object of my fears, at least to resolve my doubts about them, and to render them rather helpful than hurtful to me. I hereupon, as I always did on such occasions, found myself much more placid and easy, and began to hope the best, till I had almost persuaded myself that I was out of danger; and then laying myself down, I rested very sweetly till I was awakened by the impulse of the following dream. Methought I was in Cornwall, at my wife's aunt's; and inquiring after her and my children, the old had been dead some time, and that my wife, before her gentlewoman informed me both my wife and children departure, desired her that is, her aunt-immediately upon my arrival to tell me she was only gone to the lake, where I should be sure to see her, and be happy with her ever after. I then, as I fancied, ran to the lake to find her. In my passage she stopped me, crying: Whither so fast, Peter? I am your wife, your Patty.' Methought I did not know her, she was so altered; but observing her voice, and looking more wistfully at her, ever beheld. I then went to seize her in my arms, but she appeared to me as the most beautiful creature I the hurry of my spirits awakened me.... I then heard a sort of shriek, and a rustle near the door of my apartment, all which together seemed very terrible. But I, having before determined to see what and who it was, resolutely opened my door and leaped out. I saw nobody; all was quite silent, and nothing that I could perceive but my own fears a-moving. I went then softly to the corner of the building, and there, looking down by the glimmer of my lamp, which stood in the window, I saw something in human shape lying at my feet. I gave the word: 'Who's there?' Still no one answered. My heart was ready to force a way through my side. I was for a while fixed to the earth like a statue. fetched my lamp, and returning, saw the very beautiful At length recovering, I stepped in, face my Patty appeared under in my dream; and not considering that it was only a dream, I verily thought I had my Patty before me, but she seemed to be stone dead. Upon viewing her other parts, for I had never yet removed my eyes from her face, I found she had a sort of brown chaplet, like lace, round her head, under and about which her hair was tucked up and twined; and she seemed to me to be clothed in a thin haircoloured silk garment, which, upon trying to raise her, I found to be quite warm, and therefore hoped there was life in the body it contained. I then took her into my arms, and treading a step backwards with her, I put out my lamp; however, having her in my arms, I conveyed her through the doorway, in the dark, into my grotto... I thought I saw her eyes stir a little. I then set the lamp further off, for fear of offending them if she should look up; and warming the last glass I had reserved of my Madeira, I carried it to her, but she never stirred. I now supposed the fall had absolutely killed her, and was prodigiously grieved, when laying my hand on her breast, I perceived the fountain of life had some motion. This gave me infinite pleasure; so, not despairing, I dipped my finger in the wine, and moistened her lips with it two or three times, and I imagined they opened a little. Upon this I bethought me, and taking a tea-spoon, I gently poured a few drops of the wine by that means into her mouth. Finding she swallowed it, I poured in another spoonful, and another, till I brought her to herself so well as to be able to sit up. I then spoke to her, and asked divers questions, as if she had really been Patty, and understood me; in return of which, she uttered a language I had no idea of, though, in the most musical tone, and with the sweetest accent I ever heard. It grieved me I could not understand her. However, thinking she might like to be upon her feet, I went to lift her off the bed, when she felt to my touch in the oddest manner imaginable; for while in one respect it was as though she had been cased in whalebone, it was at the same time as soft and warm as if she had been naked. You may imagine we stared heartily at each other, and I doubted not but she wondered as much as I by what means we came so near each other. I offered her everything in my grotto which I thought might please her, some of which she gratefully received, as appeared by her looks and behaviour. But she avoided my lamp, and always placed her back toward it. I observing that, and ascribing it to her modesty in my company, let her have her will, and took care to set it in such a position myself as seemed agreeable to her, though it deprived me of a prospect I very much admired. After we had sat a good while, now and then, I may say, chattering to one another, she got up and took a turn or two about the room. When I saw her in that attitude, her grace and motion perfectly charmed me, and her shape was incomparable. I treated her for some time with all the respect imaginable, and never suffered her to do the least part of my work. It was very inconvenient to both of us only to know each other's meaning by signs; but I could not be otherwise than pleased to see that she endeavoured all in her power to learn to talk like me. Indeed I was not behindhand with her in that respect, striving all I could to imitate her. What I all the while wondered at was, she never shewed the least disquiet at her confinement; for I kept my door shut at first, through fear of losing her, thinking she would have taken an opportunity to run away from me, for little did I then think she could fly. After my new love had been with me a fortnight, finding my water run low, I was greatly troubled at the thought of quitting her any time to go for more; and having hinted it to her, with seeming uneasiness, she could not for a while fathom my meaning; but when she saw me much confused, she came at length, by the many signs I made, to imagine it was my concern for her which made me so; whereupon she expressively enough signified I might be easy, for she did not fear anything happening to her in my absence. On this, as well as I could declare my meaning, I entreated her not to go away before my return, As soon as she understood what I signified to her by actions, she sat down with