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THE ATHENAEUM PRESS SERIES 
 
 G. L. KITTREDGE AND C. T. WINCHESTER 
 GENERAL EDITORS 
 
Series Hnnouncement 
 
 The "Athenaeum Press Series" 
 includes the choicest works of Eng- 
 lish literature in editions carefully 
 prepared for the use of schools, col- 
 leges, libraries, and the general 
 reader. Each volume is edited by 
 some scholar who has made a special 
 study of an author and his period. 
 The Introductions are biographical 
 and critical. In particular they set 
 forth the relation of the authors to 
 their times and indicate their impor- 
 tance in the development of litera- 
 ture. A Bibliography and Notes 
 accompany each volume. 
 
From Basire's engraving of the painting by William Hogarth 
 
Htbensum press Sertes 
 
 SELECTED ESSAYS 
 
 OF 
 
 HENRY FIELDING 
 
 Edited 
 With Introduction and Notes 
 
 BY 
 
 GORDON HALL GEROULD, B.Litt. (Oxon.) 
 
 Preceptor of English in Princeton 
 University 
 
 GINN & COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON • NEW YORK • CHICAGO • LONDON 
 
LIBRARY at JONGHtSS 
 
 JUL 13 jyot) 
 
 CLASS O-' AAC. Nw 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 L..^ 
 
 
 Copyright, 1905, by 
 GORDON HALL GEROULD 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 SS-7 
 
 GINN & COMPANY • PRO- 
 PRIETORS • BOSTON • U.S.A. 
 
V 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 -(i:"^ 
 
 This selection of the essays of Henry Fielding is designed 
 to introduce him as an essay writer rather than as a novelist. 
 It is an attempt to show his mastery of prose style and vigorous 
 thought, quite apart from his yet more extraordinary mastery 
 of narrative. It may serve, I hope, to give a practical ac- 
 quaintance with the man and his work to some readers who 
 for reasons of youth, or distaste, or the force of tradition have 
 not yet learned their Fielding in his novels. Some may be 
 genuinely surprised to find these essays unexceptionable in 
 delicacy, not unfit reading virginibus puerisqiie ; though lovers 
 of Fielding's art do not need to be told that his coarsest 
 passages are less liable to do harm than much of the meretri- 
 cious work that young misses and growing boys are nowadays 
 permitted to read unblushingly and unthinkingly. This little 
 book certainly contains nothing improper, and it has been 
 made with the one idea of giving a representative selection 
 of the essays. It contains by no means all of Fielding's work 
 in this field, though perhaps the cream of it. In order to 
 avoid the danger of scrappiness, the essays have been arranged 
 not chronologically but with an attempt at logical sequence. 
 Reference to the chronological list at the end of the volume 
 will show instantly whence any given selection is taken. 
 
 The text is based on first or second editions in most cases, 
 though Murphy's edition of 1 762 has been used for the extracts 
 from The Covent-Ga7^de7i/o2/riial dindXh&Jour?tal of a Voyage 
 to Lisbon. Murphy's text of the Works has been reprinted 
 over and over again by subsequent editors, though except 
 
vi • PREFACE 
 
 perhaps for the posthumous works it has no real authority. 
 As a consequence, the current editions abound in readings 
 that, to say the best for them, almost certainly were not Field- 
 ing's own. It has seemed to me better, therefore, as I have 
 not had access to all the editions published in the author's 
 lifetime and so have been unable to make a critical text, to 
 give a reprint of some one specified edition in each case. 
 Thus we can read the words as Fielding once wrote them in 
 any case, which is better than reading what the careless 
 Murphy chose to print, even if we miss a few changes made 
 by the author himself. The only liberty I have taken with the 
 text has been to modernize the capitalization. A very few 
 omissions are indicated in the notes, and three or four words 
 necessary for the sense have been supplied in brackets. 
 Changed titles are also indicated by brackets. It is difficult 
 to annotate Fielding without making the comment burden- 
 some ; but I have tried to do it as briefly as is consistent with 
 the proper elucidation of the text. 
 
 Grateful acknowledgment is due several friends and col- 
 leagues who have answered cheerfully the numerous questions 
 propounded to them from time to time, to the general editors 
 of the series, and also to Mr. W. C. Lane for permission to use 
 the library of Harvard University. 
 
 G. H. G. 
 
 Bryn Mawr College 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 INTRODUCTION: page 
 
 I. Biographical Sketch ix 
 
 XL Fielding's Works xxxii 
 
 III. Fielding's Philosophy of Life and Prose Style Ixxiii 
 
 IV. Bibliography Ixxx 
 
 TEXT: 
 
 I. Of Prologues i 
 
 II. An Invocation 3 
 
 III. The Bill of Fare to the Feast 6 
 
 IV. The Comic Epic in Prose 9 
 
 V. Shewing what Kind of a History this is ; what 
 
 IT IS LIKE, and what IT IS NOT LIKE . . . . l6 
 
 VI. Matter Prefatory in Praise of Biography ... 18 
 VII. Of writing Lives in General, and particularly 
 of Pamela ; with a Word by the bye of Colley 
 
 ClBBER AND OTHERS 22 
 
 VIII. Containing Five Pages of Paper 24 
 
 IX. Of those who lawfully may, and of those who 
 
 MAY NOT WRITE SUCH HISTORIES AS THIS ... 28 
 
 X. Of the Serious in Writing ; and for what Pur- 
 pose IT IS introduced 34 
 
 XI. Containing Instructions very Necessary to be 
 
 PERUSED BY MODERN CRITICS 39 
 
 XII. A Crust for the Critics 42 
 
 XIII. A Wonderful Long Chapter concerning the 
 
 Marvellous 47 
 
 XIV. Shewing what is to be deemed Plagiarism in a 
 
 Modern Author and what is to be consid- 
 ered as Lawful Prize 55 
 
 vii 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 Text — conthmed : page 
 
 XV. An Essay to prove that an Author will write 
 
 BETTER, for HAVING SOME KNOWLEDGE OF 
 
 THE Subject on which he writes .... 59 
 
 XVI. A Literary Conversation in Elysium .... 63 
 
 XVII. Comments upon Authors 66 
 
 XVIII. The Literary Republic 72 
 
 XIX. The Purpose of Letters 78 
 
 XX. Shewing the Wholesome Uses drawn from re- 
 cording THE Achievements of those Won- 
 derful Productions of Nature called 
 
 Great Men 83 
 
 XXI. The Character of a Great Thief 86 
 
 XXII. Matters Political 90 
 
 XXIII. A Comparison between the World and the 
 
 Stage 96 
 
 XXIV. Moral Reflections by Joseph Andrews ... 99 
 XXV. High People and Low People 102 
 
 XXVI. On Liberty 104 
 
 XXVII. The Power of the Mob 107 
 
 XXVIII. On Humorous Characters 112 
 
 XXIX. Contemporary Education 117 
 
 XXX. An Essay on Conversation 122 
 
 XXXI. An Essay on Nothing 159 
 
 XXXII. A Farewell to the Reader 170 
 
 NOTES 173 
 
 Chronological List of the Essays selected, with Refer- 
 ence to the Works from which they have been taken 213 
 
 INDEX 217 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 I 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 "Our immortal Fielding," wrote Gibbon,^ "was of the 
 younger branch of the Earls of Denbigh, who drew their origin 
 from the Counts of Hapsburgh. The successors of Charles V 
 may disdain their brethren of England : but the romance of 
 Tom Jones ^ that exquisite picture of humour and manners, will 
 outlive the palace of the Escurial and the imperial Eagle of 
 Austria." In contrast to the splendor of this panegyric may 
 be set the circumstances of Fielding's life. Like most citizens 
 of the republic of letters, of which he wrote so pleasantly,^ he 
 knew early and well both struggle and disappointment. His 
 descent from the houses of Hapsburgh and Denbigh did not 
 save him from poverty or the consequences of his own reckless 
 youth. 
 
 Undoubtedly Fielding was of excellent birth. He was the 
 son of Edmund Fielding, a soldier who served under Marl- 
 borough and who rose before his death to the grade of major 
 general. Edmund was the grandson of George, Earl of 
 Desmond, who came to that title by a curious bargain made 
 in his favor by his uncle, George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, 
 at the time when the earldom of Desmond was created.^ This 
 George Fielding was the second son of the first Earl of Den- 
 bigh, so that the novelist was a scion of the cadet branch of 
 
 ^Miscellaneous IVor/es, I, 41 c,. 
 
 2 T/ie Covent-Gaj'den Jotirnal^ no. xxiii (see pp. 72-78 of this volume). 
 ^ The Dramatic Works of Sir William D* Avenant (ed. Maidment 
 and Logan), I, 311, 312. 
 
 ix 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 that house. Edmund Fielding married for his first wife Sarah, 
 daughter of Sir Henry Gould, Knt.,of Sharpham Park, Somerset. 
 It has been conjectured with some probability ^ that the match 
 was a secret one. At all events, Sarah Fielding continued to 
 live at Sharpham Park, and there on April 22, 1707, their 
 first son, Henry, was born. 
 
 After the death of Sir Henry in 17 10, Captain Fielding 
 removed with his family to East Stour, Dorsetshire, where in 
 November of the same year was born Sarah Fielding, who 
 became the author of David Simple and numerous other works 
 which were regarded by a rather limited circle as only less 
 excellent than those of her illustrious brother. Of Henry's 
 childhood, as is natural, we know next to nothing. For his 
 early education he was intrusted to " a certain Mr. Oliver," 
 who was probably the clergyman of a neighboring village. 
 The unenviable portrait of Parson Trulliber in Joseph Andrews 
 is said ^ to have been fashioned from recollections of this 
 teacher; but whether or not such was the case there is no 
 means of knowing. 
 
 In 1 71 8 Mrs. Fielding died. It was shortly after this event, 
 probably, that Henry was sent to Eton College. Of his career 
 at school we are not better informed than of his childhood. 
 Certainly he must have acquired there the knowledge of the 
 classics which he was perhaps too fond of parading in later 
 days. As certainly he made friends with at least two men who 
 were to achieve distinction in public life, — George Lyttelton 
 and Charles Hanbury, the former of whom became a states- 
 man of acknowledged worth ^ and the latter, as Sir Charles 
 Hanbury Williams, a famous wit and a useful if not altogether 
 reputable politician. From his later life we can imagine what 
 
 1 Dobson, Henry Fielding (revised and enlarged ed.), 4. 
 
 2 Murphy, Essay on the Life and Genitts of Hetiry Fielding, Esq. 
 2 He was created Baron Lyttelton in 1756. 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 he was as a schoolboy, robust and lively, fully as much interested 
 in sport as in study, and not averse to madcap pranks. Indeed, 
 in Tom Jones he describes with the vigor of feeling recollection 
 the " birchen altar " where he has sacrificed " with true Spartan 
 devotion." How long he remained at Eton we do not know, 
 but probably till he was seventeen or eighteen years of age. 
 About this time, according to the most accurate of his biog- 
 raphers,^ he fell desperately in love with a young lady of 
 Dorsetshire and wooed her with an assiduity that was alto- 
 gether displeasing to her friends. She was soon removed to 
 another county, however ; and the young man, apparently not 
 long after, was sent off to Leyden. 
 
 Of his career at the University of Leyden little or nothing 
 is known. It has usually been stated ^ that he studied law 
 there under ''the learned Vitriarius " and that he remained 
 abroad until late in the year 1727 or the early part of 1728.^ 
 According to the tradition, his return was finally hastened by 
 the failure of remittances from his father.* But an entry in 
 the great register of the university, which has apparently been 
 read very carelessly hitherto,^ gives us some definite informa- 
 tion on this point. For the year 1728, " Rectore Johanne 
 Wesselio," ^ in the list of students admitted " in membrum 
 Academiae," ^ we read: "Mar. 16 Henricus Fielding Anglus. 
 20, L." This indicates that on March 16, 1728, Fielding was 
 granted his degree by the Faculty of Letters, being then twenty 
 years of age. As a matter of fact, he reached his majority in 
 
 1 Dobson, p. 6. ^Dobson, 12. 
 
 2 Murphy, I, 11; Dobson, 11. * pobson, 11. 
 
 ^Dobson states in a footnote, 12, that Peacock's Index to English- 
 speaking Students zvho have graduated at Leyden University, iSSji P- 35? 
 says that "Fielding's name occurs under date of 16 March, 1728 "; but 
 Peacock or Dobson failed to note the school. 
 
 '° Albu7?i Studiosoruni Academiae Ltigdimo Batavae, MDLXXV- 
 MDCCCLXXV. 7vi. 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 the following month. This disposes of the old belief that he 
 studied law at Leyden, for the Faculty of Letters was a part 
 of the School of Liberal Arts. It likewise explains the reason 
 for his return — he had finished his course of study. Unfor- 
 tunately it does not explain all the chronological difficulties, 
 since, as we shall soon see, his first play was produced in 
 London a month before he took his degree. It is more prob- 
 able, however, that the play was put on the stage before his 
 return than that the degree was granted in absentia. In 
 default of further evidence we may conclude that he went 
 back to England soon after the i6th of March, 1728. That 
 his literary activity was justified by the nature of his studies at 
 the university is an interesting fact that follows from the notice 
 quoted above. He had evidently already made literary plans 
 and had tried his hand at satire and play writing before he 
 took his plunge into the troubled waters of London. 
 
 Although his return to England cannot longer be regarded 
 as due to the failure of remittances, the young author soon 
 knew the pinch of poverty. His father made him an allowance 
 of two hundred pounds a year, but he seems to have been 
 singularly remiss about paying it.^ Presumably the fact that 
 about this time he married again ^ made him entirely unable to 
 give his eldest son anything beyond occasional gifts. However 
 that may he, here was young Fielding in London, robust and 
 pleasure-loving, full of high spirits and fond of good clothes, 
 good fare, and good society. To satisfy his wants he had 
 to choose, in his own phrase, between the professions of 
 "hackney-coachman and hackney- writer." What so natural 
 as that he should turn to the form of literature which then 
 
 1 This allowance was continued during the following years, but, as 
 Fielding once said, "anybody might pay it that would." 
 
 2 The most notable son of the marriage was John, later Sir John 
 Fielding. 
 
INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 offered the greatest prospects of gain and reputation to an 
 ambitious young man, and become a playwright? 
 
 There were at that time four theatres in London, which 
 divided popular patronage among them, — the Opera House in 
 the Haymarket, built by Van Brugh for a playhouse but subse- 
 quently the home of Italian opera ; the New-Theatre or French 
 House in the Haymarket ; the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields 
 which had long been in the hands of the Riches, father and 
 son ; and finally the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. It was at 
 the last-named house that Fielding's first comedy, Love in 
 Several Masques, was produced during February, 1728. The 
 play was well received, though somewhat eclipsed by Gay's 
 Beggar's Opera which happened to be brought out at nearly 
 the same time. 
 
 In spite of this measured success the young author did not 
 immediately follow up the play with another. It was not till 
 1730 that he wrote a second comedy, and then probably 
 because he was badly in debt and in urgent need of money. 
 From this time, however, he was definitely wedded to the 
 stage and wrote with the ardor which was characteristic of 
 him to the day of his death. In the year 1730 alone he pro- 
 duced The Temple Beau, a double piece called The Author'' s 
 Farce and The Pleasures of the Tow7i, The Coffee-House Politi- 
 cian; or, The Justice caught in his own Trap, and the burlesque 
 Tom Thumb in its first form. The first of these, like the 
 earlier comedy, was an imitation of Congreve. The second, 
 with its disregard for stage convention and its sharp satire of 
 contemporary conditions, doubtless embodied much of Field- 
 ing's experience with literary men and publishers ; and it 
 showed in clearer light the originality of conception which in 
 later years, when he came to his own as a writer of essays and 
 novels, shone so brilliantly. The Coffee-House Politicia?i was 
 a clever farce in the same vein, but Tom Thumb outdid both 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 and may be regarded without exaggeration as a masterpiece 
 of burlesque. It was reproduced the following year in enlarged 
 form as The Tragedy of Tragedies ; or, the Life and Death of 
 7 0771 Thumb the Great. In the same year were brought out The 
 Letter Writers ; or, A New Way to Keep a Wife at LLoTTie, The 
 Grub-Street Opera, and The Lottery. The overflowing high 
 spirits of To77i Thimib and the brisk wit of the other pieces 
 captured the town, and for the time being undoubtedly 
 relieved their author from the pressure of want. 
 
 In 1732 Fielding produced four plays, — The Modern LLus- 
 ba7id, The Debauchees ; or, Thefesuit Caught, The Cove7it Gar- 
 den Tragedy, and an adaptation of Moliere's Medeci7i Tnalgre lui 
 which he called The Mock- Doctor ; or, The Dumb Lady Cur'd. 
 Such a number of plays argues hasty and even careless writing ; 
 but they served their immediate purpose, — to fill Harry Field- 
 ing's yawning pockets. To them was added, early in 1733, 
 The Miser, an adaptation of Moliere's VAvare, which replaced 
 the earlier versions in English and was somewhat grudgingly 
 praised by Voltaire. According to the old tradjtion. Fielding 
 was so hard pressed for money during this year that he kept 
 a theatrical booth at St. Bartholomew's Fair. This has been 
 shown ^ to be a slander, due to the confusion of Henry Field- 
 ing with one Timothy Fielding, a second-rate actor who had a 
 minor part in The Miser and was the proprietor of a booth at 
 the great festival. Nevertheless, there is sufficient evidence 
 that in spite of his earnings as a playwright, Henry Fielding, 
 the brilliant young scion of the house of Denbigh, led a kind 
 of life at this time which was both precarious and unedifying. 
 There is no use in burking the facts. He plunged into excesses 
 which he repented in all sincerity ^ later on. He was both a 
 rake and a spendthrift. He was also very lazy. A curious 
 
 1 By F. Latreille, Notes and Queries, 1875, 5^^ series, III, 502. 
 
 2 See, for example, A Journey from this World to the Next. 
 
INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 burlesque Author'' s Will, quoted by Mr. Austin Dobson,^ shows 
 that he was regarded by his contemporaries as guilty of both 
 carelessness and haste : 
 
 " I give and bequeath to my very negligent Friend Henry 
 Drama, Esq., all my INDUSTRY. And whereas the World 
 may think this an unnecessary Legacy, forasmuch as the said 
 Henry Drama, Esq., brings on the Stage four Pieces every 
 Season ; yet as such Pieces are always wrote with uncommon 
 Rapidity, and during such fatal Intervals only as the Stocks 
 have been on the Fall, this Legacy will be of use to him to 
 revise and correct his Works. Furthermore, for fear the said 
 Henry Drama should make an ill Use of the said Industry, 
 and expend it all on a Ballad, it's my Will the said Legacy 
 should be paid him by equal Portions, and as his Necessities 
 may require." 
 
 Quite to the same purport is the portrait in the anonymous 
 Seasonable Reproof , 1735 :^ 
 
 F g, who yesterday appear'd so rough, 
 
 Clad in coarse Frize, and plaister'd down with Snuff, 
 See how his Instant gaudy Trappings shine ; 
 What Play-house Bard was ever seen so fine ! 
 But this, not from his Humour flows, you'll say, 
 But mere Necessity ; — for last Night lay 
 In Pawn, the Velvet which he wears to-Day. 
 
 Yet there is no doubt that tradition has done him wrong, 
 and that even his great admirer and disciple, Thackeray, did 
 him wrong in his immortal sketch.^ At his worst Fielding was, 
 after all, no common Grub-Street sot. He had the training 
 and the instincts of a gentleman, added to which he possessed 
 a mind of gigantic mold. It can be asserted with confidence 
 that he never did a mean act or loved vice qua vice. 
 
 ^ 3^' 37- ^ Dobson, 35. 
 
 ^ In English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century. 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 After a rather idle year Fielding produced early in 1734 The 
 Intriguing Chambermaid, a comedy adapted from Regnard. 
 This he followed by Do7i Quixote in England, which he had 
 begun while yet at Leyden. The former he wrote for " the 
 distressed actors in Drury Lane," who had been deserted by 
 the Gibbers. Chiefly to ridicule the latter he also revived 
 The Author^s Farce (played with The Intriguing Chamber- 
 maid^, and from this time he never ceased to make war on the 
 bumptious poet laureate. Early in the year 1735 he produced 
 two more plays at Drury Lane, — a farce called The Virgin 
 Unmasked and a comedy, The U?iiversal Gallant, The latter 
 was an utter failure, and deservedly so. 
 
 To the spring of this year, when Fielding was in his twenty- 
 . eighth year, has been assigned his marriage to Miss Charlotte 
 Cradock, a beauty of Salisbury, who is considered with some 
 show of probability to have been the original of both Sophia 
 Western and Amelia. The fact that he had been in love 
 with her for some years previous to 1735^ leads one to dis- 
 count largely the stories of his wild life in London. From 
 the descriptions in Tom Jones and Amelia, along with sufficient 
 testimony by less interested parties, we know that Miss Crad- 
 ock was a young woman of exceptionally fine character as 
 well as beauty. The young couple retired to a small estate at 
 East Stour, Dorset, which had perhaps ^ been bequeathed to 
 the author by his mother, to come into his possession at mar- 
 riage. In any case, the bride brought him ^1500 as dowry, 
 with which to establish himself as a gentleman farmer. The 
 tales of his wild extravagance during the next few months are to 
 some degree corroborated by the confessions of Captain Booth 
 in Amelia, which are assumed to be autobiographical. There 
 can be no doubt that he kept open house and lived beyond 
 
 1 See the love poems in the Miscellanies of 1743. 
 
 2 According to Murphy he received it at the death of his mother. 
 
INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 his means, though the story that he set up a coach with serv- 
 ants in yellow liveries has been shown by Sir Leslie Stephen^ 
 to be the result of confusion with the notorious Robert Feild- 
 ing. Possibly, too, the remorse which he felt in later life for 
 his early career may have led him to exaggerate the account 
 of his misdoings found in Amelia. Certainly he was never a 
 pusillanimous fool like Captain Booth. 
 
 Early in 1736 Fielding returned to London, still possessed 
 of sufficient money to rent the so-called French Theatre in 
 the Haymarket, which he opened with a group of actors styled 
 the " Great Mogul's Company of Comedians." The first play 
 which he presented was a burlesque of his own, entitled 
 Pasquin : a Dramatick Satire on the Times : being the 
 Rehearsal of Two Plays ^ viz., a Comedy calVd the Election, 
 a?id a Tragedy calVd the Life and Death of Common Sense. 
 This work, which was of the same class as The Rehearsal by 
 Buckingham, Sprat, and Butler, had what was for that time an 
 extraordinary rim, continuing for " more than forty nights " 
 and assuring the success of the company. The profits of the 
 play to the author-manager must have been very considerable 
 and must for the time have placed him in easy circumstances. 
 He followed up his advantage by another dramatic satire 
 entitled The Historical Register for the Year iyj6 ; this had 
 less vogue than Pasquin but attacked Sir Robert Walpole's 
 ministry and political corruption generally with even more 
 • severity than did that piece. Troubles now began to collect 
 about Fielding's head. The unbounded license of the stage was 
 attracting the attention of the government ; and efforts were 
 made to restrain it. The history of the affair is obscure, but 
 it seems that Giffard, the manager of Goodman's Fields, sold 
 to Walpole a scurrilous play called The Golden Rump, portions 
 
 1 See articles Robert Feilding and Henry Fielding, in Dictionary of 
 
 National Biography. 
 
xviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 of which the minister read in the House of Commons. There is 
 no better evidence than Horace Walpole's tittle-tattle^ to show 
 that Fielding was in any way concerned with this piece, but 
 his name was prominent in the discussion which it aroused. 
 The upshot of the whole matter was that a new and very dras- 
 tic licensing act received the royal assent on June 21, 1737. 
 Meanwhile, early in the year, Fielding had brought out three 
 hasty and inconsequential farces, one of which he printed with 
 good-natured effrontery, "as it was d-mned at the Theatre- 
 Royal in Drury Lane." 
 
 With the passage of the Licensing Act, Fielding's connec- 
 tion with the stage ended. He soon retired from the manage- 
 ment of his theatre and wrote no more plays, though two early 
 works were afterward produced, — The Wedding Day, i743) 
 and posthumously The Good- Natured Man, i779- In Novem- 
 ber of 1 7 3 7 he entered as a student of the Middle Temple and 
 applied himself seriously to the study of law. How he sup- 
 ported himself during this period, where his family lived, and 
 how he conducted himself, we have little knowledge, though 
 a superfluity of gossip. The famous '' wet towel " and '' inked 
 ruffles " with which he has been decorated by Thackeray ^ find 
 their origin in stories about his life as a templar. At all events, 
 he acquired a good knowledge of the law. Doubtless he may 
 have done much anonymous writing during these years, and 
 in November, 1739, ^^ joined with an able hack writer, James 
 Ralph, who attained the dignity of a couplet in The Dunciad, 
 in founding a newspaper called the Champion, which was con- 
 tinued until the day before he was called to the bar on June 20, 
 1740. Fielding's contributions to this journal cannot uniformly 
 be identified, and none of them is of much interest except for 
 references to enemies like Cibber or friends like Hogarth. 
 
 1 Memoirs of the Last Ten Years of the Reign of George II, I, 12. 
 
 2 English Humourists, and Pendennis, chap. xxix. 
 
INTRODUCTION xix 
 
 As an advocate Fielding met with little success, though from 
 this time to the end of his life he labored unremittingly to main- 
 tain his family and mend his fortunes. He joined the western 
 circuit and is said to have attended the Wiltshire sessions with 
 great regularity. Meanwhile, though he had forsworn period- 
 ical writing for the time, he occasionally appeared as an anony- 
 mous pamphleteer and poet. In November of 1740, however, 
 appeared a work which was to furnish him the opportunity to 
 show his great talent in its best vein. This was Richardson's 
 Pamela. The mawkish sentimentalism of the novel both 
 amused and disgusted Fielding. Perhaps its great vogue may 
 also have piqued his robust intellect with something like envy 
 of its author, for whom personally he had never anything but 
 the profoundest contempt. Accordingly, he proceeded to write 
 a parody, but a parody which in the course of its composition 
 developed into a masterpiece of narrative art. In February, 
 1742, he published The History of the Adventures of Joseph 
 And?'ews, and of his Friend Mr. Abraham Adams written in 
 imitation of the Manner of Cervantes^ author of Don Qiiixote. 
 According to the assignment to the publisher, Andrew Millar, 
 
 which is preserved in the Forster Library at South Kensington, 
 
 « 
 
 he received for the work ;^i83 \\s. 
 
 The book was well received, though its early popularity by 
 no means equaled that of Pamela. A second edition was not 
 called for till six months had passed. Yet it set all London agog 
 and served the very useful purpose, apart from its own merits, 
 of showing the author where lay his true field as a writer. 
 Perhaps the only man who failed to recognize its merit was 
 Richardson himself. I cannot refrain from quoting Mr. Austin 
 Dobson's discussion of the matter : 
 
 "With Richardson, as might be expected, it was never 
 popular at all, and to a great extent it is possible to sympa- 
 thize with his annoyance. The daughter of his brain, whom 
 
XX INTRODUCTION 
 
 he had piloted through so many troubles, had grown to him 
 more real than the daughters of his body, and to see her at 
 the height of her fame made contemptible by what in one of 
 his letters he terms ' lewd and ungenerous engraftment,' must 
 have been a sore trial to his absorbed and self-conscious 
 nature, and one which not all the consolations of his con- 
 sistory of feminine flatterers — ' my ladies,' as the little man 
 called them — could wholly alleviate. But it must be admitted 
 that his subsequent attitude was neither judicious nor digni- 
 fied. He pursued Fielding henceforth with steady dej^recia- 
 tion, caught eagerly at any scandal respecting him, professed 
 himself unable to perceive his genius, deplored his ' lowness ' 
 and comforted himself by reflecting that, if he pleased at all, 
 it was because he had learned the art from Pamela^ ^ 
 
 To all this Fielding made no retort, doubtless feeling that 
 he had said all that was necessary and rather more than was 
 courteous in the book itself. 
 
 In 1742 were published A Full Vindication of the Duchess 
 Dowager of Marlborough^ from Fielding's pen ; the farce Miss 
 Lucy in Town, in which he had some part; and a translation 
 from Aristophanes entitled Flutus, the God of Fiches, y^hich he 
 executed in collaboration with the Reverend William Young, 
 who is supposed to have been the original of Parson Adams in 
 foseph A?idrews. This last was the first of a series of works 
 projected by the translators, which through lack of support 
 went no further than one volume. This can scarcely be 
 regretted. 
 
 Meanwhile, we know that infirmities had already begim to 
 attack Fielding's vigorous frame. In the winter of 1 742-1 743 
 he had an attack of gout, and writes of himself^ as being laid 
 up "with a favourite Child dying in one Bed, and my Wife in 
 
 1 117. ,2 Preface to Miscellanies. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxi 
 
 a Condition very little better, on another, attended with other 
 Circumstances, which served as very proper Decorations to 
 such a Scene," The passage well illustrates the vicissitudes of 
 his life, — the reference in the last clause doubtless being to 
 bailiffs. Yet he was struggling on in his profession and at the 
 same time writing copiously. Some time before the middle of 
 1743 were issued three volumes oi Miscellanies by Henry Field- 
 ing, Esq. They were published by subscription and accord- 
 ing to the estimate of Sir Leslie Stephen ^ must have yielded 
 their author about ^^450. The list of subscribers included 
 numerous representatives of the aristocracy of birth as well 
 as of intellect. Nor were the volumes disappointing. Along 
 with a good deal both in verse and prose that was the work 
 of his early manhood and somewhat that was simply repub- 
 lished, there was included much new and valuable material. 
 Of the more important works such as An Essay on Conversa- 
 tion^ A Journey from this World to the JVext, and The History 
 of the Life of the late Mr. fofiathan Wild the Great, I shall 
 have occasion to speak later. These three are of themselves 
 sufficient to remove the Miscellanies from mediocrity. 
 
 Towards the end of the same year Fielding's wife died after 
 a long illness. That she had remained loyally attached to him 
 through the whole of a married life which had brought her 
 much trouble and perhaps occasional privation, we cannot 
 doubt any more than we can the faithful devotion of her 
 somewhat difficult husband. After her death, according to 
 Murphy, he was so broken-hearted that his friends feared lest 
 he lose his reason. Of the children of this marriage we know 
 the name of but one, Eleanor Harriot, who accompanied her 
 father on that " voyage to Lisbon " which ended his life. A son 
 3,nd one or two daughters seem to have died while very young. 
 
 ^ Dictionary of National Biography. 
 
xxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 During the next two years Fielding must have been engaged 
 for the most part in the practice of his profession. In 1744 
 he pubHshed nothing except a preface to the second edition 
 of his sister's David Simple^ in which he took occasion to 
 retract the promise which he had made in the preface to the 
 Miscellanies to print nothing thenceforward except over his 
 own signature, since in the face of it he had been subjected 
 to the scandal of " putting forth anonymous work." This was 
 doubtless a reference to a stupid and anonymous satire, the 
 Causidicade, which had been attributed to him. In November, 
 1745, when the rebellion under the pretender Charles Edward 
 broke out, he doubtless was thankful that he had made the 
 declaration, for he once again became a journalist, this time 
 in defense of the government. For about two years he wrote 
 the periodical known as The True Patriot, and for nearly 
 another, — till November, 1748, — The Jacobite' s Journal. His 
 papers in both of these were largely political and of no lasting 
 value, but by means of them he had the opportunity of expressing 
 his strong feelings and doubtless of gaining the livelihood which 
 for some reason or other he never found at the bar. That 
 he was called a " pension'd scribbler " for his pains was only 
 natural and not of necessity at all discreditable. 
 
 Meanwhile, on the 27th of November, 1 747,-^ he had married 
 Mary Daniel, who had been his first wife's maid. Lady Louisa 
 Stuart says of her : " The maid had few personal charms, but 
 was an excellent creature, devotedly attached to her mistress, 
 and almost broken-hearted for her loss. In the first agonies 
 of his own grief, which approached to frenzy, he found no 
 relief but from weeping along with her ; nor solace, when a 
 degree calmer, but in talking to her of the angel they mutually 
 regretted. This made her his habitual confidential associate, 
 
 1 The date was first discovered by Mr. Austin Dobson. See p. 157 
 of his biography. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxiii 
 
 and in process of time he began to think he could not give 
 his children a tenderer mother, or secure for himself a more 
 faithful housekeeper and nurse. At least this was what he 
 told his friends ; and it is certain that her conduct as his 
 wife confirmed it, and fully justified his good opinion." To 
 this account nothing need be added save that, according to 
 Fielding's own statements, particularly in the Voyage to Lis- 
 bon, he never found reason to repent his choice. Of this union 
 were born four children, — William, who became a barrister and 
 magistrate ; Allen, who became a clergyman and who cared for 
 his mother in her old age ; ^ and two daughters, one of whom 
 died in infancy. 
 
 In December, 1748, through the interest of his lifelong 
 friend Lyttelton with the Duke of Bedford, Fielding was 
 appointed a justice of the peace for Westminster. He then 
 took a house in Bow Street and a little later had the county 
 of Middlesex added to his commission. In this office he 
 labored very earnestly and to good purpose. Nor, we may 
 be sure, did he find his position " humiliating " — to use good 
 Sir Walter Scott's phrase with reference to a silly story ^ circu- 
 lated by Horace Walpole — so long as he did his work honestly 
 and well. To be sure, the magistrates of that time had brought 
 themselves into disrepute by their corrupt practices, but so had 
 most public officers for that matter. It was not a position of 
 great dignity, but it offered a steady income, if not one suf- 
 ficient for his lavish nature; and it made him independent 
 of friends such as Lyttelton and Allen, who had undoubtedly 
 given him much occasional pecuniary assistance hitherto. He 
 was assisted in the duties of the office by his half-brother, 
 
 1 She probably died at his house in Canterbury in 1802, 
 
 2 Telling how two young sparks intruded on his private life, were 
 treated with scant courtesy, and came away to spread tales of his 
 squalid housekeeping. 
 
xxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 John Fielding/ who, though bHnd from his birth, had acquired 
 a legal education and was a man of parts. 
 