her arms across, leaning her head against the wall, to assure me she would not stir. I took my boat, net, and water-cask as usual, desirous of bringing her home a fresh fish-dinner, and succeeded so well as to catch enough for several good meals, and to spare. What remained I salted, and found she liked that better than the fresh, after a few days' salting. As my salt grew very low, though I had been as sparing of it as possible, I now resolved to try making some; and the next summer I effected it. Thus we spent the remainder of the winter together, till the days began to be light enough for me to walk abroad a little in the middle of them; for I was now under no apprehensions of her leaving me, as she had before this time had so many opportunities of doing so, but never once attempted it. I did not even then know that the covering she wore was not the work of art but the work of nature, for I really took it for silk, though it must be premised, that I had never seen it by any other light than of my lamp. Indeed, the modesty of her carriage, and sweetness of her behaviour to me, had struck into me a dread of offending her. When the weather cleared up a little, by the lengthening of daylight, I took courage one afternoon to invite her to walk with me to the lake; but she sweetly excused herself from it, whilst there was such a frightful glare of light as she said; but, looking out at the door, told me if I would not go out of the wood, she would accompany me, so we agreed to take a turn only there. I first went myself over the stile of the door, and thinking it rather too high for her, I took her in my arms, and lifted her over. But even when I had her in this manner, I knew not what to make of her clothing, it sat so true and close; but seeing her by a steadier and truer light in the grove, though a heavy gloomy one, than my lamp had afforded, I begged she would let me know of what silk or other composition her garment was made. She smiled, and asked me if mine was not the same under my jacket. No, lady,' says I, 'I have nothing but my skin under my clothes.' Why, what do you mean?' replies she, somewhat tartly; but, indeed, I was afraid something was the matter, by that nasty covering you wear, that you might not be seen. Are you not a glumm?' (a man). 'Yes,' says I, fair creature.' (Here, though you may conceive she spoke part English, part her own tongue, and I the same, as we best understood each other, yet I shall give you our discourse, word for word, in plain English.) Then,' says she, 'I am afraid you must have been a very bad man, and have been crashee,† which I should be very sorry to hear.' I told her I believed we were none of us so good as we might be, but I hoped my faults had not at most exceeded other men's; but Í had suffered abundance of hardships in my time, and that at last Providence having settled me in this spot, from whence I had no prospect of ever departing, it was none of the least of its mercies to bring to my knowledge and company the most exquisite piece of all his works in her, which I should acknowledge as long as I lived. 'Sir,' says she, 'pray, answer me first how you came here?' 'Madam,' replied I, 'will you please to take a walk to the verge of the wood, and I will shew you the very passage?' 'Sir,' says she, 'I perfectly know the range of the rocks all round, and by the least description, without going to see them, can tell from which you descended.' In truth,' said I, 'most charming lady, I descended from no rock at all: nor would I, for a thousand worlds, attempt what could not be accomplished but by my destruction.' 'Sir,' says she, in some anger, it is false, and you impose upon me.' 'I declare to you,' says I, 'madam, what I tell you is strictly true; I never was near the summit of any of the surrounding rocks, or anything like it; but as you are not far from the verge of the wood, be so good as to step a little further, and I will shew you my entrance in hither.' 'Well,' says she, 'now this odious dazzle of light is lessened, I do not care if I do go with you.' When we came far enough to see the bridge, 'There, madam,' says I, there is my entrance, where the sea pours into this lake from yonder cavern.' We arrived at the lake, and going to my wet-dock, Now, madam,' says I, pray satisfy yourself whether I spake true or no. She looked at my boat, but could not yet frame a proper notion of it. Says I: 'Madam, in this very boat I sailed from the main ocean through that cavern into this lake; and shall at last think myself the happiest of all men, if you continue with me, love me, and credit me; and I promise you I will never deceive you, but think my life happily spent in your service.' I found she was hardly content yet to believe what I told her of my boat to be true, until I stepped into it, and pushing from the shore, took my oars in my hand, and sailed along the lake by her as she walked on the shore. At last, she seemed so well reconciled to me and my boat, that she desired I would take her in. I immediately did so, and we sailed a * In the regions of the flying people, it is always twilight. Slit. Criminals, in the flying regions, are punished by having their wings slit, thus rendering them unable to fly. good way, and as we returned to my dock, I described to her how I procured the water we drank, and brought it to shore in that vessel. 'Well,' says she, 'I have sailed, as you call it, many a mile in my lifetime, but never in such a thing as this. I own it will serve very well where one has a great many things to carry from place to place; but to be labouring thus at an oar, when one intends pleasure in sailing, is, in my mind, a most ridiculous piece of slavery.' 'Why, pray, madam, how would you have me sail? for getting into the boat only will not carry us this way or that, without using some force.' 'But,' says she, pray, where did you get this boat, as you call it?' 'O madam,' says I, that is too long and fatal a story to begin upon now; this boat was made many thousand miles from hence, among a people coal-black, a quite different sort from us; and when I first had it, I little thought of seeing this country; but I will make a faithful relation of all to you when we come home.' looking eagerly on you, it conceals my blushes from your sight.' In this manner, exchanging mutual endearments and soft speeches, hand in hand, we arrived at the grotto. HENRY FIELDING. Coleridge has said, that to 'take up Fielding after Richardson is like emerging from a sick-room heated by stoves into an open lawn on a breezy day in May.' We have felt the agreeableness of the transition: from excited sensibilities and overpowering pathos, to light humour, lively description, and keen yet sportive satire, must always be not derogate from the power of Richardson as a a pleasant change. The feeling, however, does novelist. The same sensation may be experienced by turning from Lear to Falstaff, from tragedy to As we talked, and walked by the lake, she made a comedy. The feelings cannot remain in a state of little run before me, and sprang into it. Perceiving constant tension, but seek relief in variety. Perthis, I cried out; whereupon she merrily called on me haps Richardson stretches them too violently and to follow her. The light was then so dim as prevented too continuously; his portraits are in classes, full my having more than a confused sight of her, when she charged with the peculiarities of their master. jumped in; and looking earnestly after her, I could Fielding has a broader canvas, more light than discern nothing more than a small boat on the water, shade, a clear and genial atmosphere, and groups which skimmed along at so great a rate that I almost of characters finely and naturally diversified. lost sight of it presently; but running along the shore, Johnson considered him barren compared with for fear of losing her, I met her gravely walking to Richardson, because Johnson loved strong moral meet me, and then had entirely lost sight of the boat upon the lake. This,' says she, accosting me with a painting, and had little sympathy for wit that was smile, 'is my way of sailing, which, I perceive, by the not strictly allied to virtue. Richardson, too, was fright you were in, you are altogether unacquainted a pious respectable man, for whom the critic with; and as you tell me you came from so many entertained great regard, and to whom he was thousand miles off, it is possible you may be made under obligations. Fielding was a thoughtless differently from me; but surely we are the part of the man of fashion-a rake who had dissipated his creation which has had most care bestowed upon it; fortune, and passed from high to low life without and I suspect from all your discourse, to which I have dignity or respect; and who had commenced been very attentive, it is possible you may no more author without any higher motive than to make be able to fly than to sail as I do.' 'No, charming money, and confer amusement. Ample success creature,' says I, 'that I cannot, I will assure you.' She crowned him in the latter department! The then, stepping to the edge of the lake, for the advan; inimitable character of Parson Adams, the humour tage of a descent before her, sprang up into the air, and of roadside adventures and ale-house dialogues, away she went, further than my eyes could follow her. Towwouse and his termagant wife, Parson Trulliber, Squire Western, the faithful Partridge, and a host of ludicrous and witty scenes, and characters, and situations, all rise up at the very mention of the name of Fielding! If Richardson 'made the passions move at the command of virtue,' Fielding bends them at will to mirth and enjoyment. is the prince of novelists-holding the novel to include wit, love, satire, humour, observation, genuine pictures of human nature without romance, and the most perfect art in the arrangement of his plot and incidents. over, I was quite astonished. So, says I, then all is all a delusion which I have so long been in, a mere phan tom! better had it been for me never to have seen her, than thus to lose her again! I had but very little time for reflection; for in about ten minutes after she had left me in this mixture of grief and amazement, she alighted just by me on her feet. He Her return, as she plainly saw, filled me with a transport not to be concealed, and which, as she afterwards told me, was very agreeable to her. Indeed, I was some moments in such an agitation of mind, from these unparalleled incidents, that I was like one thunderstruck; but coming presently to myself, and clasping her in my arms, with as much love and passion as I HENRY FIELDING was of high birth: his father was capable of expressing, 'Are you returned again, -a grandson of the Earl of Denbigh-was a kind angel,' said I, to bless a wretch who can only be general in the army, and his mother the daughter happy in adoring you? Can it be that you, who have of a judge. He was born at Sharpham Park, so many advantages over me, should quit all the Somersetshire, April 22, 1707. The general had a pleasures that nature has formed you for, and all your large family, and was a bad economist, and Henry friends and relations, to take an asylum in my arms? was early familiar with embarrassments. He was But I here make you a tender of all I am able to educated at Eton, and afterwards studied the law bestow, my love and constancy.' 'Come, come,' says for two years at Leyden. In his twentieth year she, no more raptures; I find you are a worthier man his studies were stopped, 'money-bound, as than I thought I had reason to take you for; and I beg a kindred genius, Sheridan, used to say, and the your pardon for my distrust whilst I was ignorant of your imperfections; but now, I verily believe all you youth returned to England, and commenced writhave said is true; and I promise you, as you have ing for the stage. His first play, Love in Several seemed so much to delight in me, I will never quit you Masks, was brought out in February 1727-& In till death or other as fatal accident shall part us. But the course of five years he wrote seventeen drawe will now, if you choose, go home, for I know you matic pieces, only one of which, the burlesque have been some time uneasy in this gloom, though entitled Tom Thumb, can be said to have kept agreeable to me. For, giving my eyes the pleasure of possession of the stage. His father promised him 736 |