 Apparently for a considerable length of time before his 
 appointment as justice Fielding had been engaged in the com- 
 position of a new novel. This was The History of Tom Jones, 
 a Foundlifig. It was published by Andrew Millar on February 
 28, 1749, only two months after the author became a justice. 
 The book had an immediate and immense success. So great, 
 indeed, was its vogue that the publisher added one hundred 
 pounds to the six hundred which he had originally agreed to 
 pay. Even Richardson found that his devoted correspondents^ 
 were filled with rapt admiration for the masterpiece, though 
 he himself continued to heap petty abuse on its author and 
 apparently could not find time to read the book. This was 
 in contrast to Fielding's reception of Clarissa, which he had 
 good-naturedly puffed in the fifth number of The Jacobite^ s 
 Journal. Tom Jones was dedicated to Lyttelton in a long 
 panegyric which is supportable only because the gratitude 
 which the writer expresses is unmistakably genuine. Nor 
 could the modest Lyttelton have resented the public way in 
 which his virtues were lauded, since thereby his name was 
 linked to an acknowledged masterpiece. The verdict of that 
 day has never been reversed. The novel has appeared in 
 almost innumerable English editions and has been translated 
 into most of the European languages. 
 
 In the somewhat limited leisure of his hfe as a justice Field- 
 ing now began a new novel, which was to be his last. On the 
 19th of December, 1751,- Andrew Millar issued Amelia, though 
 
 1 After Fielding's death his brother succeeded to his office, was 
 knighted in 1761, and died in 1780. Unhappily, though he displayed 
 remarkable energy, it is not clear that his conduct as magistrate was 
 always above reproach. 
 
 2 See letters in Dobson, 189 ff. 
 
INTRODUCTION XXV 
 
 by anticipation the title-page was dated 1752. For this work 
 the publisher paid ^1000, but certainly lost no money by the 
 venture since a second edition was called for on the day of 
 publication. To admit that this extraordinary demand was 
 stimulated by skillful advertising is merely to give due credit 
 to the astute Millar. He is said to have refused the ordinary 
 discount to his agents on the plea of the enormous demand 
 for the work, thereby creating such a demand. The book was 
 simply and briefly dedicated to Ralph Allen, Esq., whose regard 
 for the author and material assistance to him were gratefully 
 remembered. Samuel Johnson was only one of the people of 
 discrimination who found the work absorbing. In spite of his 
 preference for Richardson, " he read it through without stop- 
 ping " ^ and pronounced AmeHa " the most pleasing heroine of 
 all the romances." The professional critics, to be sure, treated 
 the novel rather harshly, but as usual their adverse comments 
 had little influence on its popularity. 
 
 Almost immediately after the publication of Amelia, Fielding 
 started a new biweekly paper. The Covent- Garden Journal, in 
 which he assumed the title of Sir Alexander Drawcansir, Cen- 
 sor of Great Britain. Notwithstanding the increasing burdens 
 of his office as magistrate and in spite of obstinate ill health,^ 
 he kept continually at work in his laudable endeavor to make 
 a comfortable provision for his family against the time when 
 he could no longer support them. Indeed, he may have fore- 
 seen that he was not destined to a long life. The new journal 
 contained much of his best work in this kind of writing, a good 
 deal for that matter which was above and outside journalism. 
 It was as witty as his earlier ventures and much wiser. Here 
 and there one can put his finger on a little essay and say, 
 
 1 Boswell, April 12, 1776. 
 
 2 An attack of "fever aggravated by gout " towards the end of 1749 
 for some time seemed likely to prove fatal. 
 
 / 
 
xxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 "That is literature." For Fielding, though only forty-five years 
 of age, had become an old man and had acquired the mellow 
 wisdom of old age without losing his good spirits or his literary 
 skill. In Amelia he already shows this. As Mr. Austin Dobson 
 says^ in comparing the book with TomJo7ies : " The robust and 
 irresistible vitality, the full-veined delight of living, the energy 
 of observation and strength of satire which characterize the 
 one give place in the other to a calmer retrospection, a more 
 compassionate humanity, a gentler and more benignant criti- 
 cism of life." Though in the conduct of The Covent- Garden 
 Journal he was involved in several quarrels which he fought 
 with customary vigor, his energy was waning. In the last num- 
 ber, issued in November, 1752, he took leave of his readers, 
 saying with much gravity : " I solemnly declare that, unless in 
 revising my former Works, I have at present no Intention to 
 hold any further Correspondence with the gayer Muses." 
 
 The fact was that he became increasingly engaged in his 
 judicial duties and in publishing treatises on legal cases or 
 plans for the promotion of public morality. In May, 1749, he 
 was unanimously elected chairman of quarter sessions at Clerk- 
 enwell, and in the following month he delivered a very earnest 
 and serious charge to the Westminster grand jury, which was 
 regarded as a model of exposition. That same year — the 
 year of Tom /ones, be it remembered — he published a pam- 
 phlet justifying the execution of Bosavern Penlez, a sailor who 
 had been convicted of riot and plunder. In January, 1751, he 
 distributed An Enquiry into the Causes of the late Increase of 
 Robbers^ in which after two years of experience on the bench 
 he gravely discussed the prevalent vices of the time and pro- 
 posed means of remedying them. He was especially earnest 
 in his denunciation of gin drinking ; and his efforts, together 
 with his friend Hogarth's terrible engraving of Gin Lafie, were 
 
 1 212. 
 
INTRODUCTION ' xxvii 
 
 a potent factor in the passage of a " Bill for restricting the 
 Sale of Spirituous Liquors," which was enacted in June of that 
 year. The Fielding of that day was certainly far removed from 
 the thoughtless young playwright of twenty years before, but 
 he was no less whole-souled and far more useful. During 1752 
 he frequently advertised in The Covent- Garden Journal, request- 
 ing that notices of thefts and burglaries be sent him at his house 
 in Bow Street. In April of the same year he published a curi- 
 ous little treatise entitled Exa7nples of the Interposition of 
 Providence, in the Detection aiid Punishment of Murder, which 
 he distributed in his court with the evident intention of 
 restraining crime. In January, 1753, he published Proposals 
 for Making an Effectual Provision for the Poor, — an elaborate 
 plan for the care of paupers, which shows careful thought, 
 though it came to nothing. He now became involved in the 
 case of Elizabeth Canning, a servant who was accused of mur- 
 der and finally transported. London was divided into two 
 parties by the matter, and Fielding, who believed in the inno- 
 cence of the girl, published a pamphlet in her defense. 
 Whether or not he was right does not particularly concern us, 
 but the fact that he felt it his duty to write the pamphlet is of 
 interest in studying his character. During all this time he was 
 very active in the discharge of his judicial duties. In spite of 
 the state of his health, we learn that in March, 1753, at four 
 o'clock in the morning, he made a raid on a house in the 
 Strand where he believed that some robbers were concealed. 
 As a matter of fact, his health was rapidly becoming worse. 
 Against his old enemy, the gout, he fought a losing battle. He 
 employed various physicians and a good many quack medicines 
 without getting any permanent relief. In 1751^ he had given 
 a testimonial to the curative qualities of a spring which had 
 been discovered near Glastonbury, but, we may suppose, was 
 
 ^ Gentleman'' s Magazine for September of that year. 
 
xxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 not long deceived. In the Journal of a Voyage to Lisbo?t he 
 himself has given us an account of his life from August, 1753, 
 to within a couple of months of his death, which, because of 
 its candor and display of kindly fortitude, needs little supple- 
 ment or comment. After he " had taken the Duke of Port- 
 land's medicine, as it is called, near a year, the effects of 
 which had been the carrying off the symptoms of a lingering 
 imperfect gout," he was persuaded by his physicians to go 
 immediately to Bath. Accordingly, he took lodgings there 
 and was about to leave London when he was summoned by 
 the Duke of Newcastle to advise with him concerning the sup- 
 pression of murder and robbery. Though " fatigued almost to 
 death with several long examinations," he put off his journey 
 and threw himself into the work with accustomed energy. He 
 submitted a plan to the Privy Council, the essential feature of 
 which was the employment of an informer. After some delay 
 this was approved. His " distemper was now turned to a deep 
 jaundice, in which case the Bath waters " were " generally 
 reputed to be almost infallible " ; yet so great was his desire 
 "of demolishing this gang of villains and cut- throats " that he 
 gave up all thought of going to Bath and devoted himself dur- 
 ing the following months to the problem. At the expense of 
 infinite fatigue and increasing ill health he finally so far suc- 
 ceeded that during the dark months of the early winter " not 
 only no such thing as a murder, but not even a street-robbery " 
 took place in London. Thereupon he went into the country, 
 probably to Fordhook, near Ealing, where he had a house. 
 
 Fielding was too honest to attribute his endeavors entirely 
 to philanthropy, however, and freely acknowledged that he 
 " rejoiced greatly in seeing an opportunity ... of gaining such 
 merit in the eye of the public " that if he died, his family 
 might be provided for through gratitude. Indeed, his private 
 affairs were involved, and he had begun to despair of leaving 
 
INTRODUCTION xxix 
 
 them a competency, in spite of the returns of his later works 
 and a pension from the government. Through his unwilling- 
 ness to conform to the ordinary habits of contemporary jus- 
 tices, he had " reduced an income of about five hundred 
 pounds a-year of the dirtiest money upon earth to little more 
 than three hundred pounds." To a less extravagant and gen- 
 erous man his total earnings might have seemed ample, but 
 they scarcely enabled him to live in comfort. 
 
 Meanwhile his gout and asthma, now combined with dropsy, 
 were becoming more desperate. In February, 1754, he returned 
 to town, where he was saved from immediate death by Dr. 
 Ward, a quack of some skill. When spring finally came, after 
 an unusually severe winter, he went back to Fordhook, where 
 a reperusal of Bishop Berkeley's Siris induced him to try the 
 famous tar water. This gave him some relief, but it was evi- 
 dent that he must seek a warmer climate. Accordingly, after 
 some discussion, he finally set sail on June 26 for Lisbon, 
 accompanied by his wife and eldest daughter. At this point 
 begins the wonderful record of his last voyage, which he wrote 
 day by day to relieve the tedium of his idle hours. Mr. Austin 
 Dobson rightly calls ^ it " one of the most unfeigned and touch- 
 ing little tracts in our own or any other literature." He knew 
 that he was dying, yet he endured the delays and fatigues of 
 the embarkation and the positive discomforts of the voyage 
 with the greatest kindliness and good spirits. He laughs at 
 the wonder of the captain, who could not understand his for- 
 titude under the operation of tapping for dropsy, " that is 
 attended with scarce any degree of pain." He is tenderly 
 concerned for Mrs. Fielding's toothache. He draws with his 
 inimitable hand the portrait of a disobliging landlady at Ryde 
 and describes with gusto " the pleasantest and the merriest 
 meal" in a barn at the same place. He discourses on the 
 
 I236. 
 
XXX INTRODUCTION 
 
 fish supply of London and the extortions of boatmen. 
 Throughout he fills the pages with wisdom, pathos, and mel- 
 low wit. He arrived at Lisbon on August 13 and closed his 
 record with these words : 
 
 " Here we regaled ourselves with a good supper for which 
 we were as well charged as if the bill had been made on the 
 Bath-road between Newbury and London. 
 
 " And now we could joyfully say, 
 
 Egressi optata Troes potiutiUir arena. 
 Therefore, in the words of Horace, 
 
 — hie Finis chartaeque viaeque." 
 
 Such it proved to be, for Henry Fielding died at Lisbon on 
 October 8, 1754, and was buried in the English cemet-ery. 
 
 In judging the character of Fielding the man, if judge him 
 we must, it is necessary to guard carefully against exaggera- 
 tion. A man who lived so much in the space of forty-six years 
 is peculiarly liable to misinterpretation, because now this side 
 and now that of his vigorous personality is lighted up. Thack- 
 eray's portrait of him is worth quoting as being drawn by his 
 most famous disciple and as embodying the traditional view : 
 
 " I cannot offer or hope to make a hero of Harry Fielding. 
 Why hide his faults? Why conceal his weaknesses in a cloud 
 of periphrases? Why not show, like him as he is, not robed in 
 a marble toga, and draped and polished in an heroic attitude, 
 but with inked ruffles, and claret-stains on his tarnished laced 
 coat, and on his manly face the marks of good-fellowship, 
 of illness, of kindness, of care, and wine. Stained as you see 
 him, and worn by care and dissipation, that man retains some 
 of the most precious and splendid human qualities and endow- 
 ments. He has an admirable natural love of truth, the keen- 
 est instinctive antipathy to hypocrisy, the happiest satirical 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxi 
 
 gift of laughing it to scorn. His wit is wonderfully wise and 
 detective ; it flashes upon a rogue and lightens up a rascal 
 like a policeman's lantern. He is one of the manliest and 
 kindliest of human beings : in the midst of all his imperfections, 
 he respects female innocence and infantine tenderness, as you 
 would suppose such a great-hearted, courageous soul would 
 respect and care for them. He could not be so brave, gener- 
 ous, truth-telling as he is, were he not infinitely merciful, 
 pitiful, and tender. He will give any man his purse — he can't 
 help kindness and profusion. He may have low tastes, but 
 not a mean mind ; he admires with all his heart good and 
 virtuous men, stoops to no flattery, bears no rancour, disdains 
 all disloyal arts, does his public duty uprightly, is fondly loved 
 by his family, and dies at his work." ^ 
 
 But is not the man who repents his disordered youth and 
 toils earnestly to support his family by means of a laborious 
 profession, who writes great novels and wise essays, and who 
 in the face of physical decay gives himself heart and soul to 
 the suppression of vice and the care of the poor, is not such 
 a man, after all, something of a hero? At his worst he was 
 never so bad as he has been pictured. In his vice he was 
 never mean, and his hatred of hypocrisy is as manifest in his 
 early satires as in his great novels. He never was prudent, it 
 is true, and he learned wisdom in a bitter school. Yet he had 
 all the larger virtues. He loved his family, was loyal to his 
 friends and generous to his enemies, was fond of little children, 
 and did his work manfully. To be sure, he would have laughed 
 merrily at any characterization of himself as a hero, but what 
 real hero would not ? As Mr. Austin Dobson says : ^ 
 
 " If any portrait of him is to be handed down to posterity, 
 let it be the last rather than the first — not the Fielding of 
 the green-room and the tavern, of Covent Garden frolics and 
 
 '^English Humourists. 2 260, 261. 
 
xxxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 ' Modern conversations ' ; but the energetic magistrate, the 
 tender husband and father, the kindly host of his poorer 
 friends, the practical philanthropist, the patient and magnani- 
 mous hero of the Voyage to Lisbon.''' 
 
 In person he was more than six feet in height, and excep- 
 tionally robust. In the Cha?npio?i he refers to himself play- 
 fully as a " tall man " who refuses to part with " half his chin " 
 at the request of Mercury. This is an allusion to his length 
 of nose and chin, which were unusually pronounced, as is evi- 
 dent from the only authentic portrait which we have of him, 
 a sketch made by his lifelong friend Hogarth, from memory, 
 when a frontispiece was wanted for his collected works. This 
 represents him at a time when he had lost his teeth and was 
 in every way altered from the handsome youth who came to 
 London in 1728. Yet the face of the picture is a striking one, 
 with the fine forehead and rather deep-set eyes, the strong 
 lines of the nose and jaw, and the faintly ironical curl of the 
 short upper lip — the face of a man who, to quote the motto 
 of Tom /ones, " saw the manners of many men." ^ 
 
 II 
 
 FIELDING'S WORKS 
 
 The dates and subjects of Fielding's works have been men- 
 tioned briefly in the account of his life. It is necessary, how- 
 ever, to consider the more important ones in greater detail, 
 to describe their contents, and to show how and where the 
 author succeeded in reaching an achievement worthy of his 
 powers. The fact that until he was thirty years of age he was 
 known entirely as a poet and dramatist makes it natural to 
 discuss first his efforts in these two directions. 
 
 1 Horace, Ars Poetica, v, 142. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxiii 
 
 POEMS AND PLAYS 
 
 Though they were not pubHshed in collected form, and, 
 indeed, though many of them never saw the light at all till 
 the appearance of the three-volume Miscellanies in 1743, 
 Fielding's poems were almost all the work of his early man- 
 hood. They are chiefly interesting from the fact of their 
 authorship, possessing of themselves little intrinsic worth. 
 Though sometimes graceful and almost always vivacious, they 
 are of their time, the work of a young man who wrote verse 
 in the prevailing style for the same reason, generally obscure, 
 that causes most young men of literary tendency to turn poets 
 for a little. He himself characterizes ^ the verses which he 
 chose to print as "Productions of the Heart rather than of 
 the Head." That being so, it is scarcely worth our while to 
 examine them very closely or criticise them very severely. 
 In his prologues and the occasional verses found in his plays 
 he is happier, though this success was perhaps due rather to 
 high spirits than to poetic inspiration. It was seldom that he 
 compassed such a line as that which begins the hunting song 
 in Don Quixote in England : 
 
 The dusky night rode down the sky. 
 
 With his plays the case is far different. All of them were 
 hasty productions, to be sure, and some were as ephemeral 
 as the work of the sorriest playwrights of the time ; yet a few 
 deserve reading for their own sake, and several cannot properly 
 be neglected in any adequate account of Fielding's career. 
 They are all satires, whether comedies, farces, or burlesques, 
 for young Harry Fielding was not less alive to the follies of 
 his kind — to say nothing of himself — than was the creator 
 of Jonathan Wild and the despicable Captain Booth. These 
 
 1 Preface to Miscellanies. 
 
xxxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 plays, it must be remembered, were the work of his early 
 manhood, — of a time when he had neither found his proper 
 field of work nor taken up the reins of self-government. 
 They are full of high spirits, of slashing criticism, of broad 
 humor, and of rollicking parody. They are marred by a hun- 
 dred defects of carelessness, coarseness, and bad taste. Yet 
 at their best — and their best is in burlesque — they are very 
 good indeed. According to their kind and in the way of 
 their kind, To7n Thumb and Pasquin have scarcely been 
 excelled. 
 
 Fielding's first two plays, Love in Several Masques (1728) 
 and The Temple Beau (1730), are nothing more than imita- 
 tions of Van Brugh and Congreve, — pale reflections of that 
 " comedy of manners " which was only excellent when pol- 
 ished of phrase and delicate of wit. Indeed, they bear more 
 resemblance to the " wit- traps " of the laureate Colley Gibber 
 than to The Way of the World. They show surprisingly little 
 observation of life, even though one remembers that the author 
 was not much past his majority. 
 
 The two plays next produced, however, evidence a decided 
 advance in every way. These were The Author^ s Farce and 
 The Pleasures of the Town (March, 1730), which together 
 made up the bill at the Haymarket Theatre. The latter is 
 described as a "puppet-show," — apt name for a clever farce 
 which portrays and satirizes the pantomime makers and nos- 
 trum venders of the metropolis. The former piece, however, 
 was the better and in its revised form will be described below. 
 Similar in general character to these farces was The Coffee- 
 House Politician^ which appeared in the same year. As in 
 most such pieces the whole interest of the reader — if not of 
 the spectator — is absorbed by one figure, the tradesman who 
 busies himself with matters that are too weighty for him, with 
 ludicrous results. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxv 
 
 It is a clear indication of the rapidity with which Fielding 
 could turn out these satirical dramatic sketches — for the 
 pieces above named are little more — that he was able in the 
 same year to produce a play which was at once even less seri- 
 ous than they and yet his most important contribution to 
 drama. I refer, of course, to Tom Thumb the Great. Its 
 merit was at once recognized, indeed, and in the following 
 year an altered form appeared. After having a successful run, 
 this was published, with an admirable preface and notes by 
 " H. Scriblerus Secundus," one of those delightful pedants 
 whom authors have been creating as foils to their own imagi- 
 nations from the seventeenth century down to Scott and 
 Lowell. If the writers of mock-heroic tragedy were well 
 ridiculed in the text, the scholars of the day were as well 
 laughed at in the annotations. In the preface, in praise of the 
 " tragedy," he says : " It hath, among other languages, been 
 translated into Dutch, and celebrated with great applause 
 at Amsterdam (where burlesque never came) by the title of 
 Mynheer Vander Thumb, the burgomasters receiving it with 
 that reverent and silent attention which becometh an audience 
 at a deep tragedy." Or witness his erudite remarks on the 
 final scene, where all the important characters are successively 
 killed : " No scene, I believe, ever received greater honours 
 than this. It was applauded by several encores, a word very 
 unusual in tragedy. And it was very difficult for the actors to 
 escape without a second slaughter. This I take to be a lively 
 assurance of that fine spirit of liberty which remains among 
 us, and which Mr. Dryden, in his essay on Dramatick Poetry,^ 
 hath observed : ' Whether custom,' says he, ' hath so formed 
 them to fierceness, I know not ; but they will scarcely suifer 
 combats and other objects of horror to be taken from them.' 
 
 1 Of Dramatick Poesie, An Essay, 1668. Fielding's quotation is not 
 altogether accurate, but it gives the sense of the passage. 
 
xxxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 And indeed I am for having them encouraged in this martial 
 disposition ; nor do I beUeve our victories over the French 
 have been owing to anything more than to those bloody spec- 
 tacles daily exhibited in our tragedies, of which the French 
 stage is so intirely clear." 
 
 Yet the notes are but the sauce to the feast. For three acts 
 of the most turgid blank verse, Tom Thumb, Lord Grizzle, 
 the princess Huncamunca, and other fantastic creatures rage 
 and rant in a fashion not very unlike that of the tragedies 
 which the audiences of those days somehow found supportable. 
 Their utterances, indeed, are for the most part excellent paro- 
 dies of speeches found in the plays of Dryden, Lee, Otway, 
 Rowe, " Jemmy " Thomson, and lesser lights of drama. The pas- 
 sages copied from these authors, or, as he puts it, the matter 
 imitated by them from Tom Thumbs are carefully indicated by 
 the excellent Scriblerus Secundus. So Grizzle cries out, 
 
 Oh! Huncamunca, Huncamunca, oh ! 
 
 and we have the note : " This beautiful line, which ought, 
 
 says Mr. W ^ to be written in gold, is imitated in the 
 
 Neiv Sophonisba : ^ 
 
 Oh ! Sophonisba ; Sophonisba, oh ! " 
 
 So the giantess Huncamunca exclaims of the valiant dwarf, 
 her lover : 
 
 Oh Tom Thumb! Tom Thumb! wherefore art thou Tom Thumb? 
 
 a parody of Otway 's 
 
 Oh ! Marius, Marius, wherefore art thou Marius ? 
 
 It is interesting to note that, in spite of the fact that he was 
 a lover of Shakespeare, Fielding apparently did not recognize 
 that this verse, like most of Man'us, was nothing but a solemn 
 travesty of Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 1 For Warburton. 2 j^y Thomson. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxvii 
 
 One other example, which is a burlesque of the now for- 
 gotten " heroic " style rather than of the particular absurdity 
 of any one passage, must suffice to illustrate the play. In Act 
 III a ghost appears to King Arthur and among other deliver- 
 ances remarks : 
 
 Thy subjects up in arms, by Grizzle led, 
 Will, ere the rosy-finger'd morn shall ope 
 The shutters of the sky, before the gate 
 Of this thy royal palace, swarming spread. 
 So have I seen the bees in clusters swarm, 
 So have I seen the stars in frosty nights, 
 So have I seen the sand in windy days, 
 So have I seen the ghosts on Pluto's shore. 
 So have I seen the flowers in spring arise. 
 So have I seen the leaves in autumn fall, 
 So have I seen the fruits in summer smile, 
 So have I seen the snow in winter frown. 
 
 AH in all, Tom Thumb has seldom been equaled in its way. 
 It is certainly one of the best pieces of dramatic satire in 
 English or, perhaps, in any language. It stands between The 
 Rehearsal and Sheridan's Critic in point of time and is sur- 
 passed by neither in unfailing flow of spirits and what Fielding 
 himself in another connection^ called "surprizing absurdity." 
 Such burlesque can perhaps best be written by young men, and 
 the youthfulness of it adds to its charm. It is not the finest 
 form of satire, it lays a somewhat heavy hand on its victims, it 
 is botlt boisterous and obvious ; but what man with any sense 
 of humor can resist its wholesome current of fun? 
 
 Of Fielding's plays which appeared in 1732 and 1733,^ only 
 two need detain us, since all the others are quite unworthy of 
 their author as well as objectionable according to any standard 
 
 1 See remarks on burlesque in preface Vo Joseph Andrews, No. IV of 
 this volume. 2 gee p. xiv. 
 
xxxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 of morality and art. The two exceptions are .the adaptations 
 from Moliere, — The Mock- Doctor and The Miser. In the former 
 he followed Le Medeciti malgre liii fairly closely, though he 
 added much to the dialogue as well as to the complications 
 of the plot and changed the conclusion in order to avoid the 
 romantic climax of the original. His rendering is spirited in 
 every part, though it scarcely need be said that he lacks the 
 delicate brilliancy of Moliere's style. Yet the play well 
 deserved the enthusiastic reception which it obtained ; nor 
 was The Miser a less successful adaptation. Here again Field- 
 ing caught the spirit of the French comedy and transferred it 
 with little loss to the English stage. He was not a translator 
 simply, but presented anew the clearly defined characters of 
 the original, perhaps with the more ease because they were 
 not of one nation nor of one time, but drawn broadly and 
 without superfluous strokes. It is an interesting commentary 
 on Fielding's career as a playwright that he never succeeded 
 in writing regular comedy of any value except in these adapta- 
 tions. He appreciated what was good in his predecessors but 
 could not, or did not, fashion his original work on the same 
 sound principles. Perhaps his immaturity prevented, perhaps 
 the hasty composition to which his necessities drove him. Yet 
 we cannot sincerely regret that he gave up the attempt to 
 write comedy when he did, since in his novels he turned his 
 ripened powers to a use as good. 
 
 The Author^ s Farce, which was revived in 1734 in the same 
 bill as The Ifitrigiiing Chambe?'maid, — itself a lively adaptation 
 from Regnard, made for Mrs. Clive, — is far and away the best 
 of Fielding's efforts in this sort. Even now, when the personal 
 satire which it contains has lost its point, it furnishes the 
 reader with excellent entertainment. To some extent the 
 farce is probably autobiographical, — the account of the adven- 
 tures of a young author. Luckless, with two bailiffs, two 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxix 
 
 managers, a publisher, and his landlady. At least. Fielding 
 undoubtedly had experiences which furnished him with mate- 
 rial for it. The gay young writer in 'Oaced clothes" who 
 found friends more easily than money to pay his landlady, 
 who was hounded by bailiffs, and who had to do with purvey- 
 ors of machine-made literature, has all the superficial charac- 
 teristics of the author himself. Marplay senior and his foppish 
 son are copies of the two Gibbers, with whom for one reason 
 or another Fielding was continually at war. Unjust though the 
 sketches be, they are sufficiently amusing even now. 
 
 Marplay sen. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Mar.jun. What do you think of the play? 
 
 Mar. sen. It may be a very good one, for aught I know : but 
 I am resolved, since the town will not receive any of mine, they 
 shall have none from any other. I'll keep them to their old diet. 
 
 Mar. jiin. But suppose they won't feed on 't ? 
 
 Mar. sen. Then it shall be crammed down their throats. 
 
 Mar.juti. I wish, father, you would leave me that art for a 
 legacy, since I am afraid I am like to have no other from you. 
 
 Mar. se7i. 'T is buff, child, 'tis buff — true Corinthian brass ; 
 and, heaven be praised, tho' I have given thee no gold, I have 
 given thee enough of that, which- is the better inheritance of the 
 two. Gold thou might'st have spent, but this is a lasting estate 
 that will stick by thee all thy life. 
 
 Mar. jun. What shall be done with that farce which was 
 damned last night? 
 
 Mar. sen. Give it them again to-morrow. I have told some 
 persons of quality that it is a good thing, and I am resolved not 
 to be in the wrong : let us see which will be weary first, the town 
 of damning, or we of being damned. 
 
 Mar. jun. Rat the town, I say. 
 
 Mar. sen. That 's a good boy ; and so say I : but, prithee, 
 what didst thou do with the comedy which I gave thee t' other 
 day, that I thought a good one ? 
 
xl INTRODUCTION 
 
 Mar. jiin. Did as you ordered me ; returned it to the author, 
 and told him it would not do. 
 
 Mar. sen. You did well. If thou writest thyself, and that I 
 know thou art very well qualified to do, it is thy interest to keep 
 back all other authors of any merit, and be as forward to advance 
 those of none. 
 
 Mar. jun. But I am a little afraid of writing ; for my writings, 
 you know, have fared but ill hitherto. 
 
 Mar. sen. That is because thou liast a little mistaken the 
 method of writing. The art of writing, boy, is the art of stealing 
 old plays, by changing the name of the play, and new ones, by 
 changing the name of the author. 
 
 Mar. jun. If it was not for these cursed hisses and catcalls — 
 
 Mar. sen. Harmless musick, child, very harmless musick, and 
 what, when one is but well seasoned to it, has no effect at all : for 
 my part, I have been used to them. 
 
 Mar. jun. Ay, and I have been used to them too, for that 
 matter. 
 
 Mar. sen. And stood them bravely too. Idle young actors are 
 fond of applause, but, take my word for it, a clap is a mighty 
 silly, empty thing, and does no more good than a hiss ; and there- 
 fore, if any man loves hissing, he may have his three shillings 
 worth at me whenever he pleases. 
 
 Exeunt} 
 
 The scenes in which Bookweight, the bookseller, appears 
 are equally lively. He is a capital caricature of the unlettered 
 and purely commercial publisher. With great good humor he 
 is shown in his circle of hack writers, — Index, Scarecrow, Blot- 
 page, and the rest, ^ whom he employs at starvation wages in 
 his own shop, giving them as he says " good milk porridge, 
 very often twice a day, which is good wholesome food and 
 proper for students." His interview with Scarecrow illustrates 
 his method excellently. 
 
 ^ Act II, sc. ii. 
 
INTRODUCTION xli 
 
 Scarecrow. Sir, I have brought you a libel against the min- 
 istry. 
 
 Bookweight. Sir, I shall not take anything against them; — 
 for I have two in the press already. Aside. 
 
 Scare. Then, sir, I have an Apology in defence of them. 
 
 Book. That I shall not meddle with neither ; they don't sell so 
 well. 
 
 Scare. I have a translation of Virgil's ^neid, with notes on it, 
 if we can agree about the price. 
 ^ Book. Why, what price would you have ? 
 
 Scare. You shall read it first, otherwise how will you know the 
 value ? 
 
 Book. No, no, sir, I never deal that way — a poem is a poem, 
 and a pamphlet a pamphlet with me. Give me a good handsome 
 large volume, with a full promising title-page at the head of it, 
 printed on a good paper and letter, the whole bound and gilt, and 
 I'll warrant its selling. You have the common error of authors, 
 who think people buy books to read. No, no, books are only 
 bought to furnish libraries, as pictures and glasses, and beds and 
 chairs, are for other rooms. Look ye, sir, I don't like your title- 
 page : however, to oblige a young beginner, I don't care if I do 
 print it at ray own expence. 
 
 Scare. But pray, sir, at whose expence shall I eat? 
 
 Book. At whose? Why, at mine, sir, at mine. I am as great 
 a friend to learning as the Dutch are to trade : no one can want 
 bread with me who will earn it ; therefore, sir, if you please to 
 take your seat at my table, here will be everything necessary 
 provided for you : good milk porridge, very often twice a day, 
 which is good wholesome food and proper for students ; a trans- 
 lator too is what I want at present, my last being in Newgate for 
 shop-lifting". The rogue had a trick of translating out of the shops 
 as well as the languages. 
 
 Scare. But I am afraid I am not qualified for a translator, for 
 I understand no language but my own. 
 
 Book. What, and translate Virgil ? 
 
 Scare. Alas ! I translated him out of Dryden. 
 
xlii INTRODUCTION 
 
 Book. Lay by your hat, sir — lay by your hat, and take your 
 seat immediately. Not qualified! — thou art as well versed in thy 
 trade as if thou hadst laboured in my garret these ten years. Let 
 me tell you, friend, you will have more occasion for invention than 
 learning here. You will be obliged to translate books out of all 
 languages, especially French, that were never printed in any lan- 
 guage whatsoever. 
 
 Scare. Your trade abounds in mysteries. 
 
 Book. The study of bookselling is as difficult as the law : and 
 there are as many tricks in the one as the other. Sometimes we 
 give a foreign name to our own labours, and sometimes we put 
 our names to the labours of others. Then, as the lawyers have 
 John-a-Nokes and Tom-a-Stiles, so we have Messieurs Moore 
 near St. Paul's and Smith near the Royal Exchange.^ 
 
 Perhaps the best thing in the farce, however, is the portrait 
 of Mrs. Money wood, the landlady, who is nearly related to 
 Mrs. Tow-wouse of Joseph Andrezvs and the keeper of the inn 
 on the Bristol road in To7ii Jones. Her regard for a laced 
 coat and still more for a full purse, her irascible sordidness, 
 and her frank animalism are depicted with the sure touch 
 which was to distinguish the author's later efforts in the field 
 of contemporary manners. Here again Fielding showed his 
 capability of doing really sterling work within the limits of 
 ordinary human nature. 
 
 The only other plays by Fielding that need detain us are 
 Don Quixote in England (1734), Pasquin (1736), and The 
 Historical Register Jor the Year 1736. The first of these was 
 an early work, which he furbished up to help out the " dis- 
 tressed actors in Drury Lane " but finally produced at the 
 Haymarket. It is chiefly interesting because it shows that 
 Cervantes' masterpiece was already known to him and loved 
 as genuinely as in later days when he owned his indebtedness 
 
 1 Act II, sc. v. 
 
INTRODUCTION xliii 
 
 to it in the formation of his narrative style. The farce itself 
 possesses few dramatic qualities. The adventures, save the 
 election scenes, are closely modeled on those in Don Quixote^ 
 and the characters, with the exception of Squire Badger, whom 
 Mr. Austin Dobson calls -^ " a rudimentary Squire Western," 
 are either adaptations or lay figures. 2'he Histoj'ical Register 
 also has only fortuitous interest, partly as the successor of 
 Pasquin, partly from the consequences which the vigorous 
 political satire of the piece brought upon Fielding.^ 
 
 Pasquin itself is of more consequence and ranks with The 
 Author's Farce and Tom Thiwib as the most important of 
 Fielding's dramatic works. Like To7n Thumb it is written in 
 the manner of The Rehearsal, though it burlesques politicians 
 as broadly as it does authors. The scheme of the play is 
 as follows. Trapwit and Fustian undertake the preliminary ' 
 rehearsals of their plays, respectively a comedy called The 
 Election and a tragedy called The Life and Death of Common 
 Sense, on the stage of the same theatre. The comedy occupies 
 three acts and the tragedy two. The former describes a con- 
 tested election in the country with much boldness and shows 
 little consideration for either party, since though the candi- 
 dates of the " country party " bribe more openly, those of the 
 " court party" do so with better effect. The remarks of Trap- 
 wit and Fustian furnish a witty byplay and indicate that Field- 
 ing was well aware of his contemporaries' weakness in drama, 
 if not of his own. With the conclusion of The Election begins 
 * the rehearsal of the tragedy, which details the strife between 
 Queen Common Sense and Queen Ignorance, with the ulti- 
 mate destruction of the former. As Fustian himself says : ^ " I 
 believe I may defy all the poets who have ever writ, or ever 
 will write, to produce its equal : it is, sir, so crammed with 
 drums and trumpets, thunder and hghtning, battles and ghosts, 
 
 1 47. 2 See p. xvii. ^ Act V, sc. i. 
 
xliv INTRODUCTION 
 
 that I believe the audience will want no entertainment after 
 it : it is as full of shew as Merlin's cave itself ; and for wit — 
 no rope-dancing or tumbling can come near it." The bur- 
 lesque is not so purely literary as that of Tom Thumbs less 
 boisterous indeed, but more pungent and more concerned 
 with the faults of contemporary life. The dying soliloquy of 
 Common Sense in the last scene, and the subsequent remarks 
 of her slayer Firebrand, may serve to illustrate the play. 
 
 Queen Coi7inioji Sense. 
 
 Oh, traytor ! thou hast murder'd Common Sense. 
 
 Fairwel, vain world ! to Ignorance I give thee. 
 
 Her leaden sceptre shall henceforward rule. 
 
 Now, priest, indulge thy wild ambitious thoughts; 
 
 Men shall embrace thy schemes, till thou hast drawn 
 
 All worship from the Sun upon thyself : 
 
 Henceforth all things shall topsy-turvy turn ; 
 
 Physick shall kill, and Law enslave the world; 
 
 Cits shall turn beaus, and taste Italian songs, 
 
 While courtiers are stock-jobbing in the city. 
 
 Places requiring learning and great parts 
 
 Henceforth shall all be hustled in a hat, 
 
 And drawn by men deficient in them both. 
 
 Statesmen — but oh ! cold death will let me say 
 
 No more — and you must guess et ccetera. Dies. 
 
 Firebra7td. 
 
 She 's gone ! but ha ! it may beseem me ill 
 
 T' appear her murderer. I '11 therefore lay 
 
 This dagger by her side ; and that will be 
 
 Sufficient evidence, with a little money. 
 
 To make the coroner's inquest find self-murder. 
 
 I '11 preach her funeral sermon, and deplore 
 
 Her loss with tears, praise her with all my art. 
 
 Good Ignorance will still believe it all. Exit. 
 
INTRODUCTION xlv 
 
 NOVELS 
 
 One is tempted to say that it was characteristic of Henry 
 Fielding that he should have come into his literary heritage 
 almost by chance. Whatever his merit as a writer of burlesque 
 and of essays, it is first, last, and always as a noveUst that 
 he chiefly merits our honor. Yet his choice of the narrative 
 form was not at all deliberate. When he began to write Joseph 
 Andrews he certainly intended to produce nothing more than a 
 parody of Richardson's Pamela^ and though by the irresistible 
 impulse of his genius he was carried far beyond the bounds 
 of his original design, he never quite forgot his purpose. In 
 the course of its composition he discovered the kingdom which 
 he was to rule and announced as much in beginning Tom 
 Jones} That was all. 
 
 We can, I think, understand the attitude which he took 
 toward Richardson's work if we remember the characters of 
 the two men and the adulation with which Pamela was greeted. 
 Samuel Richardson, excellent man, was little in many qualities 
 of mind as well as in body. He lived a placid, rather humdrum 
 life, attentive to his business as bookseller, gifted with marvel- 
 ous powers of minute observation, finicky in private matters as 
 in prose style, and compact of sensibility, to use the old phrase. 
 Henry Fielding was his opposite in almost every particular. 
 He was cast in a larger mold, was a man to give and to take 
 hard knocks without flinching. He had seen at thirty-three 
 years a good many ways of life, and within the bounds which 
 he never tried to cross he knew human nature as thoroughly 
 as man ever does. He was impatient of the restraints of his 
 life, but thoroughly in love with life itself and the good mate- 
 rial world. From his nature and training alike he was not very 
 sensitive about the niceties of morals, though he had a fine 
 
 1 See Book II, chap, i, No. V of this volume. 
 
xlvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 contempt for what was mean and, in spite of his early wrong- 
 doing, for what was morally bad. He was tender without being 
 sentimental, generous to a fault, brave to rashness, and as full 
 of high spirits and humor as Richardson was deficient in those 
 qualities. 
 
 On the publication of Pamela in November, 1740, he proba- 
 bly read the book, as did everybody else, — dukes and duchesses, 
 maids and footmen. He heard the author praised as one of 
 the great men of Europe, undoubtedly he heard of the compla- 
 cency with which the little bookseller received the homage of 
 devoted females, and he certainly was aware of his full-blown 
 conceit. He must have been amused by all this, as well as 
 somewhat disgusted. He appreciated the merits of Richard- 
 son's work, it is to be hoped, — his elaborate analysis of 
 motives and his careful art; but he was moved to Jovian 
 laughter by the mawkishness of it all, its conventionality and 
 its essential untruthfulness. 
 
 So he conceived the idea of burlesquing Pamela as he had 
 burlesqued degenerate tragedy. Though it cannot be believed 
 that he felt the essential immorality of the novel as a man of 
 more delicate constitution would have done, he struck at the 
 heart of it by taking Pamela's brother as his hero and sub- 
 jecting him to temptations similar to those which assailed the 
 heroine of his model. Just when and how he made this plan 
 we neither know nor greatly care. We can be reasonably sure 
 that he went through with some such mental process, and we 
 know thatin February, 1 742, The Adventures of Joseph Andrews, 
 and of his Friend Mr. Abraham Adams was given to the 
 world. In the course of the writing, to his great honor and to 
 the eternal profit of English readers, he had far overstepped 
 the limits of his original design, though I think that we should 
 be wrong in saying that he ever abandoned it. Instead of com- 
 posing a burlesque, as he intended, he made a novel, the first 
 
INTRODUCTION xlvii 
 
 novel of its kind, and some would say of any kind, in English. 
 While he was ridiculing Richardson he was unable to resist the 
 creator's impulse to clothe his puppets in flesh and blood and 
 to breathe life into them. He must have done this knowingly, 
 since he appended to the title of the published work, ^'written 
 in the manner of Cervantes, author of Don Quixote," and in 
 the author's preface expressly declared that he had written not 
 burlesque but "comic romance." 
 
 Indeed, Joseph Andrews is much greater than its ostensible 
 purpose and much more than a tentative venture into a new 
 field of fiction. Though it has the faults natural to its method 
 of composition, it is a masterly novel. The plot, to be sure, is 
 simple. Joseph, a handsome young footman in the service of 
 Lady Booby, incurs the displeasure of his mistress and her 
 maid by resisting their advances. He sets out for the country, 
 is robbed and beaten by highwaymen on the road, and at the 
 inn whither he is taken, meets Mr. Adams, the curate of his 
 parish, who after Joseph's recovery starts homeward in his 
 company. ' Before their arrival they meet Fanny, Joseph's 
 sweetheart, who had set out to relieve her lover on hearing 
 of his misfortune. After encountering a good many adventures 
 by the way, they arrive at their destination just as Lady Booby 
 returns to Booby Hall. Thither comes Squire Booby with his 
 bride, who is the supposed sister of Joseph. In a series of rapidly 
 shifting scenes, however, it is discovered that in reality Fanny 
 and Pamela are sisters, while Joseph is the son of Mr. Wilson, 
 a gentleman whom Parson Adams had met on the road. Joseph 
 and Fanny are married and settle on an estate near his 
 father's, while Lady Booby consoles herself with the society 
 of London. 
 
 Such is the bald outline of the novel, but the summary gives 
 no notion whatever of its qualities. The reader is interested in 
 the plot only in so far as it serves to illustrate the characters, 
 
Iviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 and he is grateful to the author for subordinating it. For here 
 are men and women of several stations in life, each of whom 
 has a well-marked individuality and each of whom lives in the 
 memory as do persons whom one has met and known. They 
 move and sj^eak in such fashion that we cannot doubt their 
 existence, but feel only gratitude that their personalities are 
 shown by the masterly hand of their discoverer. They are real- 
 istically portrayed, to speak the language of criticism, but with 
 such care in selection that the average reader understands 
 them better than he does his own acquaintance. The hand of 
 the artist is everywhere present but nowhere obtrusive. This, 
 I take it, represents the highest triumph of the novelist's art as 
 distinguished from the dramatist's, — the subjective presenta- 
 tion of living men and women. 
 
 The judgment of more than five generations has sustained 
 the favorable verdict with which Joseph Andrews was received. 
 The poet Gray, who did not like the book as a whole, wrote to 
 his correspondent West, " Parson Adams is perfectly well ; so is 
 Mrs. Slipslop, and the story of Wilson." Every one must agree 
 with this, though most of us would add to the list of characters 
 who are '* perfectly well." The portrait of Adams is certainly 
 the best thing in the book, ancj his name was very properly 
 coupled with that of Joseph Andrews in the title. Whether or 
 not Fielding copied him, with differences, from his friend, the 
 Reverend William Young, he succeeded in creating what Mr. 
 Dobson calls " a noble example of primitive goodness and 
 practical Christianity." Adams is submitted to almost as many 
 hard knocks as Don Quixote himself, but he retains his native 
 dignity through everything. Full of queer contradictions, hav- 
 ing the knowledge of a scholar with the simplicity of a child, 
 forgetful of the most ordinary matters but keeping constantly 
 in mind his honest purposes, the man is never laughable though 
 his actions seldom fail to raise a smile. He wields his crab-tree 
 
INTRODUCTION xlix 
 
 cudgel with the heartiest vigor, but he shows a higher kind of 
 courage in combating Lady Booby at the risk of his twenty- 
 three pounds per annum. 
 
 Joseph himself, in spite of the disabilities under which he 
 labors as the counterpart of Pamela, is an interesting young 
 man. As for that lady, though she plays only a small part in 
 the story, she is as fully alive as in Richardson and does not 
 suffer from the touch of satire with which she is treated, as 
 when, for example, she comments on Joseph's sweetheart and 
 her own position. " She was my equal, answered Pamela; but 
 I am no longer Pamela Andrews ; I am now this gentleman's 
 lady, and, as such, above her. — I hope I shall never behave 
 with an unbecoming pride : but, at the same time, I shall always 
 endeavour to know myself, and question not the assistance of 
 grace to that purpose." As for the rest, — the reformed Mr. 
 Wilson, the clerical farmer Trulliber, Mrs. Slipslop, the landlady 
 Mrs. Tow-wouse and her maid Betty, Mr. Adams, and Lady 
 Booby, — he who knows them cannot fail to pay their creator 
 the tribute of gratitude. 
 
 Nor is the book destitute of other merits. Throughout there 
 is a constant flow of high spirits and rich humor. When we 
 remember that it was written, as Fielding himself says, while 
 his wife and child whom he tenderly loved were both danger- 
 ously ill and his affairs were in a desperate state, we realize 
 somewhat the indomitable courage of the man and his natu- 
 ral fund of cheerfulness. Not a trace of care appears in the 
 novel, though the author's personality is impressed on every 
 page. The work is not perfect truly, — little can be said for 
 the intrusive episodes of The Unfortunate Jilt and the long 
 story of Wilson ; but it shows in an excellent light the qualities 
 of the first great English novelist, — his marvelous power of 
 depicting men and women and his no less marvelous command 
 of English prose. 
 
1 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Fielding's next^ efforts in fiction were less ambitious, and, 
 on the whole, less successful than Joseph Andrews. They were 
 the Journey from this World to the Next and the History of the 
 Life of the late Mr. Jonathan Wild the Great^ which appeared 
 in the Miscellanies of 1743. The former is a fragment, perhaps 
 designedly so, but more probably a work which grew wearisome 
 to the author. The introduction begins : " Whether the ensu- 
 ing pages were really the dream of some very pious and holy 
 person ; or whether they were really written in the other world, 
 and sent back to this, which is the opinion of many (though I 
 think too much inclining to superstition) ; or lastly, whether, as 
 infinitely the greatest part imagine, they were really the pro- 
 duction of some choice inhabitant of New Bethlehem, is not 
 necessary nor easy to determine." It is then recounted how 
 the fragment was found in the hands of a bookseller in the 
 Strand, who would take "no consideration farther than the 
 payment of a small bill I owed him, which at that time he said 
 he looked on as so much money given him." The work itself 
 consists of twenty-five chapters of the first book and one of the 
 nineteenth. It belongs with that long series of writings to 
 which Lucian gave the impulse, a form still beloved in the 
 eighteenth century though now out of favor. In spite of his 
 love for Lucian this was hardly the kind of thing best suited to 
 Fielding's talent. After the first ten chapters, with their whim- 
 sical satire and lively portrayal of souls on their way to the 
 other world, the author enters upon a long-winded account of 
 the transmigrations of Julian the Apostate and ends his book 
 with a biography of Anne Boleyn. All of it is readable, but 
 the latter part is singularly ineffective. 
 
 1 Though it is possible that Jonathan Wild, like other works first 
 printed in the Miscellanies, may be earlier \}i\2lVl Joseph Andrezvs, there 
 is no reason, in the lack of evidence, to consider them othei'wise than 
 in the published order. 
 
INTRODUCTION li 
 
 This need not destroy our pleasure in the ironical descrip- 
 tions of the newly liberated souls who still retain the passions 
 and prejudices of their former state, in the quaint conceits 
 which mark the chapters dealing with the allotment of for- 
 tunes to souls destined to live other lives on earth, and in the 
 justice of the whimsical punishments imposed on the guilty 
 by King Minos. Here we have Lord Scrape condemned to 
 furnish all comers with money because he had been miserly ; 
 a poet commended for a single kind deed rather than for his 
 dramatic works ; the spirit of a poor man who had been hanged 
 for steahng eighteenpence admitted to Elysium because he 
 had ruined himself for his family and a friend ; and, not to 
 prolong the list, a wise and witty scene in which certain famous 
 authors discourse of things literary. 
 
 Jonathan Wild, the other narrative of the Miscellanies, is a 
 far more important work. Indeed, in its way, it is well-nigh 
 perfect. Taking as his text the career of a notorious rogue 
 who was hanged in 1725, Fielding has depicted with savage 
 satire "the Progress of a Rogue to the Gallows," constantly 
 reminding the reader of the slight difference between this man's 
 deeds and those of most great men of history. From begin- 
 ning to end his satire never fails or even flags. Throughout, 
 this thief, this monstrous embodiment of human selfishness 
 and depravity, is commended for his elevation of spirit and the 
 perfection of his villainy. His greatness is insisted on. He 
 learns to steal, robs his associates in crime, organizes a band of 
 thieves and murderers over whom he rules with unscrupulous 
 tyranny, indulges his lust as he does his avarice with the coolest 
 calculation, and ends his career on the gallows, — "a death," 
 says the author, " which hath been alone wanting to complete 
 the characters of several ancient and modern heroes, whose 
 histories would then have been read with much greater pleasure 
 by the wisest in all ages." 
 
lii INTRODUCTION 
 
 The book is not altogether a pleasant one to read. The 
 irony is too searching, too unrelieved, too perfect. Many good 
 people have shrunk from it with a shudder. The gentle soul 
 of Sir Walter Scott apparently found the satire unbearable and 
 spoke of the book as a " picture of complete vice, unrelieved 
 by anything of human feeling." There can be no hesitation, 
 however, in saying that Sir Walter's generous humanity caused 
 him to overlook the fundamental conception oi Jonatha7i Wild. 
 Fielding was careful to say in his introductory chapter that 
 greatness and goodness have often been confounded, " whisreas 
 no two things can possibly be more distinct from each other. 
 For greatness consists in bringing all manner of mischief on 
 mankind, and goodness in removing it from them." His whole 
 attemp't, then, is to shatter the towers of false greatness ; not 
 once is his artillery turned on virtue. The book is a *' picture 
 of complete vice " to be sure, but it is really instinct with 
 human feeling, to turn Scott's phrase another way. The touch- 
 ing story of Heartfree, though it is made to fit the setting per- 
 fectly, furnishes a necessary contrast to the life of Wild. 
 Without it the irony would perhaps be too unrelieved for any 
 but the most sardonic moods. The shades are deep enough as 
 it is. The narrative is certainly not virginibiis piierisque nor for 
 any one who is unable to distinguish the underlying difference 
 between right and wrong, between virtue and success. 
 
 In turning from Jonathan Wild to The History of Tom 
 Jones, a Foundling (1749), reader and critic alike must feel a 
 sense of relief. The tension of the former work is almost too 
 severe; the latter introduces us to a healthy, hearty world, 
 where good as nearly balances evil as it does in real life, and 
 where the only sins to be castigated are the fruits of animalism 
 and hypocrisy. It is the legitimate successor oi Joseph Andrews 
 and greater than the earlier novel in a good many ways. By 
 common consent it is regarded as Fielding's masterpiece, nor 
 
INTRODUCTION liii 
 
 is it likely to be cast down from that proud eminence. If he 
 had written only this one book, Fielding would still be regarded 
 as a member of that inner circle of novelists to which but 
 few have attained. Here he shows his powers at their best, — 
 his unflagging vigor of thought, imagination, and phrase, his 
 splendid flow of satirical and vitalizing humor, and, in spite of 
 certain critics like Dr. Johnson, who regarded Fielding as a 
 ruffian, and Taine, who rather unamiably spoke of him as an 
 "amiable buffalo," his tender appreciation of the delicate 
 shades of nobility and virtue. Tom Jones has the advantage of 
 Joseph And7'-ews in its very clear and definite plan. It is more 
 mature, though youthful in the same delightful way, more 
 coherent, and more solid. 
 
 The novel, indeed, is constructed on a generous scale. It 
 recounts the lives of the titular hero and his circle of acquaint- 
 ance. Skillfully welded, they are unfolded to the reader in a 
 complex series of events which for the most part are not of 
 theniselves very extraordinary but which never fail of interest. 
 Tom Jones, the foundling, is informally adopted by Mr. All- 
 worthy, a country gentleman of great wealth and goodness. 
 He is educated with the son of his foster father's sister, young 
 Blifil. His innocent and frolicsome boyhood is delightfully 
 painted. Later, as the result partly of his own misconduct but 
 more by the malice and treachery of Blifil, he is cast off by 
 Allworthy, sets out from home with no definite purpose, and 
 meets with many adventures on the roads of western England. 
 Before this happens, however, he has fallen in love with the 
 beautiful Sophia Western, the only daughter of a neighboring 
 squire, and is beloved by her in turn. After his departure she 
 is urged to marry Blifil against her will and flees from home 
 with her maid, Mrs. Honour. There follows a complicated 
 series of adventures in which most of the personages of the 
 story are involved. Finally Sophia meets her cousin, Mrs. Fitz 
 
liv INTRODUCTION 
 
 Patrick, and goes with her to London, where she makes her 
 home with Lady Bellaston. Thither Jones follows her and is 
 involved in a new series of adventures which are creditable 
 neither to his brain nor his morals, though he honestly tries to 
 live righteously and to rescue Sophia from the clutches of her 
 enemies, who number not only the despicable Lady Bellaston 
 and a nobleman who wishes to marry her, but her aunt and her 
 father, who speedily come to town. Thither also come Squire 
 Allworthy and the villainous Blifil. Poor distressed Sophia is 
 ground between the upper and nether millstones of the con- 
 flicting wishes of her relatives and her love for Jones. She 
 believes her lover to be more guilty than he is and nearly suc- 
 ceeds in stifling her regard for him. He too meets with mis- 
 fortunes, though not in proportion to his deserts, and is finally 
 arrested on the charge of murdering a man in a street quarrel. 
 From this he is released, partly through the efforts of various 
 persons whom he has befriended and partly by the discovery 
 of Blifil' s unspeakable villainy, for that young man eventually 
 overreaches himself. In the event Jones is proved to be the 
 son of Allworthy' s sister and is acknowledged as such at the 
 very time when Blifil is disgraced. Sophia, in spite of resolu- 
 tions of spinsterhood, forgives him readily — all too readily — 
 and consents to an immediate marriage. The many characters 
 of the story who stand in need of forgiveness are duly forgiven 
 or disposed of by death or disappearance, while all those who 
 have any claims to sympathy are rewarded with good fortune 
 and happiness. So the curtain falls on a scene of domestic 
 bliss in which the beauteous Sophia and the reformed Thomas 
 Jones are the central figures. 
 
 As to the stupendous achievement of the novel there can be 
 no question. Beyond all cavil it is supremely great. By the 
 very might of its revelation of human nature it disarms criti- 
 cism and tempts to the use of the superlative. Indeed, where 
 
INTRODUCTION Iv 
 
 Gibbon and Scott and, with reservations, Thackeray have so 
 indulged themselves, there is excuse for us. Yet for that rea- 
 son the book needs no praise, but only the explanation of its 
 virtues and the enumeration of its defects. The merit of it 
 consists in the performance of what Fielding in his prefatory 
 chapter promised to give the reader : " The provision then 
 which we have here made is no other than Human Nature. — 
 In like manner, the excellence of the mental entertainment con- 
 sists less in the subject than in the author's skill in well dressing 
 it up." In other words, Tom Jones vs, great because it pictures 
 real men and women, and because its craftmanship is marvelous. 
 As to the characters, the most various opinions have been 
 expressed, though no one has yet arisen to say that they are 
 not truly flesh and blood. Fielding, said Thackeray in his pref- 
 ace to Pendennis, was the last English novelist who was " per- 
 mitted to depict to his utmost power a man" ; and Fielding, we 
 might add, has suffered from his frankness in painting certain 
 characters and certain scenes which no right-thinking man can 
 commend. In spite of stains upon their reputations, however, 
 the men and women of Tom Jones are, almost without excep- 
 tion, gloriously alive. As for Tom himself, though by no means 
 a hero in the conventional sense, he is a most interesting young 
 person. His lack of moral stamina in conflict with his really 
 excellent principles, his selfishness oddly mixed with extraordi- 
 nary generosity, his cowardly weakness combined with vigorous 
 manliness of body and soul, — all these things present that 
 painful contrast which is always present to some degree in the 
 undeveloped man. Pendennis and Richard Feverel have many 
 of the same characteristics. From one point of view all three 
 got more than they deserved, yet all three are in the main 
 sound and good. Tom's bad qualities need not be condoned, 
 nor should he be absolutely condemned. He became, one can- 
 not doubt, a useful citizen, a faithful and unselfish husband, and 
 
Ivi INTRODUCTION 
 
 a good Christian. He was one of those scapegraces who repent 
 sincerely and are spared by fate as far as the world can see. 
 
 The lovely Sophia is not less persuasive, while she gains the 
 unreserved respect and sympathy of all who know her. What 
 man ever read Tom Jones without becoming for the nonce her 
 admirer? Times have changed, it is true, and our ideals of 
 womanhood are not altogether those of Fielding's day. Most 
 of us find Sophia excessively passive and absurdly plastic, 
 but we are taken captive by her goodness and beauty all the 
 same. She is vastly the superior of poor Tom in every way, 
 and because she is the embodiment of the eternal virtues of 
 womanhood she can never lose her freshness of appeal. That 
 the a^uthor's first wife sat for the picture as well as for the por- 
 trait of Amelia is of no special importance to us — except as 
 it makes us honor Henry Fielding — in view of the greater fact 
 that the two are types of womankind such as the world could 
 ill spare. 
 
 It is almost sacrilege to speak of Blifil after Sophia. Here, 
 one cannot but feel, hatred of cant and hypocrisy carried 
 Fielding too far. Blifil is too perfect a villain. He overacts the 
 part and becomes a monster, — a thing to shudder at but not 
 to believe in. On the other hand, we do not altogether believe 
 in Mr. Allworthy because he is too good, or rather because 
 his humanity is too thin. He is an excellent eulogy but not 
 always a man. Of the other characters of this multiplex tableau 
 it would not be profitable to speak at length. They are all 
 living and breathing creatures, neither better nor worse than 
 the average of their generation. Bluff Squire Western, stub- 
 born, tyrannical, unspeakably foul-mouthed, yet not without 
 redeeming traits, is probably but a composite of many coun- 
 try gentlemen. The sisters of the two squires, the one prim 
 and not impeccable, the other obstinate and conceited, are as 
 well done as their brothers. Mrs. Honour and the landladies 
 
INTRODUCTION Ivii 
 
 need no commendation, especially the excellent Mrs. Miller, 
 who is a good and true woman though not very wise. As for 
 Lady Bellaston, cynical and passionate, Mrs. Fitz Patrick, fool- 
 ish and deceptive, let us, while we wonder at their creator's 
 art, hope that such types do not exist to-day. Square and 
 Thwackum, twin representatives of philosophy and piety, who 
 are equally destitute of true religion ; poor Partridge, immortal 
 representative of masculine weakness ; young Nightingale, as 
 ready to give good advice and to follow the wrong path as 
 Jones himself ; the Seagrim family and Mrs. Waters — what 
 other novel can show a wider range of perfectly individualized 
 characters? 
 
 In Tom Jones Fielding has attained the maturity of his art. 
 He handles his material with consummate skill, never allows 
 the unessential to obtrude, yet wisely permits himself the 
 utmost latitude of space in developing his theme. Such art 
 is unhasting and unresting. The phrase fits the thought, the 
 thought the situation, the situation the general plan. It is 
 altogether probable that the author's early training as a play- 
 wright helped him to an easy mastery of narrative form. The 
 very haste and profusion of his dramatic work must have given 
 him an eye for situation and a nice sense for the arrangement 
 of material. How to make such episodes as the Man of the 
 HilV^ story accord with this praise is difficult to see, to be 
 sure. Indeed, in spite of the historical reasons for their intro- 
 duction, allying the work with the Picaresque novel, one can- 
 not help feeling that their insertion is a weakness. Yet the 
 very fact that they have nothing to do with the plot and are 
 easily skipped, renders them less obnoxious. Certain other 
 faults which are inherent in the author rather than in the. book 
 can best be discussed in another connection. As a whole, Tom 
 Jones is a picture of eighteenth-century life and manners drawn 
 with unfailing vigor and unfailing insight, — so wonderful a 
 
Iviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 picture indeed that it transcends the limits of time and takes 
 its place in universal literature. 
 
 It could scarcely be expected, perhaps, that Fielding's next 
 novel should be in all ways so great as Tom JoJies. Amelia 
 was published less than two years after the work which, as he 
 said in the dedication, represented '' the labours of some years 
 of my life." In that he had employed his experience of life — 
 " all the wit and humour of which I am master," as he says — 
 while Amelia was rather the deliberate product of eighteen 
 months. Consequently it is less grandiose though scarcely less 
 masterly, — more subdued though just as vigorous. It could not 
 well be spared from the list of his works, because it shows cer- 
 tain sides of his talent which had not before found expression. 
 It is more tender, more delicate in its appreciation of the finer 
 shades of human nature than were the earlier novels. In 
 short, it represents the ripe and mellow wisdom of a great 
 man's full maturity, and even if not so packed with riches as 
 To7n Jones, it shows a soberer realization of life and truth. The 
 reason for this difference between two works so little sepa- 
 rated in time has often been sought, but it is really no mystery. 
 Henry Fielding's education was completed by his experiences 
 as a police magistrate, of that there can be no doubt. He 
 published Tom Jones only two months after his induction into 
 the office ; in Amelia for the first time he gave his new self 
 expression. Thereafter he put his best efforts into the cause of 
 righting wrong and helping the unfortunate. That he laughed 
 at his own philanthropy made it no less valuable, and we like 
 him the better because he did so. That he found no more 
 time to write novels would be a cause for regret if he had not 
 already run the gamut of experience and feeling so thoroughly 
 in the series of works which culminated in Amelia. 
 
 The novel is well named, for in the heroine it centers and 
 has life. The other characters, though a splendid company, 
 
INTRODUCTION lix 
 
 are but planetary. They come and go, but they interest us 
 chiefly because of their relations to Amelia. That we find 
 her husband, Lieutenant WilHam Booth, in prison on a false 
 charge in the beginning of the story, that he meets there Miss 
 Mathews, a former acquaintance and a much-abused if erring 
 woman, who is accused of murder, and that they tell each 
 other their stories, interests us very much till the door is flung 
 open and Amelia rushes into her husband's arms. From that 
 time on her adventures — the alternation of joy and despair into 
 which Booth's imprudence and misfortune bring her — are our 
 chief concerns. She had made a runaway marriage with a 
 penniless lieutenant, had followed him to Gibraltar on cam- 
 paign, had been defrauded of her fortune by a sister, had 
 sufl'ered with her Booth when he experimented as a farmer, and 
 now in London lived a most precarious life. That at the end 
 of a series of new complications, in which she is pursued by a 
 noble lord and harassed by the frequent imprisonment of her 
 husband, she is restored to her fortune and is permitted to Hve 
 the rest of her days in prosperity, gives us unalloyed satisfaction. 
 " To have invented Amelia," says Thackeray,^ "is not only 
 a triumph of art, but it is a good action." Like Sophia, she 
 was modeled after Fielding's first wife, even to the unfortu- 
 nate accident which rendered her nose more charming than it 
 would have been if perfect. She is, nevertheless, highly indi- 
 vidualized, — not merely a Sophia of maturer age, — which 
 shows that the husband mixed his colors with imagination, to 
 quote the familiar story. There is but one fault to find with 
 Amelia. She carries her amiability towards her husband too far. 
 Gentle Sophia was of sterner stuff and would have given her 
 husband much less rope, I fancy, had he ever forgotten his duty 
 as a husband and a reformed character. Yet in spite of this, 
 Amelia is very human. In a memorable conversation which 
 
 ^ English Humourists. 
 
Ix ■ INTRODUCTION 
 
 she held with Mrs. Atkinson/ the latter said : " ' Indeed, I 
 believe the first wish of our whole sex is to be handsome.' 
 Here both the ladies fixed their eyes on the glass, and both 
 smiled." She can be very bitter, too, against her husband's 
 enemies. As for intellect, she is greatly the superior of Booth, 
 though she reverences his gifts. Perhaps he was not altogether 
 insensible of this. Certainly he never said a wiser thing than 
 when he remarked ^ that " she was the safest treasurer." 
 
 Indeed, Captain Booth is a despicable weakling in spite of 
 his handsome person and his bravery in the wars. Compared 
 with him Tom Jones is a hero of the first magnitude. His 
 truth to nature and his real love for his wife are the only 
 redeeming features of the portrait. He is vain, he is impru- 
 dent, he lacks constancy and application. Probably no reader 
 of the novel has ever forgiven him for allowing poor Amelia's 
 supper to grow cold while he was losing his money at a gaming 
 table, not even when he gained her forgiveness by his abject 
 repentance. He is a far less interesting figure than are the 
 two colonels, Bath and James. The former, with his temper 
 always cocked and primed against fancied insults, with his 
 extraordinary mixture of bravado and real bravery, is some- 
 thing too theatrical ; but he delights us all the same. His 
 duel with Booth is a master stroke of pure comedy. James is 
 no less interesting, though in a quieter way. He is thoroughly 
 unprincipled, yet a very good gentleman in his feelings and 
 actions. He would not do wrong except in his own interest, 
 and he is not incapable of acting the part of a true friend when 
 he cannot possibly gain anything by it. 
 
 Dr. Harrison, who is the dens ex machifta throughout the 
 story, is, like Allworthy in Tom Jones, rather too far removed 
 from the turmoil of human life, though he gains in truth by 
 his innocent vanity and liability to errors of judgment. He 
 
 1 Book VII, chap. iii. ^ Book XI, chap. viii. 
 
INTRODUCTION Ixi 
 
 persecutes and rescues the Booths with unfailing regularity 
 whenever the plot takes a turn this way or that. Yet, all in 
 all, he is a noble and lofty character without whom Fielding's 
 gallery would not be complete. Indeed, it is a little strange 
 that the novehst had such consummate power in drawing 
 clergymen. Parson Adams is certainly the finest man that he 
 created, and Dr. Harrison is far from the least successful. 
 The shadowy peer, on the other hand, is not well done. The 
 eighteenth century dearly loved a lord, but it could not picture 
 one, at least nobody but Swift succeeded in doing so. Ser- 
 geant Atkinson is better executed, though he is scarcely so 
 interesting as his learned and unfortunate wife. More inter- 
 esting than either is Miss Mathews, who, like Letitia in Jona- 
 than Wild, is a victim of circumstances. One wishes that she 
 had come to an equally desirable end. The minor characters, 
 Trent, the gambler Robinson, the keeper, Mrs. Ellison, .and 
 the rest, are all well done with that minute care and lavishness 
 of creative energy which is characteristic of Fielding. Even the 
 slightest sketches are individualized and never show haste or 
 lack interest. Indeed, if Amelia can be said to surpass the 
 earlier novels in any way, it is in the sympathy and apprecia- 
 tion which it shows for the finer distinctions of character. 
 
 In most respects, indeed, Amelia scarcely equals Tom Jones. 
 It possesses less variety and at times almost drags, though one 
 can hardly believe that Richardson was telling the truth when 
 he said that he " could only get through the first volume," 
 especially when we recall that Johnson sat up all night over it. 
 As a matter of fact, it probably suflfers from the author's grow- 
 ing interest in humanitarian affairs. There is a tendency to 
 emphasize ideas and opinions at the expense of the story, — 
 a course which almost invariably weakens a piece of fiction. 
 Yet even so, Amelia is a great novel as well as a great book. 
 It is both wise and good, full of the riches of observation and 
 
Ixii INTRODUCTION 
 
 experience no less than of imagination. Like all of Field- 
 ing's work, despite the coarse passages which we regret, it is 
 thoroughly healthy and, to well-balanced and mature minds, 
 thoroughly wholesome. Its wit is as sparkling as ever and its 
 humor as captivating. It is vigorous, sane, well constructed, 
 and written in the style which is and must be the despair of 
 all but the chosen few, who are found only once or twice in a 
 generation. 
 
 Though Fielding's last work, the Voyage to Lisbon, is not 
 fiction, but only the record of a few months told without con- 
 scious art in the style of a journal, it cannot be ignored in any 
 study of his narrative writings, since it shows him off his guard 
 and 'furnishes almost unexampled proof of his genius. The 
 contents of the book have already been sufficiently described, 
 but a word may be said concerning the extraordinary power 
 which it displays in the depiction of men and things. Leaving 
 out of account the interest which it possesses as autobiography, 
 it has qualities that give it a permanent and lofty place in 
 literature. Every scene and every person described is vividly 
 presented to the reader. There is no sign of effort, no sug- 
 gestion of labor, yet the effects intended are accomplished as 
 surely as in the most elaborate work. In the accommodation 
 of simple means to a given purpose Fielding never did better, 
 which is equivalent to saying that nobody else has done so. 
 The captain was merely an accessory of the voyage, but he 
 cannot be forgotten much more easily than Amelia herself. 
 
 *' What a wonderful art ! " exclaims Thackeray in beginning 
 a very exclamatory but glorious appreciation of Fielding. 
 " What an admirable gift of nature was it by which the author 
 of these tales was endowed, and which enabled him to fix our 
 interest, to waken our sympathy, to seize upon our credulity, 
 so that we believe in his people — speculate gravely upon their 
 faults or their excellencies, prefer this one or that, deplore 
 
INTRODUCTION Ixiii 
 
 Jones's fondness for drink and play,^ Booth's fondness for 
 play and drink, and the unfortunate position of the wives of 
 both gentlemen — love and admire those ladies with all our 
 hearts, and talk about them as faithfully as if we had break- 
 fasted with them this morning in their actual drawing-rooms, 
 or should meet them this afternoon in the Park ! What a 
 genius ! what a vigour ! what a bright-eyed intelligence and 
 observation ! what a wholesome hatred for meanness and 
 knavery ! what a vast sympathy ! what a cheerfulness ! what a 
 manly relish of life ! what a love of human kind ! what a poet 
 is here ! — watching, meditating, brooding, creating ! What 
 multitudes of truths has that man left behind him ! What gen- 
 erations he has taught to laugh wisely and fairly ! What 
 scholars he has formed and accustomed to the exercise of 
 thoughtful humour and the manly play of wit ! What a cour- 
 age he had ! What a dauntless and constant cheerfulness of 
 intellect, that burned bright and steady through all the storms 
 of his life, and never deserted its last wreck ! It is wonderful 
 to think of the pains and misery which the man suffered ; the 
 pressure of want, illness, remorse which he endured ; and that 
 the writer was neither malignant nor melancholy, his view of 
 truth never warped, and his generous human kindness never 
 surrendered." ^ 
 
 ESSAYS 
 
 Though Fielding's fame deservedly rests for the most part on 
 his novels, they have overshadowed rather unfairly his essays and 
 other discursive writings. Many biographers and critics have 
 bewailed the precious time which he wasted as a journalist on 
 
 1 It may be remarked that Jones is nowhere represented as mdulgmg 
 in play. 
 
 2 English Htimoiirists. 
 
Ixiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 productions of only ephemeral value. Because he had almost 
 unexampled power as an analyst and painter of humanity, 
 there has been a natural tendency to lament that he did not 
 give himself up entirely to such work, and a disposition to 
 regard his labors in other fields as interesting only because 
 they throw light on the development of the novelist. Yet at 
 their best his essays are almost as wonderful in their way as 
 his novels, and they deserve a higher place in the history 
 of English discourse than has generally been assigned them. 
 They show his style in all its simple beauty ; they are full of 
 wit and wisdom, quaint fancy and solid thought ; they display 
 the matchless vigor of idea and phrase v/hich is Fielding's 
 charm. Though they represent no such new departure in the 
 field of letters as do the novels, they nevertheless entitle their 
 author to an honorable place in the ranks of English essayists, 
 along with Dryden, Steele, Addison, Christopher North, Lamb, 
 and Macaulay. 
 
 They are singularly uneven, it is true, both in value and 
 interest. Inevitably so, indeed, since they were written at 
 various times and for many different purposes. They often 
 betray the haste of their composition, as the novels never do, 
 for many of them were composed to meet the demands of the 
 hour in politics and social life, and — there can be no harm 
 in adding — to supply their author with ready money. They 
 are sometimes barren enough, — bits of journalistic writing that 
 fulfilled their purpose and have no longer any excuse for being, 
 save as they illustrate the career of a man of genius. The 
 journalism of a great writer ought not to be allowed to rise up 
 against his literary work, as is so often the case. Yet it must 
 be remembered with regard to the most fugitive of Fielding's 
 works that ideas which seem to us dreary commonplaces were 
 often novel in his time, and so, historically speaking, they are 
 of much greater interest than at first appears. We may be 
 
INTRODUCTION Ixv 
 
 excused for not reading these essays, but we should be careful 
 not to cavil overmuch at their substance. 
 
 By far the greater part of Fielding's writing in the essay 
 style was done for one or another of the four journals with 
 which he was at different times connected. The success of 
 the Tatler and the Spectator had made ^uch series of papers 
 very popular with writers as with readers. Consequently Field- 
 ing turned to it almost as a matter of course when he had 
 quitted the stage and had not yet found means of support. In 
 some ways he was well fitted for the task. He had learned 
 how to turn a phrase and outline a situation by writing a long 
 series of plays ; at thirty- two years- he had had as much experi- 
 ence with the vicissitudes of human life as most men have at 
 twice that age ; he was abundantly gifted with humor and the 
 power of satire. So he might well feel assurance of success in 
 such a venture when in 1739 ^^ joined Ralph in the publica- 
 tion of the triweekly Champioft. Yet for some reason, in this 
 first series of papers he never did anything better than could 
 be expected of a well-equipped journalist. The very fact that 
 it is almost impossible to distinguish the numbers which he 
 contributed from those of his collaborator, who was merely a 
 moderately clever hack writer, is convincing proof that the 
 Champion is best left to oblivion. Not but what it contains 
 some things that have a good deal of interest and are unmis- 
 takably the work of Fielding's pen. There is much humor in 
 the papers and a good deal of sense, but the form was not yet 
 so familiar to him that he could turn off this taskwork easily. 
 Perhaps, too, his severe studies in the law at this time tempo- 
 rarily exhausted his best energies and made the production 
 of light-hearted essays peculiarly irksome. The journal is now 
 chiefly interesting because here and there can be detected 
 slight sketches of characters and ideas which he afterward 
 used in maturer form in his novels. 
 
Ixvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 His next venture in the same style was the True Patriot^ 
 which with its successor, the Jacobite's /ourfial, ran for about 
 three years. Unlike the Champion, the main concern of these 
 papers was with politics. The immediate occasion for begin- 
 ning them was the Stuart rebellion of 1745 ; and when that 
 occasion had passed they were continued in the interest 
 of the Whigs. For this reason, though they are far better 
 than the earlier series — ■" it must be remembered that Joseph 
 Andrews had already appeared — and though they do not 
 leave the same feeling of taskwork unwillingly performed, 
 they have scarcely greater permanent interest. They give a 
 valuable picture of the state of the public mind at that time, 
 and they have a vigorous play of humor, but they could not 
 be seriously considered in a history of the EngHsh essay. It 
 is interesting to note, however, that Parson Adams was revived 
 and figures as a correspondent with all his familiar character- 
 istics of body and mind. 
 
 Fielding's last journalistic effort, the Covent-Garden Jour- 
 nal, which ran through the greater part of the year 1752, was 
 far more pleasing and valuable. By this time he had published 
 both Tom Jo7ies and Amelia, and he had acquired a mastery over 
 language which must have made the task of writing very light. 
 Indeed, it does not seem improbable that he looked upon the 
 composition of the journal as a relaxation from his useful but 
 rather mean and disagreeable duties as a police magistrate. 
 Certainly he entered upon it with at least his customary zeal 
 and, as Sir Alexander Drawcansir, proceeded to castigate the 
 follies of his countrymen with as clear an eye and as steady a 
 hand as in any of his satires. His interest in social reform is 
 very marked, though his sketches show a broad sympathy and 
 a good-natured humor which is characteristic of only his later 
 years. Much of the work is ephemeral, of course, but the solid 
 learning and delightful wit of some of it remain undimmed 
 
INTRODUCTION Ixvii 
 
 after a century and a half have passed. Hypocrisy in its many 
 guises comes in for its customary lashing at his hands, but 
 other vices are not spared, while the good and the partly good 
 receive their due meed of praise. A fund of learning, wide in 
 range though not very deep, diversifies but does not burden 
 the pages. Kindliness everywhere breathes from them, even 
 when the sins of the age are held up to scorn. It is noticeable 
 that many of the best essays have a literary flavor, as in No. 
 lo on reading, No. 23 on the monarchy of letters, and No. 31 
 on emendations of Shakespeare. 
 
 Of the essays printed in the Miscellanies of 1743, — On Con- 
 versation, On the Knowledge of the Characters of Me?t, On 
 Nothing, and Of the Remedy of Affliction for the Loss of our 
 Friends, — the first and the third are perhaps best worthy of 
 remembrance, though all of them contain passages of much 
 sense and genuine humor. That entitled On the K?iowledge 
 of the Characters of Men is, in reality, an unmeasured diatribe 
 against Fielding's pet aversion, the vice of hypocrisy. Nowhere 
 else does he lash the sin with such fullness of exposition, 
 though he was always vigorous in his expression of contempt 
 for it. Whether he was quite fair is open to doubt, but he had 
 the best of intentions. It is impossible to believe, for example, 
 that a man of his frank nature was so insensible to the advances 
 of friendship as he advises his readers to be, yet the maxim is 
 wise. Against the profession of censorious piety he becomes 
 eloquent : " But, to say the truth ; a sour, morose, ill-natured, 
 censorious sanctity, never is, nor can be sincere. Is a readi- 
 ness to despise, to hate, and to condemn, the temper of a 
 Christian? Can he, who passes sentence on the souls of men 
 with more delight and triumph than the devil can execute it, 
 have the impudence to pretend himself the disciple of One 
 who died for the sins of mankind? Is not such a sanctity the 
 true mark of that hypocrisy, which in many places of Scripture, 
 
Ixviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 and particularly in the twenty-third chapter of St. Matthew, is 
 so bitterly inveighed against?" The man who should try to 
 guide himself in his relations with his fellows by the rules laid 
 down in this essay would doubtless find himself led into the 
 most unjust actions ; but that fact does not detract from its 
 interest as a document for the study of the author's mind, 
 which is its true value. The same may be said of the essay on 
 the Loss of Friends, which reminds one of Parson Adams' 
 discourse on the same subject in Joseph Ajidrews,^ where the 
 difficulty of practicing in contrast to preaching such philosophy 
 is well illustrated when Adams hears of the supposed death of 
 his httle son. 
 
 The Essay on Conversation is, on the whole, a much more 
 successful piece of work. The title scarcely indicates the 
 scope of the essay, which is in reality a treatise on the essential 
 nature of good breeding. It is both wise and witty, and can 
 be read to-day with as much profit as in the eighteenth cen- 
 tury. Good breeding he defines as "the art of pleasing, or 
 contributing as much as possible to the ease and happiness 
 of those with whom you converse." He illustrates his position 
 by referring to the various situations in which man as a " social 
 animal " is placed, and gives lively examples both of good 
 and ill breeding in each case. The essay should be read to be 
 appreciated, but the conclusions with which it ends may be 
 quoted to show the gentle wisdom of its teaching. 
 
 " First, that every person who indulges his ill-nature or 
 vanity, at the expence of others; and in introducing uneasi- 
 ness, vexation, and confusion into society, however exalted or 
 high-titled he may be, is thoroughly ill-bred. 
 
 "Secondly, that whoever, from the goodness of his dispo- 
 sition or understanding, endeavours to his utmost to cultivate 
 the good-humour and happiness of others, and to contribute 
 
 1 Book IV, chap. viii. 
 
INTRODUCTION Ixix 
 
 to the ease and comfort of all his acquaintance, however low 
 in rank fortune may have placed him, or however clumsy he 
 may be in his figure or demeanour, hath, in the truest sense of 
 the word, a claim to good-breeding." 
 
 The wit of the essay is genuine and spontaneous. "With 
 what envy," Fielding exclaims, " must a swine, or a much less 
 voracious animal, be survey 'd by a glutton ! " In describing 
 the duties of a host, he says : " Lastly ; in placing your guests, 
 regard is rather to be had to birth than fortune : for though 
 purse-pride is forward enough to exalt itself, it bears a degra- 
 dation with more secret comfort and ease than the former, as 
 being more inwardly satisfied with itself, and less apprehensive 
 of neglect or contempt." One is tempted to wonder whether 
 the author himself had not felt the sting. Again, he argues 
 with delightful gravity that if clothes are to be admitted as 
 evidence of good breeding, a well-dressed monkey has an 
 excellent chance of social success. Much of the comment 
 in the essay seems a little trite to-day, perhaps, but such things 
 have never been said with better grace or more lively humor. 
 
 The Essay on Nothing, as the name implies, is simply a bit 
 of fooling, but it is rich in satire and contains many excellent 
 observations. If the verbal quibbles grow a little tiresome to 
 the reader, they are overbalanced by the dry sententiousness 
 with which the essay abounds. To quote these things out of 
 their setting would be an ungracious task, and it is entirely 
 unnecessary since the whole can be read and appreciated with 
 little effort — by an expenditure of time and energy which, as 
 the author might have said, amounts to nothing. 
 
 We must now pass to the consideration of those essays 
 which, though never hitherto pubKshed separately, form the 
 most valuable contributions of Fielding to English discursive 
 writing, namely the introductory and incidental disquisitions 
 in Joseph Andrews and Tom Jo?ies. Their interest and value 
 
Ixx INTRODUCTION 
 
 have never been denied by the discerning, though they have 
 been too much neglected. In spite of the fact that in the 
 French translation of Torn Joiies^ for example, they are entirely 
 omitted, they are as necessary to the artistic unity of that 
 novel as are most of the events narrated. Mr. Austin Dobson 
 writes with full appreciation of this when he says of Amelia : ^ 
 " The absence of the initial chapters, which gave so much 
 variety to Tom /o7ies, tends to heighten the sense of impatience 
 which, it must be confessed, occasionally creeps over the reader 
 of ADieliar But it is not simply variety that is added to the 
 novels by means of the essays, important as that is. Of even 
 greater value is the opportunity which they afford the author 
 of expressing with the greatest freedom his own personality 
 and the principles of literary art which he followed. The use- 
 fulness of this in so subjective a form of literature as the novel 
 of manners is not to be denied. Without clogging the progress 
 of the story they enable the author to make those comments 
 on life and art which connect the novel with the world of 
 thought. In the excursions of some authors, where the com- 
 ment is interspersed with the narrative, the reader is disagree- 
 ably reminded that the characters are J3ut puppets after all. 
 In Thackeray, though his remarks are always delightful of 
 themselves, one sometimes feels this unpleasant sense of 
 sudden transition from the world of imagination to the 
 author's study. Fielding found a better way in To77i Jones. 
 Accordingly he lavished upon these essays all the rich fund 
 of his imagination and experience, warning^ his successors, 
 however, that they would adopt the same course at their peril. 
 Indeed, a form which, as Henry Fielding confessed, cost him 
 the " greatest pains " is not one to be adopted lightly by men 
 of weaker brain. 
 
 I212. 
 
 2 Book IX, chap, i, No. IX of this volume. 
 
INTRODUCTION Ixxi 
 
 Quite apart from the question of their value to the novel, 
 the introductory chapters in Tom Jones and the discursive sec- 
 tions in Fielding's other works form a series of most delight- 
 ful little essays, which show his genius in its best light. Their 
 wisdom is so tempered with humor that though he professes ^ 
 to be " laboriously dull," they are never wanting in the highest 
 interest. Their good nature is so contagious that the most 
 morose must feel its effect. They display the keenest insight 
 into the secrets of mankind, yet never betray a tendency either 
 to petty pessimism or equally cheap optimism. They deal 
 lightly with trivial subjects, yet show the tempered wisdom and 
 the Olympian outlook of their author. They are not without 
 mannerisms of thought and style, but that is no reproach, 
 since mannerisms are only despicable when adopted to cover 
 a writer's nakedness. In few other authors can be found such 
 a combination of high spirits with excellent sense and sound 
 workmanship as in Fielding, and nothing in Fielding shows 
 this combination to better advantage than these essays. 
 
 The subjects are most various. There are grave discourses 
 on the style and conduct of fiction, not without an underplay 
 of mockery that cautions the reader against taking things too 
 seriously. There are satirical accounts of current literary 
 fashions and of critics. Nice distinctions are drawn between 
 " what is to be deemed plagiarism in a modern author and 
 what is to be considered as lawful prize." ^ Authors are advised 
 of the fact that they will do better for " having some knowledge 
 of the subject" on which they write.^ Satire is continually 
 used, but with such good humor and such generous apprecia- 
 tion of real worth that no one could properly feel hurt by the 
 strictures made. Nowhere else in all Fielding's work is the 
 
 1 Book V, chap, i, No. X of this volume. 
 
 2 No. XIV of this volume. 
 
 3 No. XV of this volume. 
 
Ixxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 dangerous weapon of irony more gently used or more surely. 
 There is nothing savage in these mature reflections of a man 
 of genius. Their temper is well illustrated by a fine passage 
 in the introduction to the seventh book.-^ 
 
 " Upon the whole then, the man of candour and of true 
 understanding, is never hasty to condemn. He can censure 
 an imperfection, or even a vice, without rage against the guilty 
 party. In a word, they are the same folly, the same childish- 
 ness, the same ill-breeding, and the same ill-nature, which raise 
 all the clamours and uproars both in life, and on the stage. The 
 worst of men generally have the words rogue and villain most 
 in their mouths, as the lowest of all wretches are the aptest to 
 cry out low in the pit." 
 
 I shall not discuss the quality and scope of Fielding's literary 
 essays further. The present volume gives an opportunity to 
 read and judge them in a fairly representative selection ; and 
 careful reading, whether or not any formulated opinions are 
 the result of it, is worth more than much criticism. Of his 
 legal and philosophical treatises some account has been given 
 in the first part of the introduction. They do not directly 
 concern us here, though it may properly be said that, whatever 
 their merits as discussions of the problems treated, they are 
 written in a simple, clear, luminous style which might well be 
 imitated by all writers on technical subjects. One could 
 expect nothing else from the author of Jonathan Wild and 
 Tom Jones ^ to be sure, but it is certainly unusual for men of 
 such literary gifts to write legal reports. The case of Elizabeth 
 Canning becomes truly interesting when recounted by the pen 
 of the " father of the English novel." 
 
 1 No. XXIII of this volume. 
 
INTRODUCTION Ixxiii 
 
 III 
 
 FIELDING'S PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE AND HIS 
 PROSE STYLE 
 
 There can be no doubt that if Fielding had been asked to 
 outline his philosophy of life, he would have made merry and 
 have answered that to his knowledge he possessed no such 
 commodity. No man was ever less self-conscious, less con- 
 cerned with abstractions. He had a good many enemies in 
 his time and was called several hard names, but he was never 
 accused of being either a prig or a hypocrite. In that freedom 
 from suspicion of cant he must have gloried, if he thought of 
 it at all ; but indeed, though his mind was trained to observa- 
 tion and gifted with intuitive perception of character, he was 
 not at all introspective. He was exceptionally virile both men- 
 tally and physically, the kind of man that gives and takes hard 
 knocks without flinching. Living as he did in the world of 
 things rather than of feelings, he never elaborated for himself 
 any system of thought or of ethics, but took life as he found 
 it, sometimes unwisely but always bravely. 
 
 This leads us to a consideration of the morality of his work, 
 — a question which cannot be ignored and which will not down. 
 Indeed, it challenges discussion not only because it has been 
 much debated but because it concerns the least squeamish of 
 his readers. In the first place, he was healthy, and, as I have 
 said, he was always brave. While in the first flush of his 
 manhood he was led by these excellent quahties in their 
 lower forms of animal vigor into the reckless indulgence of his 
 appetites. He reflects this loose living in many of his plays, 
 those which are unobjectionable being entirely unmoral, — ebul- 
 litions of high spirits or satires on such untruths of art or life 
 as appeal to the healthy and rather thoughtless young man. 
 
Ixxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 His political conscience seems first to have awaked, and he 
 attacked the corruption of the day with unsparing hand. At 
 about the same time, and very possibly as a result of his union 
 with a virtuous woman whom he fervently loved, he seems to 
 have experienced a genuine conversion in the best sense of 
 the word. Thenceforward he was a moralist in all his writing 
 and a lover of the good in his life, though in neither was he 
 stainless. He had never been deliberately wicked ; he had 
 never been guilty of the sins of meanness ; but like a good 
 many other young men he had given way to the thoughtless 
 and selfish lusts of the flesh, to the sins of extravagance and 
 prodigality, of eating and drinking and making merry. In 
 short, he had never been the villain that he has sometimes 
 been pictured, — the ruffian that Richardson and Johnson 
 thought him. 
 
 Yet he had to pay the penalty for his misdeeds, and he paid 
 it in his art as well as in his life. He himself would have been 
 the last to complain of this, though he furnishes sufficient evi- 
 dence in his later works that he recognized the consequences 
 of his sowing. Indeed, he paid dearly for his excesses. Not 
 only did he weaken a constitution naturally very robust, but 
 he wasted his little fortune and entangled his affairs to such 
 an extent that all his later efforts — and he labored hard and 
 well — were insufficient to provide properly for his family. 
 More than that, he dulled his sensibilities by excess and coars- 
 ened his moral fiber. This he shows in all his work, in spite 
 of the lofty genius and true feeling which characterize it. He 
 describes with too much gusto the scenes of brutality which 
 he introduces into his novels, and he shows too little disap- 
 proval for the moral lapses of his heroes. For indeed, this 
 strain of coarseness is by no means confined to his treatment 
 of the relations between men and women. The tender, brave, 
 and good moralist of Tofn Jones and Amelia could not -see 
 
INTRODUCTION Ixxv 
 
 that certain scenes of prison life, for example, were disgusting 
 rather than amusing. If he had, he would have cut them out, 
 since his manly art was not in any way designed to feed the 
 taste of filth-loving readers. 
 
 If it be urged that the coarseness of Fielding's work is due 
 to the time in which he lived, that the moral standards of the 
 eighteenth century were not those of the twentieth, the answer 
 is ready. Many of his contemporaries actually did regret the 
 stains on his pages. The opinion of Richardson doesn't mat- 
 ter much, because Richardson was a vindictive enemy and in 
 his own work showed a prurient sentimentalism which in its 
 own way was worse than Fielding's frank portrayal of vice ; 
 but there is no doubt that Dr. Johnson, who was certainly not 
 particularly squeamish, held the same view. The fine ladies 
 and gentlemen of the time, to be sure, were no better than 
 they should have been. The country gentry were sometimes 
 Squire Westerns and the parsons Trullibers. Yet the sounder 
 members of society, the Squire Allworthys, the Atkinsons, the 
 Joseph Andrewses if you will, could scarcely have regarded 
 Tom Jones and Lady Bellaston with unmixed approval. There 
 is this difference between Fielding's coarse descriptions and 
 the scenes which his friend Hogarth painted, that the latter 
 represents vice with such repulsiveness that each .of his pictures 
 and plates is obviously didactic, while the former describes it 
 at times with ill-suppressed delight. The trend of his works, 
 take them all in all, is as moral as it is healthy, but certain 
 episodes in them come perilously near being vicious. This lack 
 of moral refinement in a man whose principles and habits, as 
 far as we know, were thoroughly good may be thought with 
 good reason the harvest of the wild oats which he had reck- 
 lessly sowed. 
 
 Yet we must be on our guard against overstatement, for it 
 is not to the credit of any one to belong to the number of 
 
Ixxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 Fielding's traducers. His love of good finds constant expres- 
 sion in his books. They are thoroughly healthy in purpose 
 and method, and, I am convinced, far less likely to do harm 
 to the immature mind than very many of the " problem " novels 
 that are devoured to-day, a considerable number of which are 
 written by women — to their shame be it said. Coleridge's 
 summation of the matter in his discussion of Tom /o?ies may 
 well be pondered by those who take the opposite view. 
 
 "Therefore this novel is, and, indeed, pretends to be, no 
 examplar of conduct. But, notwithstanding all this, I do 
 loathe the cant which can recommend Pamela and Clarissa 
 Harlowe as strictly moral, though they poison the imagination 
 of the young with continued doses of tmct lyttae, while Tom 
 Jones is prohibited as loose. I do not speak of young women ; 
 — but a young man whose heart or feelings can be injured, or 
 even his passions excited, by aught in this novel, is already 
 thoroughly corrupt. There is a cheerful, sun-shiny, breezy 
 spirit, that prevails everywhere, strongly contrasted with the 
 close, hot, day-dreamy continuity of Richardson. Every indis- 
 cretion, every immoral act, of Tom Jones, (and it must be 
 remembered that he is in every one taken by surprise — his 
 inward principles remaining firm — ) is so instantly punished 
 by embarrassment and unanticipated evil consequences of his 
 folly, that the reader's mind is not left for a moment to dwell 
 or run riot on the criminal indulgence itself. In short, let the 
 requisite allowance be made for the increased refinement of 
 our manners, — and then I dare believe that no young man 
 who consulted his heart and conscience only, without adverting 
 to what the world would say — could rise from the perusal of 
 Fielding's Tom Jones, Joseph Andrews, or Amelia, without 
 feeling himself a better man ; — at least, without an intense 
 conviction that he could not be guilty of a base act." ^ 
 
 1 Miscellaneous Notes on Books and Authors. 
 
INTRODUCTION Ixxvii 
 
 This was the deliberate judgment of a man who was not 
 inchned to mince matters when it came to plain speaking of 
 any sort, and it is corroborated by the evidence of many good 
 people who have read Fielding and dared to speak their minds. 
 Take him for all in all, though he was of too broad an intellect 
 to be a didactic moralist, he never went wrong on any of the 
 great principles of morality. His art is based upon them, 
 indeed, as any art must be which deals primarily with human 
 beings in the relations of ordinary life. Though he had his 
 limitations and never quite passed from the world of the par- 
 tially obvious to the world of the universal, within his province 
 he was supreme. He thus can endure no comparison with 
 Shakespeare, even if the poetry of the latter be left out of 
 account; but in a smaller way he had a similar comprehen- 
 sion of humanity and created men and women who, like Shake- 
 speare's characters, are universal in that they are ever-living. 
 By such means he was a teacher and a moralist. 
 
 There is no more striking characteristic of all Fielding's 
 work than its cheerfulness. He has considerable kinship to 
 Chaucer in his capacity for getting entertainment from the 
 most unpromising materials. Though he lacked Chaucer's 
 imagination, he had the same tolerance, the same quizzical 
 good humor in picturing the follies of mankind, and the same 
 bright touch of irony in treating serious events. An " amiable 
 buffalo," one fancies, must at times become morose, but 
 Fielding never loses his imperturbable good nature. Indeed, 
 his work would lose much of its sense of reality did it not dis- 
 play this quality, since thereby it is consistently held down to 
 solid facts. 
 
 This leads me to speak of the honesty of his work, not 
 simply that negative and rather unintelligent honesty which 
 consists in photographing scenes with fidelity to detail, but 
 that higher form of the virtue which insists on being true to 
 
Ixxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 the spirit as well as the letter of reality. He tells the truth 
 with a smiling face and does not try to dodge the logic of a 
 situation as he saw it. Bhfil is seen to have a bad heart from 
 the moment when he maliciously gives Sophia's bird its free- 
 dom, and Blifil is allowed to go his own way to perdition. 
 Black George has stolen a small sum from Thomas Jones and 
 struggles hard with fear in the hope that his conscience will 
 let him keep the five hundred pounds, but he is mastered by 
 his cowardice. So in the general conduct of the novels the 
 same consistency is observable. They proceed steadily from 
 start to finish. Given the conditions, the conclusions can 
 scarcely be questioned. Very few novelists show an equal 
 mastery of their materials, scarcely one the same generous and 
 fair-minded spirit. Excluding the episodes, which can always 
 be skipped, Tom Jones and Amelia are not loosely woven nar- 
 ratives in which a partial unity is secured by consistency in 
 the portraiture of the leading characters. They move, slowly 
 perhaps, but evenly, towards the final chapters. Accordingly, 
 their claim to consideration on the score of technical excel- 
 lence is scarcely to be disputed. As stories they are well con- 
 ceived and well balanced. 
 
 "What a wonderful art ! " exclaims Thackeray in the pas- 
 sage cited above. Indeed, it is a wonderful art, and in no 
 way more so than in the medium employed. Fielding's mas- 
 tery over English prose is only less extraordinary than his 
 knowledge of human nature. His style has all the solid excel- 
 lence of his method of marshahng events. It seldom glitters 
 and glows, though there are few more eloquent passages in the 
 language than the invocation at the beginning of the thirteenth 
 book of Tom Jones} In general it flows with an even current, 
 clear, warm, and unlabored, ever and anon sparkling with wit, 
 often quaintly satirical, but always adequate for the purpose in 
 
 1 No. II of this volume. 
 
INTRODUCTION Ixxix 
 
 hand. It never becomes pedestrian on the one hand and 
 never tires the reader by over-indulgence in ornament and 
 unbridled fancy on the other. This sobriety and balance is 
 characteristic of Fielding's whole art, but it is not gained at 
 the expense of qualities which are more vitalizing if not more 
 essential to a good prose style. The happiness of phrase, the 
 flash of wit, lead the reader from page to page. At times, as 
 in the battle in the churchyard, we are treated to prodigious 
 burlesque. Again, we find the heat of passion or the tender- 
 ness of strong affection faithfully reflected in scenes where 
 phrase matches thought. The conversational tone employed so 
 frequently is strengthened by a large and well-chosen vocabu- 
 lary. The style is never without dignity. Indeed, perhaps its 
 most obvious fault is a certain lack of suppleness, a tendency 
 to use stiff constructions and sonorous words of Latin origin. 
 It has not the academic grace of Addison's work on the one 
 hand, nor the studied simplicity of Steele's on the other. 
 
 When . submitted to the ultimate test, however, — its adap- 
 tation to the purpose for which it is used, — Fielding's style 
 leaves little to be desired. It is vigorous, varied, and instinct 
 with humor, it reflects the passing mood or the immediate 
 design of the author, it is without affectation or display, it is 
 altogether genuine. In all this it is thoroughly characteristic 
 of Fielding himself, a man not without reproach, but tender, 
 generous, warm-hearted, and manly all his days, and in his 
 better years earnest, sober, and unselfish. 
 
Ixxx INTRODUCTION 
 
 IV 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 The following list includes only such editions of Fielding's 
 works as mark the constant esteem in which he has been held 
 by readers since his own time, or as are readily accessible 
 to-day. It includes only such biographical and critical works 
 as the student or the general reader is likely to find useful. 
 An exhaustive bibliography would be quite beyond the scope 
 of the present volume. 
 
 EDITIONS 
 
 The Works of Henry Fielding, Esq., with a Life of the Author, 
 
 edited by Arthur Murphy, 4 vols. London, 1762. Reissued in 
 
 12 vols., 1766; in 8 vols., 1771 ; in 12 vols., 1775 and 1783 ; in 
 
 10 vols., 1784. 
 The Works of He?iry Fielding, edited by A. Chalmers, 10 vols. 
 
 London, 1806. Reissued in 1821. 
 The Works of Henry Fielding, with Memoir of the Author, by 
 
 T, Roscoe. London, 1840. 
 The Works of Hemy Fielding, with an Essay on his Life by A. 
 
 Murphy, edited by J. P. Browne, 10 vols. London, 1871. 
 The Writings of Henry Fielding, Comp?'ising his celebrated 
 
 Works of Fiction, with a Memoir by D. Herbert. Edinburgh, 
 
 1872. 
 The Works of Hciiry Fielding, Esq., edited by Leslie Stephen, 
 
 10 vols. London, 1882. 
 The Wo?'ks of Henry Fielding, edited by George Saintsbury, 12 
 
 vols. London, 1893. 
 The Works of Henry Fielding, edited by G. H. Maynadier, 12 
 
 vols. New York, 1903. 
 The Complete Works of Henry Fielding : with an Essay on the 
 
 Life of the Author, by W. E. Henley, 14 vols. New York, 
 
 1903. 
 
INTRODUCTION Ixxxi 
 
 BIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM 
 
 Essay on the Life afid Genius of Henry Fielding^ Esq.., by Arthur 
 
 Murphy, Prefixed to the edition of 1762. 
 The Life of Henry Fielding^ Esq., with Observations on his 
 
 Character and Writijigs, by William Watson. Edinburgh, 
 
 1807. This had previously appeared prefixed to a selection 
 
 of Fielding's works. 
 Me7noir, by Sir Walter Scott, in Vol. I of Ballantyne's The Novel- 
 ists'' Library. London, 1821. Now to be found in Scott's Mis- 
 
 cellaneoMs Prose Works. 
 Illustratio7is of Smollett, Fielding, and Golds7nith, in a series of 
 
 forty -one plates, designed and engraved by George Cruikshank. 
 
 Accompanied by descriptive extracts. London, 1832. 
 Memoir, by T. Roscoe, prefixed to the edition of 1840. 
 Hogarth, Sinollett, and Fielding, in English Humourists of the 
 
 Eighteenth Ce7itury, by W. M. Thackeray, 1853. 
 Life of He7i7y Fieldi7igj with Notices of his Writings, his Times., 
 
 and his Co7ite77iporaries, by Frederick Lawrence, 1855. 
 O71 the Life and Writi7igs of Henry Fieldi7ig, by Thomas Keight- 
 
 ley, in Eraser'' s Magazi7te for January and February, 1858. 
 Me7noir, by D. Herbert, prefixed to the edition of 1872. 
 Memoirs of Celebrated Etonians, by J. Heneage Jesse, Vol. I, 
 
 pp. 62-88. London, 1875. 
 Henry Fielding, by Austin Dobson, English Men of Letters 
 
 Series, 1883. Revised and enlarged edition, 1900. 
 Fielding's Voyage to Lisbo7i, in Eighteenth Century Vig7tettes, 
 
 1st series, by Austin Dobson, 1892. 
 Fieldi7ig's Library, in Eighteenth Ce7itury Vig7tettes, 3d series, 
 
 by Austin Dobson, 1896. 
 Fieldi7ig''s Novels, in Hours in a Library, by Leslie Stephen, 
 
 Vol. II, 1899. 
 He7try Fieldi7ig, by L(eslie) S(tephen), in Dictionary of Natio7ial 
 
 Biography. 
 
SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 I 
 
 OF PROLOGUES 
 
 I have heard of a dramatic writer who used to say, he 
 would rather write a play than a prologue ; in like manner, I 
 think, I can with less pains write one of the books of this 
 history, than the prefatory chapter to each of them. 
 
 To say the truth, I believe many a hearty curse hath been 5 
 devoted on the head of that author, who first instituted the 
 method of prefixing to his play that portion of matter which 
 is called the prologue ; and which at first was part of the 
 piece itself, but of latter years hath had usually so little con- 
 nexion with the drama before which it stands, that the pro- 10 
 logue to one play might as well serve for any other. Those 
 indeed of more modern date, seem all to be written on the 
 same three topics, viz, an abuse of the taste of the town, a con- 
 demnation of all contemporary authors, and an elogium on the 
 performance just about to be represented. The sentiments in 15 
 all these are very little varied, nor is it possible they should ; 
 and indeed I have often wondered at the great invention of 
 authors, who have been capable of finding such various phrases 
 to express the same thing. 
 
 In like manner I apprehend, some future historian (if any 20 
 one shall do me the honour of imitating my manner) will, after 
 much scratching his pate, bestow some good wishes on my 
 memory, for having first established these several initial chap- 
 ters ; most of which, like modern prologues, may as properly 
 
2 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 be prefixed to any other book in this history as to that which 
 they introduce, or indeed to any other history as to this. 
 
 But however authors may suffer by either of these inven- 
 tions, the reader will find sufficient emolument in the one, as 
 5 the spectator hath long found in the other. 
 
 First, it is well known, that the prologue serves the critic 
 for an opportunity to try his faculty of hissing, and to tune 
 his cat-call to the best advantage; by which means, I have 
 known those musical instruments so well prepared, that they 
 
 lo have been able to play in full concert at the first rising of the 
 curtain. 
 
 The same advantages may be drawn from these chapters, in 
 which the critic will be always sure of meeting with something 
 that may serve as a whetstone to his noble spirit ; so that he 
 
 15 may fall with a more hungry appetite for censure on the his- 
 tory itself. And here his sagacity must make it needless to 
 observe how artfully these chapters are calculated for that 
 excellent purpose ; for in these we have always taken care 
 to intersperse somewhat of the sour or acid kind, in order to 
 
 20 sharpen and stimulate the said spirit of criticism. 
 
 Again, the indolent reader, as well as spectator, finds great 
 advantage from both these ; for as they are not obliged either 
 to see the one or read the others, and both the play and the 
 book are thus protracted, by the former they have a quarter 
 
 25 of an hour longer allowed them to sit at dinner, and by the 
 latter they have the advantage of beginning to read at the 
 fourth or fifth page instead of the first ; a matter by no means 
 of trivial consequence to persons who read books with no 
 other view than to say they have read them, a more general 
 
 30 motive to reading than is commonly imagined ; and from 
 which not only law books, and good books, but the pages of 
 Homer and Virgil^ of Swift and Cervantes have been often 
 turned over. 
 
AN INVOCATION 3 
 
 Many other are the emoluments which arise from both these, 
 but they are for the most part so obvious that we shall not at 
 present stay to enumerate them ; especially since it occurs to 
 us that the principal merit of both the prologue and the preface 
 is that they be short. 5 
 
 II 
 AN INVOCATION 
 
 Come, bright love of fame, inspire my glowing breast: not 
 thee I call, who, over swelling tides of blood and tears, dost 
 bear the heroe on to glory, while sighs of millions waft his 
 spreading sails ; but thee, fair, gentle maid, whom Mnesis^ 
 happy nymph, first on the banks of Hebrus didst produce. 10 
 Thee, whom Maeonia educated, whom Mantua charm'd, and 
 who, on that fair hill which overlooks the proud metropolis of 
 Britain, sat, with thy Milton^ sweetly tuning the heroic lyre ; 
 fill my ravished fancy with the hopes of charming ages yet to 
 come. Foretel me that some tender maid, whose grandmother 15 
 is yet unborn, hereafter, when, under the fictitious name of 
 Sophia^ she reads the real worth which once existed in my 
 Charlotte, shall, from her sympathetic breast send forth the 
 heaving sigh. Do thou teach me not only to foresee, but to 
 enjoy, nay, even to feed on future praise. Comfort me by a 20 
 solemn assurance that when the little parlour in which I sit at 
 this instant, shall be reduced to a worse furnished box, I shall 
 be read, with honour, by those who never knew nor saw me, 
 and whom I shall neither know nor see. 
 
 And thou, much plumper dame, whom no airy forms nor 25 
 phantoms of imagination clothe : whom the well-seasoned 
 beef, and pudding richly stained with plumbs, delight. Thee, 
 I call ; of whom in a trachtchugt in some Dutch canal the fat 
 ufrow gelt, impregnated by a jolly merchant of Amsterdam, 
 
4 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 was delivered : in G^'uds tree t-^ohool didst thou suck in the 
 elements of thy erudition. Here hast thou, in thy maturer age, 
 taught poetry to tickle not the fancy, but the pride of the 
 patron. Comedy frorii thee learns a grave and solemn air ; 
 5 while tragedy storms loud, and rends th' affrighted theatres 
 with its thunder. To sooth thy wearied limbs in slumber, Alder- 
 man History tells his tedious tale ; and again to awaken thee, 
 Monsieur Romance performs his surprizing tricks of dexterity. 
 Nor less thy well-fed book seller obeys thy influence. By thy 
 
 10 advice the heavy, unread, folio lump, which long had dozed 
 on the dusty shelf, piece-mealed into numbers, runs nimbly 
 through the nation. Instructed by thee some books, like 
 quacks, impose on the world by promising wonders ; while 
 others turn beaus, and trust all their merits to a gilded outside. 
 
 15 Come, thou jolly substance, with thy shining face, keep back 
 thy inspiration, but hold forth thy tempting rewards ; thy shin- 
 ing, chinking heap ; thy quickly- convertible bank-bill, big with 
 unseen riches ; thy often- varying stock ; the warm, the com- 
 fortable house; and, lastly, a fair portion of that bounteous 
 
 20 mother, whose flowing breasts yield redundant sustenance for 
 all her numerous offspring, did not some too greedily and 
 wantonly drive their brethren from the teat. Come thou, and 
 if I am too tasteless of thy valuable treasures, warm my heart 
 with the transporting thought of conveying them to others. 
 
 25 Tell me, that through thy bounty, the prattling babes, whose 
 innocent play hath often been interrupted by my labours, may 
 one time be amply rewarded for them. 
 
 And now this ill-yoked pair, this lean shadow and this fat 
 substance, have prompted me to write, whose assistance shall 
 
 30 I invoke to direct my pen? 
 
 First, genius; thou gift of heaven; without whose aid, in 
 vain we struggle against the stream of nature. Thou, who dost 
 sow the generous seeds which art nourishes, and brings to 
 
AN INVOCATION 5 
 
 perfection. Do thou kindly take me by the hand, and lead 
 me through all the mazes, the winding labyrinths of nature. 
 Initiate me into all those mysteries which profane eyes never 
 beheld. Teach me, which to thee is no difficult task, to know 
 mankind better than they know themselves. Remove that mist 5 
 which dims the intellects of mortals, and causes them to adore 
 men for their art, or to detest them for their cunning in deceiv- 
 ing others, when they are, in reality, the objects only of ridicule, 
 for deceiving themselves. Strip off the thin disguise of wisdom 
 from self-conceit, of plenty from avarice, and of glory from 10 
 ambition. Come thou, that hast inspired thy Aristophanes^ thy 
 Lucian, thy Cervantes^ thy Rabelais, thy Moliere, thy Shake- 
 speare^ thy Swift, thy Marivaux, fill my pages with humour ; 
 'till mankind learn the good-nature to laugh only at the follies 
 of others, and the humility to grieve at their own. 15 
 
 And thou, almost the constant attendant on true genius, 
 humanity, bring all thy tender sensations. If thou hast already 
 disposed of them all between thy Allen and thy Lyttleton, steal 
 them a little while from their bosoms. Not without these the 
 tender scene is painted. From these alone proceed the noble, 20 
 disinterested friendship, the melting love, the generous senti- 
 ment, the ardent gratitude, the soft compassion, the candid 
 opinion ; and all those strong energies of a good mind, which 
 fill the moistened eyes with tears, the glowing cheeks with blood, 
 and swell the heart with tides of grief, joy and benevolence. 25 
 
 And thou, O learning, (for without thy assistance nothing 
 pure, nothing correct, can genius produce) do thou guide my 
 pen. Thee, in thy favourite fields, where the limpid, gently- 
 rolling Thames washes thy Etonian banks, in early youth I have 
 worshipped. To thee, at thy birchen altar, with true Spartan 30 
 devotion, I have sacrificed my blood. Come, then, and from 
 thy vast, luxuriant stores, in long antiquity piled up, pour 
 forth the rich profusion. Open thy Mseonian and thy Mantuan 
 
6 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 coffers, with whatever else includes thy philosophic, thy poetic, 
 and thy historical treasures, whether with Greek or Roman 
 characters thou hast chosen to inscribe the ponderous chests : 
 give me a-while that key to all thy treasures, which to thy 
 5 Warburton thou hast entrusted. 
 
 Lastly, come experience long conversant with the wise, the 
 good, the learned, and the polite. Nor with them only, but 
 with every kind of character, from the minister at his levee, 
 to the bailiff in his spunging-house ; from the dutchess at her 
 
 lo drum, to the landlady behind her bar. From thee only can the 
 manners of mankind be known ; to which the recluse pedant, 
 however great his parts, or extensive his learning may be, hath 
 ever been a stranger. 
 
 Come all these, and more, if possible ; for arduous is the 
 
 1 5 task I have undertaken : and without all your assistance, will, 
 I find, be too heavy for me to support. But if you all smile on 
 my labours, I hope still to bring them to a happy conclusion. 
 
 Ill 
 [THE BILL OF FARE TO THE FEAST] 
 
 An author ought to consider himself, not as a gentleman 
 who gives a private or eleemosynary treat, but rather as one 
 
 2o who keeps a public ordinary, at which all persons are welcome 
 for their money. In the former case, it is well known, that the 
 entertainer provides what fare he pleases ; and tho' this should 
 be very indifferent, and utterly disagreeable to the taste of his 
 company, they must not find any fault ; nay, on the contrary, 
 
 25 good-breeding forces them outwardly to approve and to com- 
 mend whatever is set before them. Now the contrary of this 
 happens to the master of an ordinary. Men who pay for 
 what they eat, will insist on gratifying their palates, however 
 
THE BILL OF FARE TO THE FEAST / 
 
 nice and whimsical these may prove ; and if every thing is not 
 agreeable to their taste, will challenge a right to censure, to 
 abuse, and to d — n their dinner without controul. 
 
 To prevent therefore giving offence to their customers by 
 any such disappointment, it has been usual, with the honest 5 
 and well-meaning host, to provide a bill of fare, which all per- 
 sons may peruse at their first entrance into the house ; and, 
 having thence acquainted themselves with the entertainment 
 which they may expect, may either stay and regale with what 
 is provided for them, or may depart to some other ordinary 10 
 better accommodated to their taste. 
 
 As we do not disdain to borrow wit or wisdom from any man 
 who is capable of lending us either, we have condescended to 
 take a hint from these honest victuallers, and shall prefix not 
 only a general bill of fare to our whole entertainment, but 15 
 shall likewise give the reader particular bills to every course 
 which is to be served up in this and the ensuing volumes. 
 
 The provision then which we have here made is no other 
 than Human Nature. Nor do I fear that my sensible reader, 
 though most luxurious in his taste, will start, cavil, or be offended, 20 
 because I have named but one article. The tortoise, as the 
 alderman of Bristol, well learned in eating, knows by much 
 experience, besides the delicious calibash and caHpee, contains 
 many different kinds of food ; nor can the learned reader be 
 ignorant, that in human nature^ tho' here collected under one 25 
 general name, is such prodigious variety, that a cook will have 
 sooner gone through all the several species of animal and vege- 
 table food in the world, than an author will be able to exhaust 
 so extensive a subject. 
 
 An objection may perhaps be apprehended from the more 30 
 delicate, that this dish is too common and vulgar; for what 
 else is the subject of all the romances, novels, plays and poems, 
 with which the stalls abound. Many exquisite viands might 
 
8 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 be rejected by the epicure, if it was a sufficient cause for his 
 contemning of them as common and vulgar, that something was 
 to be found in the most paultry alleys under the same name. In 
 reality, true nature is as difficult to be met with in authors, as 
 5 the Bayonne ham, or Bologna sausage is to be found in the shops. 
 But the whole, to continue the same metaphor, consists in 
 the cookery of the author ; for, as Mr. Pope tells us, — 
 
 True wit is nature to advantage drest ; 
 
 What oft' was thought, but ne'er so well exprest. 
 
 lo The same animal which hath the honour to have some part 
 of his flesh eaten at the table of a duke, may perhaps be 
 degraded in another part, and some of his limbs gibbetted, as 
 it were, in the vilest stall in town. Where then lies the dif- 
 ference between the food of the nobleman and the porter, if 
 
 1 5 both are at dinner on the same ox or calf, but in the seasoning, 
 
 the dressing, the garnishing, and the setting forth. Hence the 
 
 one provokes and incites the most languid appetite, and the 
 
 other turns and palls that which is the sharpest and keenest. 
 
 In like manner, the excellence of the mental entertainment 
 
 20 consists less in the subject, than in the author's skill in well 
 dressing it up. How pleased therefore will the reader be to 
 find, that we have, in the following work, adhered closely 
 to one of the highest principles of the best cook which the 
 present age, or perhaps that of Heliogabalus^ hath produced. 
 
 25 This great man, as is well known to all polite lovers of eating, 
 begins at first by setting plain things before his hungry guests, 
 rising afterwards by degrees, as their stomachs may be supposed 
 to decrease, to the very quintessence of sauce and spices. In 
 like manner, we shall represent human nature at first to the 
 
 30 keen appetite of our reader, in that more plain and simple 
 manner in which it is found in the country, and shall here- 
 after hash and ragout it with all the high French and Itahan 
 
THE COMIC EPIC IN PROSE 9 
 
 seasoning of affectation and vice which courts and cities afford. 
 By these means, we doubt not but our reader may be rendered 
 desirous to read on for ever, as the great person, just above 
 mentioned, is supposed to have made some persons eat. 
 
 Having premised thus much, we will now detain those, who 5 
 like our bill of fare, no longer from their diet, and shall pro- 
 ceed directly to serve up the first course, of our history, for 
 their entertainment. 
 
 IV 
 [THE COMIC EPIC IN PROSE] 
 
 As it is possible the mere English reader may have a dif- 
 ferent idea of romance with the author of these little volumes ; 10 
 and may consequently expect a kind of entertainment, not to . 
 be found, nor which was even intended, in the following pages ; 
 it may not be improper to premise a few words concerning this 
 kind of writing, which I do not remember to have seen hitherto 
 attempted in our language. 15 
 
 The EPIC, as well as the DRAMA, is divided into tragedy 
 and comedy. HOMER, who was the father of this species of 
 poetry, gave us the pattern of both these, tho' that of the latter 
 kind is entirely lost ; which Aristotle tells us, bore the same 
 relation to comedy which his Iliad bears to tragedy. And per- 20 
 haps, that we have no more instances of it among the writers 
 of antiquity, is owing to the loss of this great pattern, which, 
 had it survived, would have found its imitators equally with the 
 other poems of this great original. 
 
 And farther, as this poetry may be tragic or comic, I will 25 
 not scruple to say it may be likewise either in verse or prose : 
 for tho' it wants one particular, which the critic enumerates 
 in the constituent parts of an epic poem, namely, metre ; yet, 
 when any kind of writing contains all its other parts, such 
 
lO SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 as fable, action, characters, sentiments, and diction, and is 
 deficient in metre only, it seems, I think, reasonable to refer 
 it to the epic ; at least, as no critic hath thought proper to 
 range it under any other head, nor to assign it a particular 
 5 name to itself. 
 
 Thus the Telemachus of the archbishop of Cambray appears 
 to me of the epic kind, as well as the Odyssey of Homer ; 
 indeed, it is much fairer and more reasonable to give it a 
 name common with that species from which it differs only 
 
 lo in a single instance, than to confound it with those which 
 it resembles in no other. Such are those voluminous works, 
 commonly called Romances, namely, Clelia, Cleopatra, Astraea, 
 Cassandra, the Grand Cyrus, and innumerable others which 
 contain, as I apprehend, very little instruction or entertainment. 
 
 .15 Now, a comic romance is a comic epic-poem in prose; 
 differing from comedy, as the serious epic from tragedy : its 
 action being more extended and comprehensive ; containing 
 a much larger circle of incidents, and introducing a greater 
 variety of characters. It differs from the serious romance in 
 
 20 its fable and action, in this ; that as in the one these are grave 
 and solemn, so in the other they are light and ridiculous : 
 it differs in its characters, by introducing persons of inferiour 
 rank, and consequently of inferiour manners, whereas the 
 grave romance sets the highest before us; lastly in its sen- 
 
 25 timents and diction ; by preserving the ludicrous instead of 
 the sublime. In the diction I think, burlesque itself may be 
 sometimes admitted ; of which many instances will occur in 
 this work, as in the description of the battles, and some other 
 places not necessary to be pointed out to the classical reader ; 
 
 30 for whose entertainment those parodies or burlesque imitations 
 are chiefly calculated. 
 
 But tho' we have sometimes admitted this in our diction, we 
 have carefully excluded it from our sentiments and characters ; 
 
THE COMIC EPIC IN PROSE n 
 
 for there it is never properly introduced, unless in writings of 
 the burlesque kind, which this is not intended to be. Indeed, 
 no two species of writing can differ more widely than the comic 
 and the burlesque : for as the latter is ever the exhibition of 
 what is monstrous and unnatural, and where our delight, if we 5 
 examine it, arises from the surprizing absurdity, as in appro- 
 priating the manners of the highest to the lowest, or e converse; 
 so in the former, we should ever confine ourselves strictly to 
 nature, from the just imitation of which, will flow all the pleas- 
 ure we can this way convey to a sensible reader. And perhaps, 10 
 there is one reason, why a comic writer should of all others be 
 the least excused for deviating from nature, since it may not 
 be always so easy for a serious poet to meet with the great 
 and the admirable ; but life everywhere furnishes an accurate 
 observer with the ridiculous. 15 
 
 I have hinted this little, concerning burlesque ; because I 
 have often heard that name given to performances, which have 
 been truly of the comic kind, from the author's having some- 
 times admitted it in his diction only ; which as it is the dress 
 of poetry, doth like the dress of men establish characters, (the 20 
 one of the whole poem, and the other of the whole man), in 
 vulgar opinion, beyond any of their greater excellences : but 
 surely, a certain drollery in style, where characters and senti- 
 ments are perfectly natural, no more constitutes the burlesque, 
 than an empty pomp and dignity of words, where everything 25 
 else is mean and low, can entitle any performance to the 
 appellation of the true sublime. 
 
 And I apprehend, my Lord Shaftesbury's opinion of mere 
 burlesque agrees with mine, when he asserts, ''There is no 
 such thing to be found in the writings of the antients." But 30 
 perhaps I have less abhorrence than he professes for it : and 
 that not because I have had some little success on the stage 
 this way ; but rather as it contributes more to exquisite mirth 
 
12 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 and laughter than any other; and these are probably more 
 wholesome physic for the mind, and conduce better to purge 
 away spleen, melancholy, and ill affections, than is generally 
 imagined. Nay, I will appeal to common observation, whether 
 5 the same companies are not found more full of good-humour 
 and benevolence, after they have been sweetened for two or 
 three hours with entertainments of this kind, than soured by a 
 tragedy or a grave lecture. 
 
 But to illustrate all this by another science, in which, per- 
 
 lo haps, we shall see the distinction more clearly and plainly : 
 let us examine the works of a comic history-painter, with those 
 performances which the Italians call Caricatiira^ where we 
 shall find the greatest excellence of the former to consist in 
 the exactest copy of nature ; insomuch, that a judicious eye 
 
 15 instantly rejects anything outre ; any liberty which the painter 
 hath taken with the features of that alma mater. Whereas 
 in the Caricatnra we allow all licence. Its aim is to exhibit 
 monsters not men ; and all distortions and exaggerations what- 
 ever are within its proper province. 
 
 20 Now what Caricatura is in painting. Burlesque is in writing ; 
 and in the same manner the comic writer and painter corre- 
 late to each other. And here I shall observe, that as in the 
 former, the painter seems to have the advantage ; so it is in 
 the latter infinitely on the side of the writer : for the Mon- 
 
 25 strous is much easier to paint than describe, and the Ridicu- 
 lous to describe than paint. 
 
 And tho' perhaps this latter species doth not in either 
 science so strongly affect and agitate the muscles as the other ; 
 yet it will be owned, I believe, that a more rational and use- 
 
 30 ful pleasure arises to us from it. He who should call the 
 ingenious Hogarth a burlesque painter, would, in my opinion, 
 do him very little honour : for sure it is much easier, much 
 less the subject of admiration, to paint a man with a nose, or 
 
THE COMIC EPIC IN PROSE 13 
 
 any other feature of a preposterous size, or to expose him in 
 some absurd or monstrous attitude, than to express the affec- 
 tions of men on canvas. It hath been thought a vast commen- 
 dation of a painter to say his figures seem to breathe ; but surely 
 it is a much greater and nobler applause, that they appear to 5 
 think. 
 
 But to return. The Ridiculous only, as I have before said, 
 falls within my province in the present work. Nor will some 
 explanation of this word be thought impertinent by the reader, 
 if he considers how wonderfully it hath been mistaken, even by 10 
 writers who have profess'd it : for to what but such a mistake, 
 can we attribute the many attempts to ridicule the blackest 
 villanies ; and what is yet worse, the most dreadful calamities ? 
 What could exceed the absurdity of an author, who should 
 write the comedy of Nero, with the merry incident of ripping 15 
 up his mother's belly ; or what would give a greater shock to 
 humanity than an attempt to expose the miseries of poverty 
 and distress to ridicule? And yet, the reader will not want 
 much learning to suggest such instances to himself. 
 
 Besides, it may seem remarkable, that Aristotle, who is so 20 
 fond and free of definitions, hath not thought proper to define 
 the Ridiculous. Indeed, where he tells us it is proper to 
 comedy, he hath remarked that villany is not its object : but 
 that he hath not, as I remember, positively asserted what is. 
 Nor doth the Abbe Bellegarde, who hath written a treatise on 25 
 this subject, tho' he shows us many species of it, once trace it 
 to its fountain. 
 
 The only source of the true Ridiculous (as it appears to me) 
 is affectation. But tho' it arises from one spring only, when 
 we consider the infinite streams into which this one branches, 30 
 we shall presently cease to admire at the copious field it affords 
 to an observer. Now affectation proceeds from one of these 
 two causes ; vanity, or hypocrisy : for as vanity puts us on 
 
14 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 affecting false characters, in order to purchase applause ; so 
 hypocrisy sets us on an endeavour to avoid censure by con- 
 cealing our vices under an appearance of their opposite virtues. 
 And tho' these two causes are often confounded, (for they 
 5 require some distinguishing;) yet, as they proceed from very 
 different motives, so they are as clearly distinct in their opera- 
 tions : for indeed, the affectation which arises from vanity is 
 nearer to truth than the other ; as it hath not that violent 
 repugnancy of nature to struggle with, which that of the hypo- 
 
 lo crite hath. It may be likewise noted, that affectation doth 
 not imply an absolute negation of those qualities which are 
 affected : and therefore, tho', when it proceeds from hypocrisy, 
 it be nearly allied to deceit ; yet when it comes from vanity 
 only, it partakes of the nature of ostentation : for instance, the 
 
 15 affectation of liberality in a vain man, differs visibly from the 
 same affectation in the avaricious ; for tho' the vain man is not 
 what he would appear, or hath not the virtue he affects, to the 
 degree he would be thought to have it ; yet it sits less awk- 
 wardly on him than on the avaricious man, who is the very 
 
 20 reverse of what he would seem to be. 
 
 From the discovery of this affectation arises the Ridiculous 
 — which always strikes the reader with surprize and pleasure ; 
 and that in a higher and stronger degree when the affectation 
 arises from hypocrisy, than when from vanity : for to discover 
 
 25 any one to be the exact reverse of what he affects, is more 
 surprizing, and consequently more ridiculous, than to find him 
 a little deficient in the quality he desires the reputation of. I 
 might observe that our Ben Johnson, who of all men understood 
 the Ridiculous the best, hath chiefly used the hypocritical 
 
 30 affectation. 
 
 Now from affectation only, the misfortunes and calamities of 
 life, or the imperfections of nature, may become the objects 
 of ridicule. Surely he hath a very ill-framed mind, who can 
 
THE COMIC EPIC IN PROSE 15 
 
 look on ugliness, infirmity, or poverty, as ridiculous in them- 
 selves : nor do I believe any man living who meets a dirty 
 fellow riding through the streets in a cart, is struck with an 
 idea of the Ridiculous from it ; but if he should see the same 
 figure descend from his coach and six, or bolt from his chair 5 
 with his hat under his arm, he would then begin to laugh, and 
 with justice. In the same manner, were we to enter a poor 
 house and behold a wretched family shivering with cold and 
 languishing with hunger, it would not incline us to laughter, 
 (at least we must have very diabolical natures, if it would) : 10 
 but should we discover there a grate, instead of coals, adorned 
 with flowers, empty plate or china dishes on the side-board, or 
 any other affectation of riches and finery either on their per- 
 sons or in their furniture ; we might then indeed be excused, 
 for ridiculing so fantastical an appearance. Much less are 15 
 natural imperfections the object of derision : but when ugliness 
 aims at the applause of beauty, or lameness endeavours to dis- 
 play agility ; it is then that these unfortunate circumstances, 
 which at first moved our compassion, tend only to raise our 
 mirth. 20 
 
 The poet carries this very far ; 
 
 None are for being what they are in fatilt, 
 Bnt for not being what they would be thought. 
 
 Where if the metre would suffer the word Ridiculous to close 
 the first line, the thought would be rather more. proper. Great 25 
 vices are the proper objects of our detestation, smaller faults of 
 our pity : but affectation appears to me the only true source 
 of the Ridiculous. 
 
 But perhaps it may be objected to me, that I have against 
 my own rules introduced vices, and of a very black kind into 30 
 this work. To this I shall answer : first, that it is very difficult 
 to pursue a series of human actions and keep clear from them. 
 
l6 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Secondly, that the vices to be found here, are rather the acci- 
 dental consequences of some human frailty, or foible, than 
 causes habitually existing in the mind. Thirdly, that they are 
 never set forth as the objects of ridicule, but detestation. 
 5 Fourthly, that they are never the principal figure at that time 
 on the scene ; and lastly, they never produce the intended evil. 
 
 V 
 
 SHEWING WHAT KIND OF A HISTORY THIS IS; 
 WHAT IT IS LIKE, AND WHAT IT IS NOT LIKE 
 
 Tho' we have properly enough entitled this our work, a his- 
 tory, and not a life ; nor an apology for a life, as is more in 
 fashion ; yet we intend in it rather to pursue the method of 
 
 lo those writers who profess to disclose the revolutions of coun- 
 tries, than to imitate the painful and voluminous historian, who 
 to preserve the regularity of his series, thinks himself obliged 
 to fill up as much paper with the details of months and years 
 in which nothing remarkable happened, as he employs upon 
 
 15 those notable aeras when the greatest scenes have been trans- 
 acted on the human stage. 
 
 Such histories as these do, in reality, very much resemble a 
 news-paper, which consists of just the same number of words, 
 whether there be any news in it or not. They may likewise 
 
 20 be compared to a stage-coach, which performs constantly the 
 same course, empty as well as full. The writer, indeed, seems 
 to think himself obliged to keep even pace with Time, whose 
 amanuensis he is ; and, like his master, travels as slowly through 
 centuries of monkish dulness, when the world seems to have 
 
 25 been asleep, as through that bright and busy age so nobly dis- 
 tinguished by the excellent Latin poet. — 
 
SHEWING WHAT KIND OF A HISTORY THIS IS 1/ 
 
 ^^ Ad confligendum venietttibus undique Poenisj 
 Omnia cu7n belli trepido concussa tutnultu 
 Horrida contre7tiuere sub altis cstheris auris : 
 In dubioque fuit sub utroruni regna cadendum 
 Omnibus hu7nanis esset^ terraque marique : " 5 
 
 Of which, we wish we could give our reader a more adequate 
 translation than that by Mr. Creech, 
 
 " When dreadful Carthage frightened Rome with arms, 
 And all the world was shook with fierce alarms ; 
 Whilst undecided yet, which part should fall, lo 
 
 Which nation rise the glorious lord of all." 
 
 Now it is our purpose in the ensuing pages, to pursue a con- 
 trary method. When any extraordinary scene presents itself 
 (as we trust will often be the case) we shall spare no pains nor 
 paper to 'open it at large to our reader; but if whole years 15 
 should pass without producing any thing worthy his notice, we 
 shall not be afraid of a chasm in our history; but shall hasten 
 on to matters of consequence, and leave such periods of time 
 totally unobserved. 
 
 These are indeed to be considered as blanks in the grand 20 
 lottery of Time. We therefore who are the registers of that lot- 
 tery, shall imitate those sagacious persons who deal in that which 
 is drawn at Guild-Hall and who never trouble the public with 
 the many blanks they dispose of ; but when a great prize hap- 
 pens to be drawn, the news-papers are presently filled with it, 25 
 and the world is sure to be informed at whose office it was sold : 
 indeed, commonly two or three different offices lay claim to 
 the honour of having disposed of it ; by which I suppose the 
 adventurers are given to understand that certain brokers are 
 in the secrets of Fortune, and indeed of her cabinet-council. 30 
 
 My reader then is not to be surprized, if in the course of this 
 work, he shall find some chaptersvery short, and others altogether 
 
l8 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 as long ; some that contain only the time of a single day, and 
 others that comprise years ; in a word, if my history sometimes 
 seems to stand still, and sometimes to fly. For all which I 
 shall not look on myself as accountable to any court of critical 
 5 jurisdiction whatever : for as I am, in reality, the founder of a 
 new province of writing, so I am at liberty to make what laws 
 I please therein. And these laws, my readers, whom I consider 
 as my subjects, are bound to beheve in and to obey; with 
 which that they may readily and chearfully comply, I do hereby 
 
 lo assure them that I shall principally regard their ease and advan- 
 tage in all such institutions : for I do not, like a j^ire divino 
 tyrant, imagine that they are my slaves or my commodity. I 
 am, indeed, set over them for their own good only, and was 
 created for their use, and not they for mine. Nor do I doubt, 
 
 15 while I make their interest the great rule of my writings, they 
 will unanimously concur in supporting my dignity, and in 
 rendering me all the honour I shall deserve or desire. 
 
 VI 
 MATTER PREFATORY IN PRAISE OF BIOGRAPHY 
 
 Notwithstanding the preference which may be vulgarly given 
 to the authority of those romance-writers who entitle their books, 
 
 20 the History of E?igland, the History of France, of Spain, &c. 
 it is most certain that truth is only to be found in the works of 
 those who celebrate the lives of great men, and are commonly 
 called biographers, as the others should indeed be termed topog- 
 raphers, or chorographers : words which might well mark the 
 
 25 distinction between them ; it being the business of the latter 
 chiefly to describe countries and cities, which, with the assist- 
 
 . ance of maps, they do pretty justly, and may be depended upon : 
 but as to the actions and characters of men, their writings 
 
 I 
 
IN PRAISE OF BIOGRAPHY 19 
 
 are not quite so authentic, of which there needs no other 
 proof than those eternal contradictions, occurring between two 
 topographers who undertake the history of the same country : 
 for instance, between my Lord Clarendon and Mr. Whitlock, 
 between Mr. E chard dixA Rapin, and many others ; where, facts 5 
 being set forth in a different light, every reader believes as he 
 pleases, and indeed the more judicious and suspicious very 
 justly esteem the whole as no other than a romance, in which 
 the writer hath indulged a happy and fertile invention. But 
 tho' these widely differ in the narrative of facts ; some ascrib- 10 
 ing victory to the one, and others to the other party : some 
 representing the same man as a rogue, while others give him a 
 great and honest character, yet all agree in the scene where the 
 fact is supposed to have happened ; and where the person, who 
 is both a rogue, and an honest man, lived. Now with us biog- 15 
 raphers the case is different, the facts we deliver may be relied 
 upon, tho' we often mistake the age and country wherein they 
 happened : for tho' it may be worth the examination of critics, 
 whether the shepherd Chrysosfom, who, as Cervantes informs 
 us, died for love of the fair Marcella^ who hated him, was ever 20 
 in Spain, will any one doubt but that such a silly fellow hath 
 really existed? Is there in the world such a sceptic as to dis- 
 believe the madness of Cardenio, the ^^Qx^idy oi Ferdinand, the 
 impertinent curiosity of Anselmo, the weakness of Camilla, the 
 irresolute friendship of Lothario ; tho' perhaps as to the time 25 
 and place where those several persons lived, that good historian 
 may be deplorably deficient : but the most known instance of 
 this kind is in the true history of Gil' Bias, where the inimitable 
 biographer hath made a notorious blunder in the country of 
 Dr. Sangrado, who used his patients as a vintner doth his wine- 30 
 vessels, by letting out their blood, and filling them up with water. 
 Doth not every one, who is the least versed in physical history, 
 know that Spain was not the country in which this doctor lived ? 
 
20 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 • 
 
 The same writer hath likewise erred in the country of his arch- 
 bishop, as well as that of those great personages whose under- 
 standings were too sublime to taste anything but tragedy, and in 
 many others. The same mistakes may likewise be observed in 
 5 Scarron, the Arabian Nights, the History of Mai'ianne and Le 
 Paisan Pai'venu, and perhaps some few other writers of this 
 class, whom I have not read, or do not at present recollect ; for 
 I would by no means be thought to comprehend those persons 
 of surprizing genius, the authors of immense romances, or the 
 
 lo modern novel and Atalantis writers ; who without any assistance 
 from nature or history, record persons who never were, or will 
 be, and facts which never did nor possibly can happen : whose 
 heroes are of their own creation, and their brains the chaos 
 whence all their materials are selected. Not that such writers 
 
 1 5 deserve no honour ; so far otherwise, that perhaps they merit 
 the highest : for what can be nobler than to be as an example 
 of the wonderful extent of human genius. One may apply 
 to them what Balzac says of Aristotle^ that they are a second 
 nature ; for they have no communication with the first ; by 
 
 20 which authors of an inferiour class, who cannot stand alone, are 
 obliged to support themselves as with crutches ; but these of 
 whom I am now speaking, seem to be possessed of those stilts, 
 which the excellent Voltaire tells us in his letters carry the 
 genius far off , but with an irregular pace. Indeed, far out of 
 
 25 the sight of the reader. 
 
 Beyond the realm of Chaos and old Night. 
 
 But, to return to the former class, who are contented to 
 copy nature, instead of forming originals from the confused 
 heap" of matter in their own brains ; is not such a book as 
 30 that which records the atchievements of the renowned Don 
 Quixotte, more worthy the name of a history than even 
 Mariana's : for whereas the latter is confined to a particular 
 
IN PRAISE OF BIOGRAPHY 21 
 
 period of time, and to a particular nation ; the former is the 
 history of the world in general, at least that part -which is ' 
 polished by laws, arts, and sciences ; and of that from the 
 time it was first polished to this day; nay and forwards, as 
 long as it shall so remain. 5 
 
 I shall now proceed to apply these observations to the work 
 before us; for indeed I have set them down principally to 
 obviate some constructions, which the good-nature of man- 
 kind, who are always forward to see their friends' virtues 
 recorded, may put to particular parts. I question not but 10 
 several of my readers will know the lawyer in the stage-coach, 
 the moment they hear his voice. It is likewise odds, but the 
 wit and the prude meet with some of their acquaintance, as 
 well as all the rest of my characters. To prevent therefore 
 any such malicious applications, I declare here once for all, 15 
 I describe not men, but manners ; not an individual, but a 
 species. Perhaps it will be answered, Are not the characters 
 then taken from life ? To which I answer in the affirmative ; 
 nay, I believe I might aver, that I have writ little more than 
 I have seen. The lawyer is not only alive, but hath been so 20 
 
 these 4000 years, and I hope G will indulge his life as 
 
 many yet to come. He hath not indeed confined himself to 
 one profession, one religion, or one country ; but when the 
 first mean selfish creature appeared on the human stage, who 
 made self the centre of the whole creation ; would give him- 25 
 self no pain, incur no danger, advance no money to assist, or 
 preserve his fellow- creatures ; then was our lawyer born ; and 
 whilst such a person as I have described, exists on earth, so 
 long shall he remain upon it. It is therefore doing him little 
 honour, to imagine he endeavours to mimick some little obscure 30 
 fellow, because he happens to resemble him in one particular 
 feature, or perhaps in his profession ; whereas his appearance 
 in the world is calculated for much more general and noble 
 
22 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 purposes ; not to expose one pitiful wretch, to the small and 
 contemptible circle of his acquaintance ; but to hold the glass 
 to thousands in their closets, that they may contemplate their 
 deformity, and endeavour to reduce it, and thus by suffering 
 5 private mortification may avoid pubhc shame. This places 
 the boundary between, and distinguishes the satirist from the 
 libeller ; for the former privately corrects the fault for the 
 benefit of the person, like a parent ; the latter publickly 
 exposes the person himself, as an example to others, like an 
 lo executioner. 
 
 VII 
 
 OF WRITING LIVES IN GENERAL, AND PARTICU- 
 LARLY OF PAMELA; WITH A WORD BY THE 
 BYE OF COLLEY GIBBER AND OTHERS 
 
 It is a trite but true observation, that examples work more 
 forcibly on the mind than precepts : and if this be just in 
 what is odious and blameable, it is more strongly so in what 
 is amiable and praise-worthy. Here emulation most effectually 
 
 15 operates upon us, and inspires our imitation in an irresistible 
 manner. A good man therefore is a standing lesson to all his 
 acquaintance, and of far greater use in that narrow circle than 
 a good book. 
 
 But as it often happens that the best men are but little 
 
 20 known, and consequently cannot extend the usefulness of 
 their examples a great way; the writer may be called in 
 aid to spread their history farther, and to present the ami- 
 able pictures to those who have not the happiness of 
 knowing the originals; and by communicating such valu- 
 
 25 able patterns to the world, may perhaps do a more extensive 
 service to mankind than the person whose life originally 
 afforded the pattern. 
 
OF WRITING LIVES IN GENERAL 23 
 
 In this light I have always regarded those biographers who 
 have recorded the actions of great and worthy persons of both 
 sexes. Not to mention those antient writers which of late days 
 are little read, being written in obsolete, and as they are gen- 
 erally thought, unintelligible languages ; such as PLUTARCH, 5 
 NEPOS, and others which I heard of in my youth, our own 
 language affords many of excellent use and instruction, finely 
 calculated to sow the seeds of virtue in youth, and very easy 
 to be comprehended by persons of moderate capacity. Such 
 as the history oi John the Great, who, by his brave and heroic 10 
 actions against men of large and athletic bodies, obtained 
 the glorious appellation of the Giant-Killer ; that of an Earl 
 of Warwick, whose Christian name was Giiy ; the lives of 
 Argalus and Farthenia, and above all, the history of those 
 seven worthy personages, the Champions of Christendom. In 15 
 all these, delight is mixed with instruction, and the reader is 
 almost as much improved as entertained. 
 
 But I pass by these and many others, to mention two books 
 lately published, which represent an admirable pattern of the 
 amiable in either sex. The former of these, which deals in 20 
 male-virtue, was written by the great person himself, who lived 
 the life he hath recorded, and is by many thought to have 
 lived such a life only in order to write it. The other is com- 
 municated to us by an historian who borrows his lights, as the 
 common* method is, from authentic papers and records. The 25 
 reader, I believe, already conjectures, I mean the lives of 
 Mr. Colley Cibber and of Mrs. Pamela A?idrews. How art- 
 fully doth the former, by insinuating that he escaped being 
 promoted to the highest stations in Church and State, teach 
 us a contempt of worldly grandeur ! how strongly doth he incul- 30 
 cate an absolute submission to our superiors ! Lastly, how 
 completely doth he arm us against so uneasy, so wretched a 
 passion as the fear of shame ; how clearly doth he expose 
 the emptiness and vanity of that fantom, reputation ! 
 
24 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 What the female readers are taught by the memoirs of Mrs. 
 Andrews^ is so well set forth in the excellent essays or letters pre- 
 fixed to the second and subsequent editions of that work, that 
 it would be here a needless repetition. The authentic history 
 5 with which I now present the public, is an instance of the great 
 good that book is likely to do, and of the prevalence of example 
 which I have just observed : since it will appear that it was by 
 keeping the excellent pattern of his sister's virtues before his 
 eyes, that yii. Joseph Andrews was chiefly enabled to preserve 
 
 lo his purity in the midst of such great temptations ; I shall only 
 add, that this character of male-chastity, tho' doubtless as 
 desirable, as becoming in one part of the human species, as in 
 the other, is almost the only virtue which the great apologist 
 hath not given himself for the sake of giving the example to 
 
 15 his readers. 
 
 VIII 
 CONTAINING FIVE PAGES OF PAPER 
 
 As truth distinguishes our writings from those idle romances 
 which are filled with monsters, the productions, not of nature, 
 but of distempered brains; and which have been therefore 
 recommended by an eminent critic to the sole use of the 
 20 pastry-cook : so, on the other hand, we would avoid any 
 resemblance to that kind of history which a celebrated poet 
 seems to think is no less calculated for the emolument of the 
 brewer, as the reading it should be always attended with a 
 tankard of good ale. 
 
 25 While — history with her comrade ale, 
 
 Sooths the sad series of her serious tale. 
 
 For as this is the liquor of modern historians, nay, perhaps 
 their Muse, if we may believe the opinion of Biitk?-, who 
 
CONTAINING FIVE PAGES OF PAPER 25 
 
 attributes inspiration to ale, it ought likewise to be the pota- 
 tion of their readers ; since every book ought to be read with 
 the same spirit, and in the same manner, as it is writ. Thus 
 the famous author of Hiirlothrmnbo told a learned bishop, 
 that the reason his lordship could not taste the excellence of 5 
 his piece, was, that he did not read it with a fiddle in his hand ; 
 which instrument he himself had always had in his own, when 
 he composed it. 
 
 That our work, therefore, might be in no danger of being 
 likened to the labours of these historians, we have taken every 10 
 occasion of interspersing through the whole sundry similes, 
 descriptions, and other kind of poetical embellishments. These 
 are, indeed, designed to supply the place of the said ale, and 
 to refresh the mind, whenever those slumbers which in a long 
 work are apt to invade the reader as well as the writer, shall 15 
 begin to creep upon him. Without interruptions of this kind, 
 the best narrative of plain matter of fact must overpower every 
 reader; for nothing but the everlasting watchfulness, which 
 Homer hath ascribed only to Jove himself, can be proof against 
 a news paper of many volumes. 20 
 
 We shall leave to the reader to determine with what judg- 
 ment we have chosen the several occasions for inserting those 
 ornamental parts of our work. Surely it will be allowed that 
 none could be more proper than the present ; where we are 
 about to introduce a considerable character on the scene ; no 25 
 less, indeed, than the heroine of this heroic, historical, prosaic 
 poem. Here, therefore, we have thought proper to prepare the 
 mind of the reader for her reception, by filling it with every 
 pleasing image, which we can draw from the face of nature. 
 And for this method we plead many precedents. First, this is 30 
 an art well known to, and much practised by, our tragic poets ; 
 who seldom fail to prepare their audience for the reception of 
 their principal characters. Thus the heroe is always introduced 
 
26 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 with a flourish of drums and trumpets, in order to rouse a mar- 
 tial spirit in the audience, and to accommodate their ears to 
 bombast and fustian, which Mr. Lock's bUnd man would not 
 have grossly erred in likening to the sound of a trumpet. 
 5 Again, when lovers are coming forth, soft music often con- 
 ducts them on the stage, either to sooth the audience with all 
 the softness of the tender passion, or to lull and prepare them 
 for that gentle slumber in which they will most probably be 
 composed by the ensuing scene. 
 
 lo And not only the poets, but the masters of these poets, the 
 managers of playhouses, seem to be in this secret ; for, besides 
 the aforesaid kettle drums, &c. which denote the heroe's ap- 
 proach, he is generally ushered on the stage by a large troop 
 of half a dozen scene-shifters ; and how necessary these are 
 
 15 imagined to his appearance, may be concluded from the fol- 
 lowing theatrical story. 
 
 King Pyrrhus was at dinner at an alehouse bordering on the 
 theatre, when he was summoned to go on the stage. The heroe, 
 being unwilling to quit his shoulder of mutton, and as unwilling 
 
 20 to draw on himself the indignation of Mr. Wiiks, (his brother 
 manager) for making the audience wait, had bribed these his 
 harbingers to be out of the way. While Mr. Wilks, therefore, 
 was thundering out, "Where are the carpenters to walk on 
 before King Pyrrhus, ^^ that monarch very quietly ate his mut- 
 
 25 ton, and the audience, however impatient, were obliged to 
 entertain themselves with music in his absence. 
 
 To be plain, I much question whether the politician, who 
 hath generally a good nose, hath not scented out somewhat of 
 the utility of this practice. I am convinced that awful magis- 
 
 30 trate my lord mayor contracts a good deal of that reverence 
 which attends him through the year, by the several pageants 
 which precede his pomp. Nay, I must confess, that even I 
 myself, who am not remarkably liable to be captivated with 
 
. CONTAINING FIVE PAGES OF PAPER 27 
 
 show, have yielded not a little to the impressions of much pre- 
 ceding state. When I have seen a man strutting in a procession, 
 after others whose business hath been only to walk before him, 
 I have conceived a higher notion of his dignity, than I have 
 felt on seeing him in a common situation. But there is one 5 
 instance which comes exactly up to my purpose. This is the cus- 
 tom of sending on a basket- woman, who is to precede the^pomp 
 at a coronation, and to strew the stage with flowers, before the , 
 great personages begin their procession. The antients would 
 certainly have invoked the goddess Floj^a for this purpose, and 10 
 it would have been no difficulty for their priests or politicians 
 to have persuaded the people of the real presence of the deity, 
 though a plain mortal had personated her, and performed her 
 office. But we have no such design of imposing on our reader, 
 and therefore those who object to the heathen theology, may, 15 
 if they please, change our goddess into the above-mentioned 
 basket-woman. Our intention, in short, is to introduce our 
 heroine with the utmost solemnity in our power, with an eleva- 
 tion of stile, and all other circumstances proper to raise the 
 veneration of our reader. Indeed we would, for certain causes, 20 
 advise those of our male readers who have any hearts, to read 
 no farther, were we not well assured, that how amiable soever 
 the picture of our heroine will appear, as it is really a copy 
 from nature, many of our fair countrywomen will be found 
 worthy to satisfy any passion, and to answer any idea of female 25 
 perfection, which our pencil will be able to raise. 
 
28 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 IX 
 
 OF THOSE WHO LAWFULLY MAY, AND OF THOSE 
 WHO MAY NOT WRITE SUCH HISTORIES AS 
 THIS 
 
 Among other good uses for which I have thought proper to 
 institute these several introductory chapters, I have considered 
 them as a kind of mark or stamp, which may hereafter enable 
 a very indifferent reader to distinguish, what is true and gen- 
 5 nine in this historic kind of writing, from what is false and 
 counterfeit. Indeed it seems likely that some such mark may 
 shortly become necessary, since the favourable reception which 
 two or three authors have lately procured for their works of this 
 nature from the public, will probably serve as an encourage- 
 
 lo ment to many others to undertake the like. Thus a swarm of 
 foolish novels, and monstrous romances will be produced, either 
 to the great impoverishing of booksellers, or to the great loss 
 of time, and depravation of morals in the reader ; nay, often 
 to the spreading of scandal and calumny, and to the prejudice 
 
 15 of the characters of many worthy arid honest people. 
 
 I question not but the ingenious author of the Spectator was 
 principally induced to prefix Greek and Latin mottos to every 
 paper from the same consideration of guarding against the pur- 
 suit of those scribblers, who, having no talents of a writer but 
 
 20 what is taught by the writing master, are yet nowise afraid nor 
 ashamed to assume the same titles with the greatest genius, than 
 their good brother in the fable was of braying in the lion's skin. 
 By the device therefore of his motto, it became impracti- 
 cable for any man to presume to imitate the Spectators, without 
 
 25 understanding at least one sentence in the learned languages. 
 In the same manner I have now secured myself from the imita- 
 tion of those who are utterly incapable of any degree of reflec- 
 tion, and whose learning is not equal to an essay. 
 
WHO MAY WRITE SUCH HISTORIES 29 
 
 I would not be here understood to insinuate, that the 
 greatest merit of such historical productions can ever lie in 
 these introductory chapters; but, in fact, those parts which 
 contain mere narrative only, afford much more encouragement 
 to the pen of an imitator, than those which are composed of 5 
 observation and reflection. Here I mean such imitators as 
 Rowe was of Shakspear, or as Horace hints some of the 
 Romans were of Cato, by bare feet and sour faces. 
 
 To invent good stories, and to tell them well, are possibly 
 very rare talents, and yet I have observed few persons who 10 
 have scrupled to aim at both ; and if we examine the romances 
 and novels with which the world abounds, I think we may 
 fairly conclude, that most of the authors would not have 
 attempted to shew their teeth (if the expression may be 
 allowed me) in any other way of writing; nor could indeed 15 
 have strung together a dozen sentences on any other subject 
 whatever. Scribimiis indocti doctiq ; passim,^ may be more 
 truly said of the historian and biographer, than of any other 
 species of writing : for all the arts and sciences (even criticism 
 itself) require some little degree of learning and knowledge. 20 
 Poetry indeed may perhaps be thought an exception ; but then 
 it demands numbers, or something like numbers ; whereas to 
 the composition of novels and romances, nothing is necessary 
 but paper, pens and ink, with the manual capacity of using 
 them. This, I conceive, their productions shew to be the 25 
 opinion of the authors themselves ; and this must be the 
 opinion of their readers, if indeed there be any such. 
 
 Hence we are to derive that universal contempt, which the 
 world, who always denominate the whole from the majority, have 
 cast on all historical writers, who do not draw their materials 30 
 
 * Each desperate blockhead dares to write, 
 
 Verse is the trade of every living wight. 
 
 Francis. 
 
30 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 from records. And it is the apprehension of this contempt, 
 that hath made us so cautiously avoid the term romance, a 
 name \v.ith which we might otherwise have been well enough 
 contented. Though as we have good authority for all our 
 5 characters, no less indeed than Doomsday Book, or the vast 
 authentic book of nature, as is elsewhere hinted, our labours 
 have sufficient title to the name of history. Certainly they 
 deserve some distinction from those works, which one of the 
 wittiest of men regarded only as proceeding from a pruritus, 
 
 lo or indeed rather from a looseness of the brain. 
 
 But besides the dishonour which is thus cast on one of the 
 most useful as well as entertaining of all kinds of writing, there 
 is just reason to apprehend, that by encouraging such authors, 
 we shall propagate much dishonour of another kind ; I mean 
 
 15 to the characters of many good and valuable members of 
 society : for the dullest writers, no more than the dullest com- 
 panions, are always inoffensive. They have both enough of 
 language to be indecent and abusive. And surely if the opinion 
 just above cited be true, we cannot wonder, that works so nas- 
 
 20 tily derived should be nasty themselves, or have a tendency to 
 make others so. 
 
 To prevent therefore for the future, such intemperate abuses 
 of leisure, of letters, and of the liberty of the press, especially 
 as the world seems at present to be more than usually threat- 
 
 25 ened with them, I shall here venture to mention some qualifi- 
 cations, every one of which are in a pretty high degree necessary 
 to this order of historians. 
 
 The first is genius, without a rich vein of which, no study, 
 says Horace, can avail us. By genius I would understand that 
 
 30 power, or rather those powers of the mind, which are capable 
 of penetrating into all things within our reach and knowledge, 
 and of distinguishing their essential differences. These are no 
 other than invention and judgment; and they are both called 
 
WHO MAY WRITE SUCH HISTORIES 31 
 
 by the collective name of genius, as they are of those gifts 
 of nature which we bring with us into the world. Concerning 
 each of which many seem to have fallen into very great errors : 
 for by invention, I believe, is generally understood a creative 
 faculty; which would indeed prove most romance writers to 5 
 have the highest pretentions to it; whereas by invention is 
 really meant no more, (and so the word signifies) than discov- 
 ery, or finding out; or to explain it at large, a quick and 
 sagacious penetration into the true essence of all the objects 
 of our contemplation. This, I think, can rarely exist without 10 
 the concomitancy of judgment : for how we can be said to 
 have discovered the true essence of two things, without dis- 
 cerning their difference, seems to me hard to conceive; now 
 this last is the undisputed province of judgment, and yet some . 
 few men of wit have agreed with all the dull fellows in the 15 
 world, in representing these two to have been seldom or never 
 the property of one and the same person. 
 
 But tho' they should be so, they are not sufficient for our 
 purpose without a good share of learning; for which I could 
 again cite the authority of Horace^ and of many others, if any 20 
 was necessary to prove that tools are of no service to a work- 
 man, when they are not sharpened by art, or when he wants 
 rules to direct him in his work, or hath no matter to work upon. 
 All these uses are supplied by learning : for nature can only 
 furnish us with capacity, or, as I have chosen to illustrate it, 25 
 with the tools of our profession ; learning must fit them for 
 use, must direct them in it; and lastly, must contribute part 
 at least, of the materials. A competent knowledge of history 
 and of the belles leftres, is here absolutely necessary ; and with- 
 out this share of knowledge at least, to affect the character of 30 
 a historian, is as vain as to endeat^our at building a house with- 
 out timber or mortar, or brick or stone. Homer and Milton^ 
 who, though they added the ornament of numbers to their 
 
32 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 works, were both historians of our order, and masters of all the 
 learning of their times. 
 
 Again, there is another sort of knowledge beyond the power 
 of learning to bestow, and this is to be had by conversation. 
 5 So necessary is this to the understanding the characters of 
 men, that none are more ignorant of them than those learned 
 pedants, whose lives have been entirely consumed in colleges, 
 and among books : for however exquisitely human nature may 
 have been described by writers, the true practical system can 
 
 lo only be learnt in the world. Indeed the like happens in every 
 
 other kind of knowledge. Neither physic, nor law, are to be 
 
 practically known from books. Nay, the farmer, the planter, 
 
 the gardener, must perfect by experience what he hath acquired 
 
 . the rudiments of by reading. How accurately soever the 
 
 15 ingenious Mr. Miller may have described the plant, he him- 
 self would advise his disciple to see it in the garden. As we 
 must perceive, that after the nicest strokes of a Shakespear^ 
 or a Johnso7i, of a Wycherly, or an Otway, some touches of 
 nature will escape the reader, which the judicious action of 
 
 20 a Gap'ick, of a Cibder, or a Clive* can convey to him ; so on 
 the real stage, the character shows himself in a stronger and 
 bolder light, than he can be described. And if this be the case 
 in those fine and nervous descriptions, which great authors 
 themselves have taken from life, how much more strongly will 
 
 25 it hold when the writer himself takes his lines not from nature, 
 but from books ! Such characters are only the faint copy of a 
 copy, and can have neither the justness nor spirit of an original. 
 
 * There is a peculiar propriety in mentioning this great actor, and 
 these two most justly celebrated actresses in this place; as they have 
 all formed themselves on the study of nature only ; and not on the imi- 
 tation of their predecessors. Hence they have been able to excel all 
 who have gone before them; a degree of merit which the servile herd 
 of imitators can never possibly arrive at. 
 
WHO MAY WRITE SUCH HISTORIES 33 
 
 Now this conversation in our historian must be universal, 
 that is, with all ranks and degrees of men : for the knowledge 
 of what is called high-life, will not instruct him in low, nor, 
 e co7iverso, will his being acquainted with the inferior part of 
 mankind, teach him the manners of the superior. And though 5 
 it may be thought that the knowledge of either may sufficiently 
 enable [him] to describe at least that in which he hath been con- 
 versant ; yet he will even here fall greatly short of perfection : 
 for the follies of either rank do in reality illustrate each other. 
 For instance, the affectation of high- life appears more glaring 10 
 and ridiculous from the simplicity of the low; and again the 
 rudeness and barbarity of this latter, strikes with much stronger 
 ideas of absurdity, when contrasted with, and opposed to the 
 politeness which controuls the former. Besides, to say the truth, . 
 the manners of our historian will be improved by both these 15 
 conversations : for in the one he will easily find examples of 
 plainness, honesty, and sincerity ; in the other of refinement, 
 elegance, and a liberality of spirit ; which last quality I myself 
 have scarce ever seen in men of low birth and education. 
 
 Nor will all the qualities I have hitherto given my historian 20 
 avail him, unless he have what is generally meant by a good 
 heart, and be capable of feeling. The author who will make 
 me weep, says Horace, must first weep himself. In reality, 
 no man can paint a distress well, which he doth not feel while 
 he is painting it ; nor do I doubt, but that the most pathetic 25 
 and affecting scenes have been writ with tears. In the same 
 manner it is with the ridiculous. I am convinced I never make 
 my reader laugh heartily, but where I have laughed before him, 
 unless it should happen at any time, that instead of laughing 
 with me, he should be inclined to laugh at me. Perhaps this 30 
 may have been the case at some passages in this chapter, from 
 which apprehension I will here put an end to it. 
 
34 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 X 
 
 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 com- 
 posing. Among these probably may be reckoned those initial 
 5 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 
 
 lo 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 to 
 be so essential to dramatick poetry? What critic hath ever 
 
 r 5 been 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 antient critic hath set to the drama, which he will have 
 
 2o 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 
 
 25 occasions, the world seems to have embraced a maxim of our 
 law, viz. cuicunq; in arte sua perito credenduin 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 
 
OF THE SERIOUS IN WRITING 35 
 
 or science without the least foundation. In such cases, there- 
 fore, we are apt to conclude there are sound and good reasons 
 at the bottom, tho' 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 pro- 5 
 fundity 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 10 
 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 15 
 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 mas- 
 ter. The laws of writing were no longer founded on the prac- 20 
 tice 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 25 
 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 30 
 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 
 
36 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 not the least foundation in truth or nature ; and which com- 
 monly 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, 
 5 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 
 
 lo shall here waive 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 
 
 15 of knowledge, which, if it hath been discovered, hath not, to 
 our remembrance, been wrought on by any antient or modern 
 writer. This vein is no other than that of contrast, which runs 
 through all the works of creation, and may probably have a 
 large share in constituting in us the idea of all beauty, as well 
 
 20 natural as artificial : for what demonstrates the beauty and 
 excellence of any thing, but its reverse? Thus the beauty of 
 day, and that of summer, is set off by the horrors of night and 
 winter. And I believe, if it was possible for a man to have seen 
 only the two former, he would have a very imperfect idea of 
 
 25 their beauty. 
 
 But to avoid too serious an air : can it be doubted, but that 
 the finest woman in the world would lose all benefit of her 
 charms, in the eyes of a man who had never seen one of 
 another cast ? The ladies themselves seem so sensible of this, 
 
 30 that they are all industrious to procure foils; nay, they will 
 become foils to themselves ; for I have observed, (at Bath par- 
 ticularly,) that they endeavour to appear as ugly as possible in 
 the morning, in order to set off that beauty which they intend 
 
OF THE SERIOUS IN WRITING 37 
 
 to shew you in the evening. Most artists have this secret in 
 practice, tho' some, perhaps, have not much studied the theory. 
 The jeweller knows that the finest brilHant requires a foil ; and 
 the painter, by the contrast of his figures, often acquires great 
 applause. 5 
 
 A great genius among us, will illustrate this matter fully. I 
 cannot, indeed, range him under any general head of common 
 artists, as he hath a title to be placed among those 
 
 Inventas^ qui vitam excoluere per artes. 
 
 Who by invented arts have life improv'd. 10 
 
 I mean here the inventor of that most exquisite entertainment, 
 called the English pantomime. 
 
 This entertainment consisted of two parts, which the inventor 
 distinguished by the names of the serious and the comic. The 
 serious exhibited a certain number of heathen gods and heroes, 1 5 
 who were certainly the worst and dullest company into which 
 an audience was ever introduced ; and (which was a secret 
 known to few) were actually intended so to be, in order to 
 contrast the comic part of the entertainment, and to display the 
 tricks of Harlequin to the better advantage. This was, perhaps, 20 
 no very civil use of such personages ; but the contrivance was, 
 nevertheless, ingenious enough, and had its effect. And this 
 will now plainly appear, if instead of serious and comic, we sup- 
 ply the words duller and dullest; for the comic was certainly 
 duller than anything before shewn on the stage, and could 25 
 only be set off by that superlative degree of dulness, which 
 composed the serious. So intolerably serious, indeed, were 
 these gods and heroes, that Harlequin (tho' the English gentle- 
 man of that name is not at all related to the French family, 
 for he is of a much more serious disposition) was always wel- 30 
 come on the stage, as he relieved the audience from worse 
 company. 
 
38 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Judicious writers have always practised this art of contrast, 
 with great success. I have been surprised that Horace should 
 cavil at this art in Homer; but indeed he contradicts himself 
 in the very next line. 
 
 5 Indignor quattdoque bonus dortnitat Homerus, 
 
 Verum operi id in lo7igo fas est obripere soninum. 
 
 1 grieve if e'er great Hoitier chance to sleep, 
 Yet slumbers on long works have right to creep. 
 
 For we are not here to understand, as, perhaps, some have, 
 lo that an author actually falls asleep while he is writing. It is 
 true that readers are too apt to be so overtaken ; but if the 
 work was as long as any of O/d/nixon, the author himself is too 
 well entertained to be subject to the least drowsiness. He is, 
 as Mr. Pope observes, 
 
 1 5 Sleepless hijnself to give his readers sleep. 
 
 To say the truth, these soporific parts are so many scenes of 
 serious artfully interwoven, in order to contrast and set off the 
 rest ; and this is the true meaning of a late facetious writer, 
 who told the public, that whenever he was dull, they might be 
 
 20 assured there was a design in it. 
 
 In this light then, or rather in this darkness, I would have the 
 reader to consider these initial essays. And after this warning, 
 if he shall be of opinion, that he can find enough of serious in 
 other parts of this history, he may pass over these, in which 
 
 25 we profess to be laboriously dull, and begin the following books, 
 at the second chapter. 
 
INSTRUCTIONS TO CRITICS 39 
 
 XI 
 
 CONTAINING INSTRUCTIONS VERY NECESSARY 
 TO BE PERUSED BY MODERN CRITICS 
 
 Reader, it is impossible we should know what sort of person 
 thou wilt be : for, perhaps, thou may'st be as learned in human 
 nature as Shakespear himself was, and, perhaps, thou may'st 
 be no wiser than some of his editors. Now lest this latter 
 should be the case, we think proper, before we go any farther 5 
 together, to give thee a few wholesome admonitions ; that thou 
 may'st not as grossly misunderstand and misrepresent us, as 
 some of the said editors have misunderstood and misrepre- 
 sented their author. 
 
 First, then, we warn thee not too hastily to condemn any of 10 
 the incidents in this our history, as impertinent and foreign to 
 our main design, because thou dost not immediately conceive 
 in what manner such incident may conduce to that design. 
 This work may, indeed, be considered as a great creation of 
 our own ; and for a little reptile of a critic to presume to find 1 5 
 fault with any of its parts, without knowing the manner in 
 which the whole is connected, and before he comes to the final 
 catastrophe, is a most presumptuous absurdity. The allusion 
 and metaphor we have here made use of, we must acknowledge 
 to be infinitely too great for our occasion, but there is, indeed, 20 
 no other, which is at all adequate to express the difference 
 between an author of the first rate, and a critic of the lowest. 
 
 Another caution we would give thee, my good reptile, is, 
 that thou dost not find out too near a resemblance between 
 certain characters here introduced ; as for instance, between 25 
 the landlady who appears in the seventh book, and her in the 
 ninth. Thou art to know, friend, that there are certain char- 
 acteristics, in which most individuals of every profession and 
 
40 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 occupation agree. To be able to preserve these characteristics, 
 and at the same time to diversify their operations, is one talent 
 of a good writer. Again, to mark the nice distinction between 
 two persons actuated by the same vice or folly is another ; and 
 5 as this last talent is found in very few writers, so is the true 
 discernment of it found in as few readers ; though, I believe, 
 the observation of this forms a very principal pleasure in those 
 who are capable of the discovery : every person, for instance, 
 can distinguish between Sir Epicure Mammon, and Sir Fopling 
 
 10 Flutter ; but to note the difference between Sir Fopling Flutter 
 and Sir Courtly Nice, requires a most exquisite judgment : for 
 want of which, vulgar spectators of plays very often do great 
 injustice in the theatre ; where I have sometimes known a 
 poet in danger of being convicted as a thief, upon much worse 
 
 15 evidence than the resemblance of hands hath been held to be 
 in the law. In reality, I apprehend every amorous widow on 
 the stage would run the hazard of being condemned as a ser- 
 vile imitation of Dido, but that happily very few of our play- 
 house critics understand enough of Latin to read Vii'gil. 
 
 20 In the next place, we must admonish thee, my worthy 
 friend, (for, perhaps, thy heart may be better than thy head) 
 not to condemn a character as a bad one, because it is not 
 perfectly a good one. If thou dost delight in these models of 
 perfection, there are books enow written to gratify thy taste ; 
 
 25 but as we have not, in the course of our conversation, ever 
 happened to meet with any such person, we have not chosen 
 to introduce any such here. To say the truth, I as little ques- 
 tion whether mere man ever arrived at this consummate 
 degree of excellence, as well as whether there hath ever 
 
 30 existed a monster bad enough to verify that 
 
 nulla "virtute redemptutn 
 
 A vitiis — * 
 * Whose vices are not allayed with a single virtue. 
 
INSTRUCTIONS TO CRITICS 41 
 
 in Juvenal: nor do I, indeed, conceive the good purposes 
 served by inserting characters of such angelic perfection, or 
 such diabolical depravity, in any work of invention : since 
 from contemplating either, the mind of man is more likely to 
 be overwhelmed with sorrow and shame, than to draw any 5 
 good uses from such patterns ; for in the former instance he 
 may be both concerned and ashamed to see a pattern of 
 excellence, in his nature, which he may reasonably despair of 
 ever arriving at; and in contemplating the latter, he may be 
 no less affected with those uneasy sensations, at seeing the 10 
 nature, of which he is a partaker, degraded into so odious and 
 detestable a creature. 
 
 In fact, if there be enough of goodness in a character to 
 engage the admiration and affection of a well-disposed mind, 
 though there should appear some of those little blemishes, 15 
 quas humana paruni cavit natura^ they will raise our compas- 
 sion rather than our abhorrence. Indeed, nothing can be of 
 more moral use than the imperfections which are seen in 
 examples of this kind ; since such form a kind of surprize, 
 more apt to affect and dwell upon our minds, than the faults 20 
 of very vicious and wicked persons. The foibles and vices of 
 men in whom there is great mixture of good, become more 
 glaring objects, from the virtues which contrast them, and 
 show their deformity; and when we find such vices attended 
 with their evil consequence to our favourite characters, we are 25 
 not only taught to shun them for our own sake, but to hate 
 them for the mischiefs they have already brought on those we 
 love. 
 
 And now, my friend, having given you these few admoni- 
 tions, we will, if you please, once more set forward with our 30 
 history. 
 
42 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 XII 
 A CRUST FOR THE CRITICS 
 
 In our last initial chapter, we may be supposed to have 
 treated that formidable set of men, who are called critics, with 
 more freedom than becomes us ; since they exact, and indeed 
 generally receive, great condescension from authors. We shall 
 5 in this, therefore, give the reasons of our conduct to this 
 august body ; and here we shall perhaps place them in a 
 light, in which they have not hitherto been seen. 
 
 This word critic is of Greek derivation, and signifies judg- 
 ment. Hence I presume some persons who have not under- 
 
 10 stood the original, and have seen the English translation of 
 the primitive, have concluded that it meant judgment in the 
 legal sense, in which it is frequently used as equivalent to 
 condemnation. 
 
 I am the rather inclined to be of that opinion, as the great- 
 
 15 est number of critics hath of late years been found among 
 the lawyers. Many of these gentlemen," from despair, perhaps, 
 of ever rising to the bench in Westminster-hall, have placed 
 themselves on the benches at the play house, where they have 
 exerted their judicial capacity, and have given judgment, i.e. 
 
 20 condemned without mercy. 
 
 The gentlemen would perhaps be well enough pleased, if we 
 were to leave them thus compared to one of the most impor- 
 tant and honourable offices in the commonwealth, and if we 
 intended to apply to their favour we would do so ; but as 
 
 25 we design to deal very sincerely and plainly too with them, we 
 must remind them of another officer of justice of a much 
 lower rank ; to whom, as they not only pronounce, but 
 execute their own judgment, they bear Hkewise some remote 
 resemblance. 
 
A CRUST FOR THE CRITICS 43 
 
 But in reality there is another light in which these modern 
 critics may with great justice and propriety be seen; and 
 this is that of a common slanderer. If a person who prys 
 into the characters of others, with no other design but to 
 discover their faults, and to publish them to the world, 5 
 deserves the title of a slanderer of the reputation of men ; 
 why should not a critic, who reads with the same malevolent 
 view, be as properly styled the slanderer of the reputation 
 of books? 
 
 Vice hath not, I believe, a more abject slave ; society pro- 10 
 duces not a more odious vermin ; nor can the devil receive a 
 guest more worthy of him, nor possibly more welcome to him, 
 than a slanderer. The world, I am afraid, regards not this 
 monster with half the abhorrence which he deserves, and I am 
 more afraid to assign the reason of this criminal lenity shown 15 
 towards him ; yet it is certain that the thief looks innocent 
 in the comparison ; nay, ^the murderer himself can seldom 
 stand in competition with his guilt : for slander is a more 
 cruel weapon than a sword, as the wounds which the former 
 gives are always incurable. One method, indeed, there is 20 
 of killing, and that the basest and most execrable of all, 
 which bears an exact analogy to the vice here disclaimed 
 against, and that is poison. A means of revenge so base, 
 and yet so horrible, that it was once wisely distinguished by 
 our laws from all other murders, in the peculiar severity of 25 
 the punishment. 
 
 Besides the dreadful mischiefs done by slander, and the 
 baseness of the means by which this is effected, there are 
 other circumstances that highly aggravate its atrocious quality : 
 for it often proceeds from no provocation, and seldom promises 30 
 itself any reward, unless some black and infernal mind may 
 propose a reward in the thoughts of having procured the ruin 
 and misery of another. 
 
44 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Shakespear hath nobly touched this vice, when he says, 
 
 Who steals my cash steals trash, V is somethmg, nothing; 
 ''Twas mine, "'tis his, and hath been slave, to thousands : 
 But he that filches from, me my good name^ 
 5 Robs me of that which not enriches him, 
 But makes me poor indeed. 
 
 With all this my good reader will doubtless agree ; but 
 much of it will probably seem too severe, when applied to the 
 slanderer of books. But let it here be considered, that both 
 
 lo proceed from the same wicked disposition" of mind, and are 
 alike void of the excuse of temptation. Nor shall we conclude 
 the injury done this way to be very slight, when we consider a 
 book as the author's offspring, and indeed as the child of his 
 brain. 
 
 1 5 The reader who hath suffered his muse to continue hitherto 
 in a virgin state, can have but a very inadequate idea of this 
 kind of paternal fondness. To such we may parody the tender 
 exclamation of Macduff, Alas f thou hast written no book. 
 But the author whose muse hath brought forth, will feel the 
 
 2o pathetic strain, perhaps will accompany me with tears (espe- 
 cially if his darling be already no more) while I mention the 
 uneasiness with which the big muse bears about her burden, 
 the painful labour with which she produces it, and lastly, the 
 care, the fondness, with which the tender father nourishes his 
 
 25 favourite, till it be brought to maturity, and produced into the 
 " world. 
 
 Nor is there any paternal fondness which seems less to 
 savour of absolute instinct, and which may so well be recon- 
 ciled to worldly wisdom as this. These children may most 
 
 30 truly be called the riches of their father ; and many of them 
 have with true filial piety fed their parent in his old age ; so 
 that not only the affection, but the interest of the author riiay 
 
A CRUST FOR THE CRITICS 45 
 
 be highly injured by these slanderers, whose poisonous breath 
 brings his book to an untimely end. 
 
 Lastly, the slander of a book is, in truth, the slander of the 
 author : for, as no one can call another bastard, without calling 
 the mother a whore, so neither can any one give the names of 5 
 sad stuff, horrid nonsense, &c. to a book, without calling the 
 author a blockhead ; which tho' in a moral sense it is a pref- 
 erable appellation to that, of villain, is perhaps rather more 
 injiirious to his worldly interest. 
 
 Now however ludicrous all this may appear to some, others, 10 
 I doubt not, will feel and acknowledge the truth of it; nay, 
 may, perhaps, think I have not treated the subject with 
 decent solemnity ; but surely a man may speak truth with a 
 smiling countenance. In reality, to depreciate a book mali- 
 ciously, or even wantonly, is at least a very ill-natured office ; 1 5 
 and a morose snarling critic, may, I believe, be suspected to 
 be a bad man. 
 
 I will therefore endeavour in the remaining part of this chap- 
 ter, to explain the marks of this character, and to shew what 
 criticism I here intend to obviate : for I can never be under- 20 
 stood, unless by the very persons here meant, to insinuate, 
 that there are no proper judges of writing, or to endeavour 
 to exclude from the commonwealth of literature any of those 
 noble critics, to whose labours the learned world are so greatly 
 indebted. Such were Aristotle^ Hoi-ace^ and Longinus among 25 
 the ancients, Dacier and Bossu among the French, and some 
 perhaps among us ; who have certainly been duly authorised 
 to execute at least a judicial authority in foro literario. 
 
 But without ascertaining all the proper qualifications of a 
 critic, which I have touched on elsewhere, I think I may very 30 
 boldly object to the censures of any one past upon works which 
 he hath not himself read. Such censurers as these, whether 
 they speak from their own guess or suspicion, or from the 
 
46 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 report and opinion of others, may properly be said to slander 
 the reputation of the book they condemn. 
 
 Such may likewise be suspected of deserving this character, 
 
 who, without assigning any particular faults, condemn the whole 
 
 5 in general defamatory terms ; such as vile, dull, da — d stuff, 
 
 &c. and particularly by the use of the monosyllable low ; a 
 
 word which becomes mouth of no critic who is not right 
 
 HONOURABLE. 
 
 Again, tho' there may be some faults justly assigned in the 
 10 work, yet if those are not in the most essential parts, or if they 
 are compensated by greater beauties, it will savour rather of 
 the malice of a slanderer, than of the judgment of a true 
 critic, to pass a severe sentence upon the whole, merely on 
 account of some vicious part. This is directly contrary to the 
 r5 sentiments of Horace. 
 
 Verum ubi phn^a nitent i?i carmine nan ego paucis 
 Offendor 7naculis, quas aut inciiria fudit, 
 Aut hutnana panim cavit natura 
 
 But where the beauties, more in number, shine, 
 20 I am not angry, when a casual line 
 
 (That with some trivial faults unequal flows) 
 A careless hand, or human frailty shows. 
 
 Mr. Francis. 
 
 For as Martial says, aliter, non fit, avite, liber. No book 
 can be otherwise composed. All beauty of character, as well 
 
 25 as of countenance, and indeed of every thing human, is to be 
 tried in this manner. Cruel indeed would it be if such a work 
 as this history, which hath employed some thousands of hours 
 in the composing, should be liable to be condemned, because 
 some particular chapter, or perhaps chapters, may be obnox- 
 
 30 ious to very just and sensible objections. And yet nothing 
 is more common than the most rigorous sentence upon books 
 
CONCERNING THE MARVELLOUS 47 
 
 supported by such objections, which if they were rightly taken 
 (and that they are not always) do by no means go to the merit 
 of the whole. In the theatre especially, a single expression 
 which doth not coincide with the taste of the audience, or with 
 any individual critic of that audience, is sure to be hissed; 5 
 and one scene which should be disapproved, would hazard the 
 whole piece. To write within such severe rules as these, is as 
 impossible, as to live up to some splenetic opinions ; and if 
 we judge according to the sentiments- of some critics, and of 
 some Christians, no author will be saved in this world, and no 10 
 man in the next. 
 
 XIII 
 
 A WONDERFUL LONG CHAPTER CONCERNING 
 THE MARVELLOUS 
 
 As we are now entering upon a book, in which the course 
 of our history will oblige us to relate some matters of a more 
 strange and surprizing kind than any which have hitherto 
 occurred, it may not be amiss in the prolegomenous, or intro- 15 
 ductory chapter, to say something of that species of writing 
 which is called the marvellous. To this we shall, as well for 
 the sake of ourselves, as of others, endeavour to set some cer- 
 tain bounds; and indeed nothing can be more necessary, as 
 criticks * of different complexions are here apt to run into very 20 
 different extremes ; for while some are, with M. Daciei-, ready 
 to allow, that the same thing which is impossible may be yet 
 probable,! others have so little historic or poetic faith, that 
 they believe nothing to be either possible or probable, the like 
 to which hath not occurred to their own observation. 25 
 
 * By this word here, and in most other parts of our work, we mean 
 every reader in the world. 
 
 t It is happy for M. Dacier that he was not an Irishman. 
 
48 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 First then, I think, it may very reasonably be required of 
 every writer, that he keeps within the bounds of possibiHty ; 
 and still remembers that what it is not possible for man to 
 perform, it is scarce possible for man to believe he did per- 
 5 form. This conviction, perhaps, gave birth to many stories of 
 the antient heathen deities (for most of them are of poetical 
 original). The poet, being desirous to indulge a wanton and 
 extravagant imagination, took refuge in that power, of the 
 extent of which his readers were no judges, or rather which 
 
 10 they imagined to be infinite, and consequently they could not 
 be shocked at any prodigies related of it. This hath been 
 strongly urged in defence of Homer's miracles ; and it is, per- 
 haps, a defence ; not, as Mr. Pope would have it, because 
 Ulysses told a set of foolish lies to the PhcBacians, who were 
 
 15 a very dull nation; but because the poet himself wrote to 
 Heathens, to whom poetical fables were articles of faith. For 
 my own part, I must confess, so compassionate is my temper, 
 I wish Polypheme had confined himself to his milk diet, and 
 preserved his eye ; nor could Ulysses be much more concerned 
 
 20 than myself, when his companions were turned into swine by 
 C/r<r^, who shewed, I think, afterwards, too much regard for man's 
 flesh to be supposed capable of converting it into bacon. I 
 wish, likewise, with all my heart, that Homer could have known 
 the rule prescribed by Hoi^ace to introduce supernatural agents 
 
 25 as seldom as possible. We should not then have seen his gods 
 coming on trivial errands, and often behaving themselves so 
 as not only to forfeit all title to respect, but to become the 
 objects of scorn and derision. A conduct which must have 
 shocked the credulity of a pious and sagacious Heathen ; and 
 
 30 which could never have been defended, unless by agreeing with 
 a supposition to which I have been sometimes almost inclined, 
 that this most glorious poet, as he certainly was, had an intent 
 to burlesque the superstitious faith of his own age and country. 
 
CONCERNING THE MARVELLOUS 49 
 
 But I have rested too long on a doctrine which can be of 
 no use to a Christian writer : for as he cannot introduce into 
 his works any of that heavenly host which make a part of his 
 creed ; so is it horrid puerility to search the heathen theology 
 for any of those deities who have been long since dethroned 5 
 from their immortality. Lord Shaftesbury observes, that nothing 
 is more cold than the invocation of a muse by a modern ; he 
 might have added that nothing can be more absurd. A mod- 
 ern may with much more elegance invoke a ballad, as some 
 have thought Homer did, or a mug of ale with the author of 10 
 Hudibras ; which latter may perhaps have inspired much more 
 poetry as well as prose, than all the liquors of Hippocrene or 
 Helicon. 
 
 The only supernatural agents which can in any manner be 
 allowed to us moderns are ghosts ; but of these I would advise 15 
 an author to be extremely sparing. These are indeed like 
 arsenic, and other dangerous drugs in physic, to be used with 
 the utmost caution ; nor would I advise the introduction of 
 them at all in those works, or by those authors to which, or 
 to whom a horse-laugh in the reader, would be any great 20 
 prejudice or mortification. 
 
 As for elves and fairies, and other such mummery, I pur- 
 posely omit the mention of them, as I should be very unwilling 
 to confine within any bounds those surprizing imaginations, 
 for whose vast capacity the limits of human nature are too 25 
 narrow ; whose works are to be considered as a new creation ; 
 and who have consequently just right to do what they will 
 with their own. 
 
 Man therefore is the highest subject (unless on very extraor- 
 dinary occasions indeed) which presents itself to the pen of 30 
 our historian, or of our poet ; and, in relating his actions, great 
 care is to be taken, that we do not exceed the capacity of the 
 agent we describe. 
 
50 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Nor is possibility alone sufficient to justify us, we must keep 
 likewise within the rules of probability. It is, I think, the 
 opinion of Aristotle ; or if not, it is the opinion of some wise 
 man, whose authority will be as weighty when it is as old ; 
 5 " that it is no excuse for a poet who relates what is incredible, 
 that the thing related is really matter of fact." This may per- 
 haps be allowed true with regard to poetry, but it may be 
 thought impracticable to extend it to the historian : for he 
 is obliged to record matters as he finds them ; though they 
 
 lo may be of so extraordinary a nature, as will require no small 
 degree of historical faith to swallow them. Such was the suc- 
 cessless armament of Xerxes, described by Hei-odotus, or the 
 successful expedition of Alexander related by Arrian. Such 
 of later years was the victory of Agincourt obtained by Har7'y 
 
 15 the Fifth, or that oi Narva, won by Charles the Twelfth of 
 Sweden. All which instances, the more we reflect on them, 
 appear still the more astonishing. 
 
 Such facts, however, as they occur in the thread of the story ; 
 nay, indeed, as they constitute the essential parts of it, the his- 
 
 20 torian is not only justifiable in recording as they really hap- 
 pened ; but indeed would be unpardonable, should he omit or 
 alter them. But there are other facts not of such consequence 
 nor so necessary, which tho' ever so well attested, may never- 
 theless be sacrificed to oblivion in complaisance to the scepticism 
 
 25 of a reader. Such is that memorable story of the ghost of 
 George Villiers, which might with more propriety have been 
 made a present of to Dr. Drelincoiirt, to have kept the ghost 
 of Mrs. Veale company, at the head of his Discourse upon 
 Death, than have been introduced into so solemn a work as 
 
 30 the History of the Rebellion. 
 
 To say the truth, if the historian will confine himself to what 
 really happened, and utterly reject any circumstance, which, 
 tho' never so well attested, he must be well assured is false, 
 
CONCERNING THE MARVELLOUS 51 
 
 he will sometimes fall into the marvellous, but never into the 
 incredible. He will often raise the wonder and surprize of his 
 reader, but never that incredulous hatred mentioned by Horace. 
 It is by falling into fiction therefore, that we generally offend 
 against this rule, of deserting probability, which the historian 5 
 seldom if ever quits, till he forsakes his character, and com- 
 mences a writer of romance. In this, however, those histori- 
 ans, who relate publick transactions, have the advantage of us 
 who confine ourselves to scenes of private life. The credit of 
 the former is by common notoriety supported for a long time ; 10 
 and public records, with the concurrent testimony of many 
 authors bear evidence to their truth in future ages. Thus a 
 Trajan and an Antoninus, a Nero and a Caligula, have all 
 met with the belief of posterity ; and no one doubts but that 
 men so very good, and so very bad, were once the masters of 15 
 mankind. 
 
 But we who deal in private characters, who search into the 
 most retired recesses, and draw forth examples of virtue and 
 vice, from holes and corners of the world, are in a more danger- 
 ous situation. As we have no pubHc notoriety, no concurrent 20 
 testimony, no records to support and corroborate what we 
 deHver, it becomes us not only to keep within the limits of 
 possibiHty, but of probability too ; and this more especially in 
 painting what is greatly good and amiable. Knavery and folly, 
 though never so exorbitant, will more easily meet with assent : 25 
 for ill-nature adds great support and strength to faith. 
 
 Thus we may, perhaps, with little danger, relate the history 
 of a Fisher ; who having long owed his bread to the generosity 
 of Mr. Derby, and having one morning received a consider- 
 able bounty from his hands, in order to possess himself of what 30 
 remained in his friend's scrutoire, concealed' himself in a pub- 
 lic office of the Temple, through which there was a passage 
 into Mr. Derby's chambers. Here he overheard Mr. Derby for 
 
52 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 many hours solacing himself at an entertainment which he that 
 evening gave his friends, and to which Fisher had been invited. 
 During all this time, no tender, no grateful reflections arose to 
 restrain his purpose; but when the poor gentleman had let his 
 
 5 company out through the office, Fisher came suddenly from 
 his lurking-place, and walking softly behind his friend into his 
 chamber, discharged a pistol-ball into his head. This may be 
 believed, when the bones of Fisher are as rotten as his heart. 
 Nay, perhaps, it will be credited, that the villain went two days 
 
 lo afterwards with some young ladies to the play of Hamlet ; and 
 with an unaltered countenance heard one of the ladies, who 
 little suspected how near she was to the person, cry out, Good 
 God ! if the man that murdered Mr. Derby was now present ! 
 Manifesting in this a more seared and callous conscience than 
 
 15 even Nero himself; of whom we are told by Suetonius^ " that 
 the consciousness of his guilt after the death of his mother 
 became immediately intolerable, and so continued; nor could 
 all the congratulations of the soldiers, of the senate, and the 
 people, allay the horrors of his conscience." 
 
 20 But now, on the other hand, should I tell my reader, that I 
 had known a man whose penetrating genius had enabled him 
 to raise a large fortune in a way where no beginning was 
 chaulked out to him : that he had done this with the most 
 perfect preservation of his integrity, and not only without the 
 
 25 least injustice or injury to any one individual person, but with 
 the highest advantage to trade, and a vast increase of the pub- 
 lic revenue : that he had expended one part of the income of 
 this fortune in discovering a taste superior to most, by works 
 where the highest dignity was united with the purest simplicity, 
 
 30 and another part in displaying a degree of goodness superior 
 to all men, by acts of charity to objects whose only recommen- 
 dations were their merits, or their wants : that he was most 
 industrious in searching after merit in distress, most eager to 
 relieve it, and then as careful (perhaps too careful) to conceal 
 
CONCERNING THE MARVELLOUS 53 
 
 what he had done : that his house, his furniture, his gardens, 
 his table, his private hospitahty, and his pubHc beneficence all 
 denoted the mind from which they flowed, and were all intrin- 
 sically rich and noble, without tinsel, or external ostentation : 
 that he filled every relation in life with the most adequate 5 
 virtue : that he was most piously religious to his Creator, most 
 zealously loyal to his sovereign; a most tender husband to his 
 wife, a kind relation, a munificent patron, a warm and firm 
 friend, a knowing and a cheerful companion, indulgent to his 
 servants, hospitable to his neighbours, charitable to the poor, 10 
 and benevolent to all mankind. Should I add to these the epi- 
 thets of wise, brave, elegant, and indeed every other amiable 
 epithet in our language, I might surely say, 
 
 Quis credit? nemo Her cule ! nemoj 
 
 Vel dtco, vel nejno. ic 
 
 And yet I know a man who is all I have here described. But 
 a single instance (and I really know not such another) is not 
 sufficient to justify us, while we are writing to thousands who 
 never heard of the person, nor of any thing like him. Such 
 rarcB aves should be remitted to the epitaph-writer, or to some 20 
 poet, who may condescend to hitch him in a distich, or to slide 
 him into a rhime with an air of carelessness and neglect, with- 
 out giving any offence to the reader. 
 
 In the last place, the actions should be such as may not only 
 be within the compass of human agency, and which human 25 
 agents may probably be supposed to do ; but they should be 
 likely for the very actors and characters themselves to have 
 performed : for what may be only wonderful and surprizing in 
 one man, may become improbable, or indeed impossible, when 
 related of another. 30 
 
 This last requisite is what the dramatic critics call conser- 
 vation of character, and it requires a very extraordinary degree 
 of judgment, and a most exact knowledge of human nature. 
 
54 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 It is admirably remarked by a most excellent writer, that 
 zeal can no more hurry a man to act in direct opposition to 
 itself, than a rapid stream can carry a boat against its own 
 current. I will venture to say, that for a man to act in direct 
 
 5 contradiction to the dictates of nature, is, if not impossible, 
 as improbable and as miraculous as any thing which can well 
 be conceived. Should the best parts of the story of M. Anto- 
 ninus be ascribed to Nero, or should the worst incidents of 
 Nero^s life be imputed to Afttoninus, what would be more 
 
 lo shocking to belief than either instance ; whereas both these 
 being related of their proper agent, constitute the truly 
 marvellous. 
 
 Our modern authors of comedy have fallen almost univer- 
 sally into the error here hinted at : their heroes generally are 
 
 15 notorious rogues, and their heroines abandoned jades, during 
 the first four acts ; but in the fifth, the former become very 
 worthy gentlemen, and the latter, women of virtue and dis- 
 cretion : nor is the writer often so kind as to give himself 
 the least trouble, to reconcile or account for this monstrous 
 
 20 change and incongruity. There is, indeed, no other reason to 
 be assigned for it, than because the play is drawing to a con- 
 clusion ; as if it was no less natural in a rogue to repent in 
 the last act of a play, than in the last of his life ; which we 
 perceive to be generally the case at Tyburn, a place which 
 
 25 might, indeed, close the scene of some comedies with much 
 
 propriety, as the heroes in these are most commonly eminent 
 
 for those very talents which not only bring men to the gallows, 
 
 but enable them to make an heroic figure when they are there. 
 
 Within these few restrictions, I think, every writer may be 
 
 30 permitted to deal as much in the wonderful as he pleases; 
 nay, the more he can surprize the reader, if he thus keeps 
 within the rules of credibility, the more he will engage his 
 attention, and the more he will charm him. As a genius of 
 
PLAGIARISM IN A MODERN AUTHOR 55 
 
 the highest rank observes in his 5th chapter of the Bathos, 
 " The great art of all poetry is to mix truth with fiction ; in • 
 order to join the credible with the surprizing." 
 
 For though every good author will confine himself within 
 the bounds of probability, it is by no means necessary that his 5 
 characters, or his incidents, should be trite, common, or vul- 
 gar ; such as happen in every street, or in every house, or 
 which may be met with in the home articles of a news-paper. 
 Nor must he be inhibited from shewing many persons and 
 things, which may possibly have never fallen within the knowl- 10 
 edge of great part of his readers. If the writer strictly 
 observes the rules above-mentioned, he hath discharged his 
 part ; and is then intitled to some faith from his reader, who 
 is indeed guilty of critical infidelity if he disbelieves him. For 
 want of a portion of such faith, I remember the character of a 15 
 young lady of quality, which was condemned on the stage for 
 being unnatural, by the unanimous voice of a very large assem- 
 bly of clerks and apprentices ; tho' it had the previous suf- 
 frages of many ladies of the first rank ; one of whom very 
 eminent for her understanding, declared it was the picture of 20 
 half the young people of her acquaintance. 
 
 XIV 
 
 SHEWING WHAT IS TO BE DEEMED PLAGIARISM 
 IN A MODERN AUTHOR AND ' WHAT IS TO 
 BE CONSIDERED AS LAWFUL PRIZE 
 
 The learned reader must have observed, that in the course 
 of this mighty work, I have often translated passages out of 
 the best antient authors, without quoting the original, or with- 
 out taking the least notice of the book from whence they were 25 
 borrowed. 
 
56 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 This conduct in writing is placed in a very proper light by 
 the ingenious Abbe Bannier, in his Preface to his Mythology, 
 a work of great erudition, and of equal judgment. " It will be 
 easy," says he, " for the reader to observe, that I have fre- 
 
 5 quently had greater regard to him, than to my own reputation : 
 for an author certainly pays him a considerable compliment, 
 when, for his sake, he suppresses learned quotations that come 
 in his way, and which would have cost him but the bare trouble 
 of translating." 
 
 lo To fill up a work with these scraps may indeed be consid- 
 ered as a downright cheat upon the learned world, who are by 
 such means imposed upon to buy a second time in fragments 
 and by retail what they have already in gross, if not in their 
 memories, upon their shelves ; and it is still more cruel upon 
 
 15 the illiterate, who are drawn in to pay for what is of no man- 
 ner of use to them. A writer who intermixes great quantity of 
 Greek and Latin with his works, deals by the ladies and fine 
 gentlemen in the same paultry manner with which they are 
 treated by the auctioneers, who often endeavour so to con- 
 
 20 found and mix up their lots, that, in order to purchase what 
 you want, you are obliged at the same time to purchase that 
 which will do you no service. 
 
 And yet as there is no conduct so fair and disinterested, but 
 that it may be misunderstood by ignorance, and misrepresented 
 
 25 by malice, I have been sometimes tempted to preserve my own 
 reputation, at the expense of my reader, and to transcribe the 
 original, or at least to quote chapter and verse, whenever 1 
 have made use either of the thought or expression of another. 
 I am indeed in some doubt that I have often suffered by the 
 
 30 contrary method ; and that by suppressing the original author's 
 name, I have been rather suspected of plagiarism, than reputed 
 to act from the amiable motive above-assigned by that justly 
 celebrated Frenchman. 
 
PLAGIARISM IN A MODERN AUTHOR 57 
 
 Now to obviate all such imputations for the future, I do 
 here confess and justify the fact. The antients may be con- 
 sidered as a rich common, where every person who hath the 
 smallest tenement in Parnassus hath a free right to fatten his 
 muse. Or, to place it in a clearer light, we moderns are to 5 
 the antients what the poor are to the rich. By the poor here 
 I mean, that large and venerable body which, in Enghsh, 
 we call the mob. Now, whoever hath had the honour to be 
 admitted to any degree of intimacy with this mob, must well 
 know that it is one of their established maxims, to plunder 10 
 and pillage their rich neighbours without any reluctance ; and 
 that this is held to be neither sin nor crime among them. 
 And so constantly do they abide and act by this maxim, that 
 in every parish almost in the kingdom, there is a kind of con- 
 federacy ever carrying on against a certain person of opulence 1 5 
 called the squire, whose property is considered as free-booty 
 by all his poor neighbours; who, as they conclude that there 
 is no manner of guilt in such depredations, look upon it as a 
 point of honour and moral obligation to conceal, and to pre- 
 serve each other from punishment on all such occasions. 20 
 
 In like manner are the ancients, such as Homer^ Virgil.^ 
 Horace, Cicero, and the rest, to be esteemed among us writ- 
 ers, as so many wealthy squires, from whom we, the poor of 
 Parnassus, claim an immemorial custom of taking whatever we 
 can come at. This liberty I demand, and this I am as ready 25 
 to allow again to my poor neighbours in their turn. All I pro- 
 fess, and all I require from my brethren, is to maintain the 
 same strict honesty among ourselves, which the mob shew to 
 one another. To steal from one another, is indeed highly crim- 
 inal and indecent ; for this may be strictly styled defrauding 30 
 the poor (sometimes perhaps those who are poorer than our- 
 selves) or, to see it under the most opprobrious colours, rob- 
 bing the spittal. 
 
58 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Since therefore upon the strictest examination, my own con- 
 science cannot lay any such pitiful theft to my charge, I am 
 contented to plead guilty to the former accusation ; nor shall I 
 ever scruple to take to my self any passage which I shall find 
 5 in an ancient author to my purpose, without setting down the 
 name of the author from whence it was taken. Nay, I abso- 
 lutely claim a property in all such sentiments the moment 
 they are transcribed into my writings, and I expect all readers 
 henceforwards to regard them as purely and entirely my own. 
 
 lo This claim however I desire to be allowed me only on condi- 
 tion, that I preserve strict honesty towards my poor brethren, 
 from whom if ever I borrow any of that little of which they 
 are possessed, I shall never fail to put their mark upon it, 
 that it may be at all times ready to be restored to the right 
 
 f5 owner. 
 
 The omission of this was highly blameable in one Mr. 
 Moore, who having formerly borrowed some lines of Pope and 
 company, took the liberty to transcribe six of them into his 
 play of the Rival Modes. Mr. Pope however very luckily 
 
 20 found them in the said play, and laying violent hands on his 
 own property, transferred it back again into his own works ; 
 and for a further punishment, imprisoned the said Moore in 
 
 ■ the loathsome dungeon of the Diinciad, where his unhappy 
 memory now remains, and eternally will remain, as a proper 
 
 25 punishment for such his unjust dealings in the poetical trade. 
 
AN ESSAY 59 
 
 XV 
 
 AN ESSAY TO PROVE THAT AN AUTHOR WILL 
 WRITE BETTER, FOR HAVING SOME KNOWLEDGE 
 OF THE SUBJECT ON WHICH HE WRITES 
 
 As several gentlemen in these times, by the wonderful force 
 of genius only, without the least assistance of learning, perhaps, 
 without being well able to read, have made a considerable fig- 
 ure in the republic of letters ; the modern critics, I am told, 
 have lately begun to assert, that all kind of learning is entirely 5 
 useless to a writer ; and, indeed, no other than a kind of fetters 
 on the natural spriteliness and activity of the imagination, 
 which is thus weighed down, and prevented from soaring to 
 those high flights which otherwise it would be able to reach. 
 
 This doctrine, I am afraid, is, at present, carried much too 10 
 far : for why should writing differ so much from all other arts ? 
 The nimbleness of a dancing-master is not at all prejudiced by 
 being taught to move ; nor doth any mechanic, I believe, exer- 
 cise his tools the worse for knowing how to use them. For 
 my own part, I cannot conceive that Ho77ier or Virgil would 1 5 
 have writ with more fire, if, instead of being masters of all the 
 learning of their times, they had been as ignorant as most of 
 the authors of the present age. Nor do I believe that all the 
 imagination, fire, and judgment of Pitt could have produced 
 those orations that have made the senate of England in these 20 
 our times a rival in eloquence to Greece and Rome, if he had 
 not been so well read in the writings of Demosthenes and 
 Cicero, as to have transfused their whole spirit into his 
 speeches, and with their spirit, their knowledge too. 
 
 I would not here be understood to insist on the same fund 25 
 of learning in any of my brethren, as Cicero perswades us is 
 necessary to the composition of an orator. On the contrary, 
 
6o SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 very little reading is, I conceive, necessary to the poet, less to 
 the critic, and the least of all to the politician. For the first, 
 perhaps, Bysse's Art of Poetry, and a few of our modern poets, 
 may suffice ; for the second, a moderate heap of plays ; and 
 5 for the last, an indifferent collection of political journals. 
 
 To say the truth, I require no more than that a man should 
 have some little knowledge of the subject on which he treats, 
 according to the old maxim of law, Quam quisque norit artei7i 
 in ed se exerceat. With this alone a writer may sometimes do 
 
 lo tolerably well; and indeed without this, all the other learning 
 in the world will stand him in little stead. 
 
 For instance, let us suppose that Homer and Virgil, Aris- 
 totle and Cicej'o, Thucydides and Livy, could have met all 
 together, and have clubbed their several talents to have com- 
 
 15 posed a treatise on the art of dancing; I believe it will be 
 readily agreed they could not have equalled the excellent 
 treatise which Mr. Essex hath given us on that subject, 
 entitled. The Rudiments of genteel Education. And, indeed, 
 should the excellent Mr. Broughto7i be prevailed on to set fist 
 
 20 to paper, and to complete the abovesaid rudiments, by deliver- 
 ing down the true principles of athletics, I question whether 
 the world will have any cause to lament, that none of the 
 great writers, either ancient or modern, have ever treated 
 about that noble and useful art. 
 
 25 To avoid a multiplicity of examples in so plain a case, and 
 to come at once to my point, I am apt to conceive, that one 
 reason why many English writers have totally failed in describ- 
 ing the manners of upper life, may possibly be, that, in reality 
 they know nothing of it. 
 
 30 This is a knowledge unhappily not in the power of many 
 authors to arrive at. Books will give us a very imperfect 
 idea of it ; nor will the stage a much better : the fine gentle- 
 man formed upon reading the former will almost always turn 
 
AN ESSAY 6l 
 
 out a pedant, and he who forms himself upon the latter, a 
 coxcomb. 
 
 Nor are the characters drawn from these models better sup- 
 ported. Vanbrugh and Congreve copied nature ; but they who 
 copy them draw as unlike the present age, as Hogarth would 5 
 do if he was to paint a rout or a drum in the dresses of Titian 
 and of Vandyke. In short, imitation here will not do the 
 business. The picture must be after nature herself. A true 
 knowledge of the world is gained only by conversation, and 
 the manners of every rank must be seen in order to be known. 10 
 
 Now it happens that this higher order of mortals is not to be 
 seen, like all the rest of the human species, for nothing, in the 
 streets, shops, and coifee-houses : nor are they shewn, like the 
 upper rank of animals, for so much a piece. In short, this is a 
 sight to which no persons are admitted, without one or other 15 
 of these qualifications, viz. either birth or fortune ; or what is 
 equivalent to both, the honourable profession of a gamester. 
 And very unluckily for the world, persons so qualified, very sel- 
 dom care to take upon themselves the bad trade of writing; 
 which is generally entered upon by the lower and poorer sort, 20 
 as it is a trade which many think requires no kind of stock to 
 set up with. 
 
 Hence those strange monsters in lace and embroidery, in 
 silks and brocades, with vast wigs and hoops; which, under 
 the name of lords and ladies, strut the stage, to the great 25 
 delight of attornies and their clerks in the pit, and of citizens 
 and their apprentices in the galleries ; and which are no more 
 to be found in real life, than the centaur, the chimera, or any 
 other creature of mere fiction. But to let my reader into a 
 secret, this knowledge of upper life, though very necessary 30 
 for preventing mistakes, is no very great resource to a writer 
 whose province is comedy, or that kind of novels, which, like 
 this I am writing, is of the comic class. 
 
62 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 What Mr. P{?J>e says of women is very applicable to most in 
 this station, who are indeed so entirely made up of form and 
 affectation, that they have no character at all, at least, none 
 which appears. I will venture to say the highest life is much 
 5 the dullest, and affords very little humour or entertainment. 
 The various callings in lower spheres produce the great variety 
 of humorous character; whereas here, except among the few 
 who are engaged in the pursuit of ambition, and the fewer 
 still who have a relish for pleasure, all is vanity and servile 
 
 lo imitation. Dressing and cards, eating and drinking, bowing 
 and curtesying, make up the business of their lives. 
 
 Some there are however of this rank, upon whom passion 
 exercises its tyranny, and hurries them far beyond the bounds 
 which decorum prescribes; of these, the ladies are as much 
 
 15 distinguished by their noble intrepidity, and a certain superior 
 contempt of reputation, from the frail ones of meaner degree, 
 as a virtuous woman of quality is by the elegance and delicacy 
 of her sentiments from the honest wife of a yeoman or shop- 
 keeper. Lady Bellastoji was of this intrepid character ; but 
 
 20 let not my country readers conclude from her, that this is the 
 general conduct of women of fashion, or that we mean to rep- 
 resent them as such. They might as well suppose, that every 
 clergyman was represented by Thwackum, or every soldier by 
 Ensign Northej^ton. 
 
 25 There is not indeed a greater error than that which univer- 
 sally prevails among the vulgar, who borrowing their opinion 
 from some ignorant satyrists, have affixed the character of 
 lewdness to these times. On the contrary, I am convinced 
 there never was less of love intrigue carried on among persons 
 
 30 of condition, than now. Our present women have been taught 
 by their mothers to fix their thoughts only on ambition and 
 vanity, and to despise the pleasures of love as unworthy their 
 regard ; and being afterwards, by the care of such mothers, 
 
A LITERARY CONVERSATION IN ELYSIUM 63 
 
 married without having husbands, they seem pretty well con- 
 firmed in the justness of those sentiments ; whence they con- 
 tent themselves, for the dull remainder of life, with the pursuit 
 of more innocent, but I am afraid more childish amusements, 
 the bare mention of which would ill suit with the dignity of 
 this history. In my humble opinion, the true characteristick 
 of the present beau monde, is rather folly than vice, and the 
 only epithet which it deserves is that of frivolous. 
 
 XVI 
 
 [A LITERARY CONVERSATION IN ELYSIUM] 
 
 We pursued our way through a delicious grove of orange- 
 trees, where I saw. infinite numbers of spirits, every one of 10 
 whom I knew, and was known by them : (for spirits here 
 know one another by intuition). I presently met a little 
 daughter whom I had lost several years before. Good Gods ! 
 what words can describe the raptures, the melting passionate 
 tenderness, with which we kiss'd each other, continuing in 15 
 our embrace, with the most extatic joy, a space which if time 
 had been measured here as on earth, could not be less than 
 half a year. 
 
 The first spirit, with whom I entered into discourse was 
 the famous Leonidas of Sparta. I acquainted him with the 20 
 honours which had been done him by a celebrated poet of 
 our nation ; to which he answered, he was very much obliged 
 to him. 
 
 We were presently afterwards entertained with the most 
 delicious voice I had ever heard, accompanied by a violin, 25 
 equal to Signior Piantanida. I presently discovered the 
 musician and songster to be Orpheus and Sappho. 
 
64 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Old Honie^' was present at this consort (if I may so call it), 
 and Madam Dacier sat in his lap. He asked much after Mr. 
 Pope^ and said he was very desirous of seeing him : for that 
 he had read his Iliad in his translation with almost as much 
 5 delight, as he believed he had given others in the original. I 
 had the curiosity to enquire whether he had really writ that poem 
 in detached pieces, and sung it about as ballads all over Greece^ 
 according to the report which went of him. He smiled at my 
 question, and asked me whether there appeared any connection 
 
 lo in the poem ; for if there did, he thought I might answer my- 
 self. I then importuned him to acquaint me in which of the 
 cities, which contended for the honour of his birth he was really 
 born? To which he answered. . . . Upon my soul I can't tell. 
 Virgil then came up to me, with Mr. Addison under his 
 
 15 arm. Well, sir, said he, how many translations have these few 
 last years produced of my ySneid? I told him, I believed 
 several, but I could not possibly remember ; for that I had 
 never read any but Dr. Trapfs, . . . Ay, said he, that is a curi- 
 ous piece indeed ! I then acquainted him with the discovery 
 
 20 made by Mr. Warburton of the Eleusinian mysteries couched in 
 his 6th book. What mysteries ? said Mr. Addison. The Eleu- 
 sinian^ answered Virgil^ which I have disclosed in my 6th 
 book. How ! replied Addison. You never mentioned a word 
 of any such mysteries to me in all our acquaintance. I thought 
 
 25 it was unnecessary, cried the other, to a man of your infinite 
 learning : besides, you always told me, you perfectly under- 
 stood my meaning. Upon this I thought the critic looked a 
 little out of countenance, and turned aside to a very merry 
 spirit, one Dick Steele, who embraced him, and told him, He 
 
 30 had been the greatest man upon earth ; that he readily resigned 
 up all the merit of his own works to him. Upon which, Addi- 
 son gave him a gracious smile, and clapping him on the back 
 with much solemnity, cried out. Well said, Dick. 
 
A LITERARY CONVERSATION IN ELYSIUM 65 
 
 I then observed Shakespeare standing between Betterton 
 and Booths and deciding a difference between these two great 
 actors, concerning the placing an accent in one of his lines : 
 this was disputed on both sides with a warmth, which surprized 
 me in Elysiutn^ till I discovered by intuition, that every soul 5 
 retained its principal characteristic, being, indeed, its very 
 essence. The line was that celebrated one in Othello ; 
 
 Put out the Lights and then put out the Lights 
 
 according to Betterton. Mr. Booth contended to have it thus ; 
 
 Put out the Lights and thefi put out the Light. 10 
 
 I could not help offering my conjecture on this occasion, and 
 suggested it might perhaps be, 
 
 Put out the Lights and then put out thy Light. 
 
 Another hinted a reading very sophisticated in my opinion, 
 
 Put out the Light., and then put out thee, Light j 15 
 
 making light to be the vocative case. Another would have 
 altered the last word, and read. 
 
 Put out thy Light., and the7t put out thy Sight. 
 
 But Betterton said, if the text was' to be disturbed, he saw no 
 reason why a word might not be changed as well as a letter, 20 
 and instead of put out thy Light, you might read put out thy 
 Eyes. At last it was agreed on all sides, to refer the matter to 
 the decision of Shake spea7'e himself, who delivered his sen- 
 timents as follows : *' Faith, gentlemen, it is so long since 
 I wrote the line, I have forgot my meaning. This I know, 25 
 could I have dreamt so much nonsense would have been 
 talked, and writ about it, I would have blotted it out of my 
 works : for I am sure, if any of these be my meaning, it doth 
 me very little honour." 
 
66 SELECTED ESSAYS OE FIELDING 
 
 He was then interrogated concerning some other ambiguous 
 passages in his works ; but he declined any satisfactory answer : 
 saying, if Mr. Theobald had not writ about it sufficiently, there 
 were three or four more new editions of his plays coming out, 
 5 which he hoped would satisfy every one : concluding, " I mar- 
 vel nothing so much as that men will gird themselves at dis- 
 covering obscure beauties in an author. Certes the greatest 
 and most pregnant beauties are ever the plainest and most 
 evidently striking; and when two meanings of a passage can 
 
 lo in the least ballance our judgements which to prefer, I hold 
 it matter of unquestionable certainty, that neither of them are 
 worth a farthing." 
 
 From his. works our conversation turned on his monument; 
 upon which, Shakespeaj-e, shaking his sides, and addressing 
 
 IS himself to Milton, cried out; '' On my word. Brother Milton, 
 they have brought a noble set of poets together, they would 
 have been hanged erst have convened such a company at their 
 tables, when alive." " True, Brother, answered Milton, " unless 
 we had been as incapable of eating then as we are now." 
 
 XVII 
 COMMENTS UPON AUTHORS 
 
 20 As Booth was therefore what might well be called, in this 
 age at least, a man of learning, he began to discour-se our 
 author on subjects of literature. " I think, sir," says he, " that 
 Doctor Swift hath been generally allowed by the critics in this 
 kingdom, to be the greatest master of humour that ever wrote. 
 
 25 Indeed, I allow him to have possessed most admirable talents 
 of this kind ; and if Rabelais was his master, I think he proves 
 the truth of the common Greek proverb — That the scholar is 
 
COMMENTS UPON AUTHORS 6/ 
 
 often superior to the master. As to Cervantes^ I do not think 
 we can make any just comparison ; for, tho' Mr. Pope compli- 
 ments him with sometimes taking Cervantes^ serious air." "I 
 remember the passage," cries the author; 
 
 " Oh thoii^ whatever Title please thy Ear, 5 
 
 Dean, Drapier, Bickerstaff or GuUiver; 
 Whether you take Cervantes' serious Air, 
 Or laugh and sJiake in Rabelais' easy Chairs 
 
 "You are right, sir," said Booth; "but tho' I should agree 
 that the Doctor hath sometimes condescended to imitate 10 
 Rabelais, I do not remember to have seen in his works the 
 least attempt in the manner of Cervantes. But there is one 
 in his own way, and whom I am convinced he studied above 
 all others — you guess, I believe, I am going to name Lucian. 
 This author, I say, I am convinced he followed ; but I think he 1 5 
 followed him at a distance ; as, to say the truth, every other 
 writer of this kind hath done in my opinion : for none, I think, 
 hath yet equalled him. I agree, indeed, entirely with Mr. 
 Moyle, in his Discourse on the Age of the Philopatris, when 
 he gives him the epithet of the incomparable Lucian; and 20 
 incomparable I believe he will remain as long as the language 
 in which he wrote shall endure. What an inimitable piece of 
 humour is his Cock.'" — "I remember it very well," cries the 
 author, " his story of a Cock and a Bull is excellent." Booth 
 stared at this, and asked the author what he meant by the 25 
 Bull? "Nay," answered he, "I don't know very well upon 
 my soul. It is a long time since I read him. I learnt him all 
 over at school, I have not read him much since. And pray, 
 sir," said he, " how do you like his Pharsalia? Don't you 
 think Mr. Rome's translation a very fine one? " Booth replied, 30 
 " I believe we are talking of different authors. The Pharsalia, 
 which Mr. Rowe translated was written by Lucan ; but I have 
 
68 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 been speaking of Liician, a Greek writer, and in my opinion the 
 greatest in the humorous way, that ever the world produced." 
 "Ay ! " cries the author, " he was indeed so, a very excellent 
 writer indeed. I fancy a translation of him would sell very 
 5 well." " I do not know, indeed," cries Booth. "■ A good trans- 
 lation of him would be a valuable book. I have seen a wretched 
 one published by Mr. Dryden, but translated by others, who 
 in many places have misunderstood Lucian' s meaning, and 
 have no where preserved the spirit of the original." " That is 
 
 lo great pity," says the author. " Pray, sir, is he well translated 
 into French?'''' Booth answered, he could not tell; but that 
 he doubted it very much, having never seen a good version 
 into that language, out of the Greek. " To confess the truth, 
 I believe," said he, " the French translators have generally 
 
 15 consulted the Latin only; which, in some of the few Greek 
 writers I have read, is intolerably bad. And as the English 
 translators, for the most part, pursue the French^ we may easily 
 guess, what spirit those copies of bad copies must preserve of 
 the original." 
 
 20 " Egad, you are a shrewd guesser," cries the author, " I 
 am glad the booksellers have not your sagacity. But how 
 should it be otherwise, considering the price they pay by the 
 sheet ? The Gf'-eek, you will allow, is a hard language ; and 
 there are few gentlemen that write, who can read it without a 
 
 25 good lexicon. Now, sir, if we were to afford time to find out 
 the true meaning of words, a gentleman would not get bread 
 and cheese by his work. If one was to be paid, indeed, as 
 Mr. Pope was for his Ho?fier. Pray, sir, don't you think that 
 the best translation in the world? " 
 
 30 " Indeed, sir," cries Booth, " I think, tho' it is certainly a 
 noble paraphrase, and of itself a fine poem, yet, in some places 
 it is no translation at all. In the very beginning, for instance, 
 he hath not rendered the true force of the author. Homer 
 
COMMENTS UPON AUTHORS 69 
 
 invokes his muse in the first five fines of the Ifiad ; and, at 
 the end of the fifth, he gives his reason : 
 
 Atos S' ereAeieTO ySovAiy. 
 
 For all these things," says he, "were brought about by the 
 decree oi Jupiter ; and, therefore, he supposes their true sources 5 
 are known only to the deities. Now, the translation takes no 
 more notice of the AE than if no such word had been there." 
 
 "Very possibly," answered the author; "it is a long time 
 since I read the original. Perhaps, then, he followed the French 
 translations. I observe, indeed, he talks much in the notes of 10 
 Madam Dacier and Monsieur Eustathhts.^'' 
 
 Booth had now received conviction enough of his friend's 
 knowledge of the Greek language ; without attempting there- 
 fore, to set him right, he made a sudden transition to the Latin. 
 " Pray, sir," said he, " as you have mentioned Rowe's translation 15 
 of the Pharsalia, do you remember how he hath rendered that 
 passage in the character of Cato ? 
 
 Venerisque hiiic inaxiinus Usus 
 
 Progenies J urbi Pater est, urbigue Maritus. 
 
 For I apprehend that passage is generally misunderstood." 20 
 
 "I really do not remember," answered the author. "Pray, 
 sir, what do you take to be the meaning? " 
 
 " I apprehend, sir," replied Booth, "that, by these words, 
 Urbi Pater est, U7'bique Maritus, Cato is represented as the 
 father and husband to the city of Roniey 25 
 
 " Very true, sir," cries the author ; " very fine, indeed. Not 
 only the father of his country, but the husband too ; very noble, 
 truly." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," cries Booth ; " I do not conceive that to 
 have been Lucan's meaning. If you please to observe the con- 30 
 text ; Liican having commended the temperance of Cato, in 
 
70 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 the instances of diet and cloaths, proceeds to venereal pleasures ; 
 of which, says the poet, his principal use was procreation : then 
 he adds, Urbi Pater est, urbique Maritus, That he became a 
 father and a husband^ for the sake only of the city." 
 5 "Upon my word, that 's true," cries the author, " I did not 
 think of it. It is much finer than the other. — Urbis Pater 
 est — what is the other? — ay — Urbis M'aritus. — It is cer- 
 tainly as you say, sir." 
 
 Booth was, by this, pretty well satisfied of the author's pro- 
 
 lo found learning; however, he was willing to try him a little 
 
 further. He asked him, therefore, what was his opinion of 
 
 Lucan in general, and in what class of writers he ranked him? 
 
 The author stared a little at this question ; and after some 
 hesitation, answered, " Certainly, sir, I think he is a fine writer 
 15 and a very great poet." 
 
 " I am very much of the same opinion, cries Booth ; but 
 where do you class him — next to what poet do you place him ? " 
 
 " Let me see," cries the author, " where do I class him ! 
 next to whom do I place him ! — Ay ! — why ! — why, pray, 
 20 where do you yourseK place him? " 
 
 " Why, surely," cries Booth ; " if he is not to be placed in 
 the first rank with Homer, and Virgil, and Milton — I think 
 clearly, he is at the head of the second ; before ejther Statiirs 
 or Silius Italicus. — Tho' I allow to each of these their merits ; 
 25 but, perhaps, an epic poem was beyond the genius of either. 
 I own I have often thought, if Statins had ventured no farther 
 than Ovid or Claudian, he would have succeeded better ; for 
 his SylvcE are, in my opinion, much better than his Thebdisy 
 
 " I believe I was of the same opinion formerly," said the 
 30 author. 
 
 "And for what reason have you altered it? " cries Booth. 
 
 "I have not altered it," answered the author; "but, to tell 
 you the truth, I have not any opinion at all about these matters 
 
COMMENTS UPON AUTHORS 71 
 
 at present. I do not trouble my head much with poetry : for 
 there is no encouragement to such studies in this age. It is 
 true, indeed, I have now and then wrote a poem or two for 
 the magazines ; but I never intend to write any more : for a 
 gendeman is not paid for his time. A sheet is a sheet with the 5 
 booksellers ; and, whether it be in prose or verse, they make 
 no difference ; tho' certainly there is as much difference to a 
 gentleman in the work, as there is to a taylor, between making 
 a plain and a laced suit. Rhimes are difficult things ; they are 
 stubborn things, sir, I have been sometimes longer in tagging 10 
 a couplet, than I have been in writing a speech on the side of 
 the opposition, which hath been read with great applause all 
 over the kingdom." 
 
 *' I am glad you are pleased to confirm that," cries Booth; 
 " for I protest, it was an entire secret to me till this day. I was 15 
 so perfectly ignorant, that I thought the speeches, published in 
 the magazines, were really made by the members themselves." 
 
 " Some of them, and I believe I may, without vanity, say, the 
 best," cries the author, " are all the production of my own 
 pen ! but, I believe, I shall leave it off soon, unless a sheet of 20 
 speech will fetch more than it does at present. In truth, the 
 romance writing is the only branch of our business now, that is 
 worth following. Goods of that sort have had so much success 
 lately in the market, that a bookseller scarce cares what he bids 
 for them. And it is certainly the easiest work in the world ; you 25 
 may write it almost as fast as you can set pen to paper ; and if 
 you interlard it with a little scandal, a little abuse on some living 
 characters of note, you cannot fail of success." 
 
 "Upon my word, sir," cries Booths "you have greatly 
 instructed me. I could not have imagined, there had been so 30 
 much regularity in the trade of writing, as you are pleased to 
 mention ; by what I can perceive, the pen and ink is likely to 
 become the staple commodity of the kingdom." 
 
72 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 " Alas ! sir," answered the author, " it is overstocked — The 
 market is overstocked. There is no encouragement to merit, 
 no patrons. I have been these five years soliciting a subscrip- 
 tion for my hew translation of Ovid's Metamoi-phoses^ with 
 5 notes explanatory, historical, and critical ; and I have scarce 
 collected five hundred names yet." 
 
 The mention of this translation a little surprised Booth ; not 
 only as the author had just declared his intentions to forsake 
 the tuneful muses ; but for some other reasons, which he had 
 
 lo collected from his conversation with our author, he little ex- 
 pected to hear of a proposal to translate any of the Latin poets. 
 He proceeded, therefore, to catechise him a little farther ; and 
 by his answers was fully satisfied, that he had the very same 
 acquaintance with Ovid, that he had appeared to have with 
 
 15 Luc an. 
 
 iGZ ^ \ XVIII 
 
 /^ ^ *^ I 1 1 r i[THE LITERARY REPUBLIC] 
 
 _____ — ^ ■■--"t^vk a.'yadbv iroXvKOLpavirf els Koipapos eario, 
 
 Ets /3a(nXei)s, y e5w/ce Kpopov ttois dyKvXofi-^Teu} 
 
 HiKTJTTTpov T '^Se 6efj.i<TTas, 'iva acpiaiv i/nPacrcKevy. 
 
 Homer. 
 
 — Here is not allow'' d 
 
 20 That worst of tyrants, an ustirping crotvd. 
 
 To one sole monarch Jove commits the sway ; 
 
 His are the laws, and him let all obey. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Though of the three forms of government acknowledged in 
 the schools, all have been very warmly opposed, and as warmly 
 25 defended ; yet, in this point, the different advocates will, I 
 believe, very readily agree, that there is not one of the three 
 which is not greatly to be preferred to a total anarchy ; a state 
 in which there is no subordination, no lawful power, and no 
 
THE LITERARY REPUBLIC 73 
 
 settled government ; but where every man is at liberty to act 
 in whatever manner it pleaseth him best. 
 • As this is in reality a most deplorable state, I have long 
 lamented, with great anguish of heart, that it is at present the 
 case of a very large body of people in this kingdom. An asser- 5 
 tion which, as it may surprize most of my readers, I will make 
 haste to explain, by declaring that I mean the fraternity of the 
 quill, that body of men to whom the publick assign the name 
 of authors. 
 
 However absurd politicians may have been pleased to rep- 10 
 resent the imperiiim in ifiiperio^ it will here, I doubt not, be 
 found on a strict examination to be extremely necessary. The 
 commonwealth of literature being indeed totally distinct from 
 the greater common-wealth, and no more dependent upon it 
 than the kingdom of England is on that of France. Of this 15 
 our legislature seems to have been at all times sensible, as 
 they have never attempted any provision for the regulation or 
 correction of this body. In one instance, it is true, there are 
 (I should rather, I believe, say there were) some laws to 
 restrain them : for writers, if I am not mistaken, have been 20 
 formerly punished for blasphemy against God, and libels 
 against the government ; nay I have been told, that to slan- 
 der the reputation of private persons, was once thought unlaw- 
 ful here as well as among the Romans, who, as Horace tells 
 us, had a severe law for this purpose. 25 
 
 In promulging these laws (whatever may be the reason of 
 suffering them to grow obsolete) the state seems to have acted 
 very wisely; as such kind of writings are really of most mis- 
 chievous consequence to the publick ; but alas ! there are 
 many abuses, many horrid evils, daily springing up in the 30 
 commonwealth of literature, which appear to affect only that 
 commonwealth, at least immediately, of which none of the 
 political legislators have ever taken any notice ; nor hath any 
 
74 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 civil court of judicature ever pretended to any cognizance of 
 them. Nonsense and dulness are no crimes in foro civili : 
 no man can be questioned for bad verses in Westminster-hall ; 
 and amongst the many indictments for battery, not one can be 
 5 produced for breaking poor Priscian's head, though.it is done 
 almost every day. 
 
 But though immediately, as I have said, these evils do not 
 aifect the greater commonwealth ; yet as they tend to the 
 utter ruin of the lesser, so they have a remote evil conse- 
 
 lo quence, even on the state itself; which seems by having left 
 them unprovided for, to have remitted them, for the sake of 
 convenience, to the government of laws, and to the superin- 
 tendence of magistrates of this lesser commonwealth ; and 
 never to have foreseen or suspected that dreadful state of 
 
 15 anarchy, which at present prevails in this lesser empire; an 
 empire which hath formerly made so great a figure in this 
 kingdom, and that indeed almost within our own memories. 
 
 It may appear strange, that none of our English historians 
 have spoken clearly and distinctly of this lesser empire ; but 
 
 20 this may be well accounted for, when we consider that all 
 these histories have been written by two sorts of persons ; that 
 is to say, either politicians or lawyers. Now the former of 
 these have had their imaginations so entirely filled with the 
 affairs of the greater empire, that it is no wonder the busi- 
 
 25 ness of the lesser should have totally escaped their obser- 
 vation. And as to the lawyers, they are well known to have 
 been very little acquainted with the commonwealth of liter- 
 ature, and to have always acted and written in defiance to 
 its laws. 
 
 30 From these reasons it is very difficult to fix, with certainty, 
 the exact period when this commonwealth first began among 
 us. Indeed, if the originals of all the greater empires upon 
 earth, and even of our own, be wrapped in such obscurity 
 
THE LITERARY REPUBLIC 75 
 
 that they elude the enquiries of the most diligent sifters of 
 antiquity, we cannot be surprised that this fate should attend 
 our httle empire, opposed as it hath been by the pen of the 
 lawyer, overlooked by the eye of the historian, and never once 
 smelt after by the nose of the antiquarian. 5 
 
 In the earliest ages, the literary state seems to have been an 
 ecclesiastical democracy : for the clergy are then said to have 
 had all the learning among them ; and the great reverence paid 
 at that time to it by the laity, appears from hence, that whoever 
 could prove in a court of justice that he belonged to this state, 10 
 by only reading a single verse in the Testament, was vested 
 with the highest privileges, and might do almost what he 
 pleased ; even commit murder with impunity. And this privi- 
 lege was called the benefit of the clergy. 
 
 This commonwealth, however, can scarce be said to have 15 
 been in any flourishing state of old time, even among the 
 clergy themselves ; inasmuch as we are told, that a rector of 
 a parish going to law with his parishioners about paving the 
 church, quoted this authority from St. Peter, Paveant i/H, non 
 paveam ego. Which he construed thus : " They are to pave 20 
 the church, and not L" And this by a judge, who was likewise 
 an ecclesiastic, was allowed to be very good law. 
 
 The nobility had, clearly no antient connection with this 
 commonwealth, nor would submit to be bound by any of its 
 laws, witness that provision in an old act of parliament ; " that 25 
 a nobleman shall be entitled to the benefit of his clergy (the 
 privilege above-mentioned) even though he cannot read." 
 Nay the whole body of the laity, though they gave such hon- 
 ours to this commonwealth, appear to have been very few of 
 them under its jurisdiction ; as appears by a law cited by 30 
 judge Rolls in his Abridgment, with the reason which he gives 
 for it : " The command of the sheriff, says this writer, to his 
 officer by word of mouth, and without writing, is good ; for it 
 
^6 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 may be, that neither the sheriff nor his officer can write or 
 read." 
 
 But not to dwell on these obscure times, when so very little 
 authentic can be found concerning this commonwealth, let us 
 5 come at once to the days of Henry the eighth, when no less a 
 revolution happened in the lesser than in the greater empire : 
 for the Hterary government became absolute together with the 
 political, in the hands of one and the same monarch; who 
 was himself a writer, and dictated not only law but common 
 
 10 sense too, to all his people ; suffering no one to write or speak 
 but according to his own will and pleasure. 
 
 After this king's demise, the literary commonwealth was 
 again separated from the political; for I do not find that his 
 successor on the greater throne, succeeded him likewise in the 
 
 15 lesser. Nor did either of the two queens, as I can learn, pre- 
 tend to any authority in this empire, in which the salique law 
 hath universally prevailed ; for though there have been some 
 considerable subjects of the female sex in the literary common- 
 wealth, I never remember to have read of a queen. 
 
 20 It is not easy to say with any great exactness what form 
 of government was preserved in this commonwealth during 
 the reigns of Edward VI, Queen Mary, and Queen Elizabeth ; 
 for though there were some great men in those times, none of 
 them seemed to have affected the throne of wit : nay, Shake- 
 
 25 speare, who flourished in the latter end of the last reign, and 
 who seemed so justly qualified to enjoy this crown, never 
 thought of challenging it. 
 
 In the reign of James I. the hterary government was an 
 aristocracy, for I do not chuse to give it the evil name of 
 
 30 oligarchy, though it consisted only of four, namely, master 
 WiUiam Shakespeare, master Benjamin Johnson, master John 
 Fletcher, and master Francis Beaumont. This quadrumvirate, 
 as they introduced a new form of government, thought proper 
 
THE LITERARY REPUBLIC 77 
 
 according to Machiavel's advice, to introduce new names ; they 
 therefore called themselves the wits, a name which hath been 
 affected since by the reigning monarchs in this empire. 
 
 The last of this quadrmnvirate enjoyed the government 
 alone during his life ; after which the . troubles that shortly 5 
 after ensued, involved this lesser commonwealth in all the 
 confusion and ruin of the greater, nor can anything be found 
 of it with sufficient certainty, till the wits in the reign of 
 Charles the second, after many struggles among themselves 
 for superiority, at last agreed to elect John Dryden to be their 10 
 king. 
 
 This King John had a very long reign, though a very un- 
 quiet one ; for there were several pretenders to the throne of 
 wit in his time, who formed very considerable parties against 
 him, and gave him great uneasiness, of which his successor hath 15 
 made mention in the following lines : 
 
 Pride, folly, malice, against Dryden rose, 
 In various shapes of parsons, critics, beaus. 
 
 Besides which, his finances were in such disorder, that it is 
 affirmed his treasury was more than once entirely empty. 20 
 
 He died nevertheless in a good old age, possessed of the 
 kingdom of wit, and was succeeded by king Alexander, sur- 
 named Pope. 
 
 This prince enjoyed the crown many years, and is thought 
 to have stretched the prerogative much farther than his pred- 25 
 ecessor : he is said to have been extremely jealous of the 
 affections of his subjects, and to have employed various spies, 
 by whom, if he was informed of the least suggestion against 
 his title, he never failed of branding the accused person with 
 the word dunce on his forehead in broad letters ; after which 30 
 the unhappy culprit was obliged to lay by his pen for ever ; 
 for no bookseller would venture to print a word that he wrote. 
 
y^ SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 He did indeed put a total restraint on the liberty of the 
 press : for no person durst read any thing which was writ with- 
 out his licence and approbation; and this licence he granted 
 only to four during his reign, namely, to the celebrated Dr. 
 5 Swift, to the ingenious Dr. Young, to Dr. Arbuthnot, and to 
 one Mr. Gay, four of his principal courtiers and favourites. 
 
 But without diving any deeper into his character, we must 
 allow that king Alexander had great merit as a writer, and his 
 title to the kingdom of wit was better founded at least than his 
 lo enemies have pretended. 
 
 After the demise of king Alexander, the literary state 
 relapsed again into a democracy, or rather indeed into down- 
 right anarchy; of which, as well as of the consequences, I 
 shall treat in a future paper. 
 
 >S3 ^ as^ 
 
 f0.tO ^^* ^ [THE PURPOSE OF LETTERS] 
 
 15 -^i nosiri proavi Plardinos et numeros, et 
 
 Laudevere sales ; 7iiinium patienter utrumque^ 
 Ne dicani stjilt}, niiraii. 
 
 Modernized 
 
 In fortJter times this tastless, silly town 
 
 Too fondly praised Tom D' Urfey and Tom Brown. 
 
 20 The present age seems pretty well agreed in an opinion, 
 that the utmost scope and end of reading is amusement only ; 
 and such, indeed, are now the fashionable books, that a reader 
 can propose no more than mere entertainment, and it is some- 
 times very well for him if he finds even this in his studies. 
 
 25 Letters, however, were surely intended for a much more 
 noble and profitable purpose than this. Writers are not, I pre- 
 sume, to be considered as mere jack-puddings, whose business 
 
THE PURPOSE OF LETTERS 79 
 
 it is only to excite laughter : this, indeed, may sometimes be 
 intermixed, and served up, with graver matters, in order to 
 titillate the palate, and to recommend wholesome food to the 
 mind ; and, for this purpose, it hath been used by many excel- 
 lent authors : "for why," as Horace says, "should not any one 5 
 promulgate truth with a smile on his countenance?" Ridi- 
 cule indeed, as he again intimates, is commonly a stronger 
 and better method of attacking vice, than the severer kind 
 of satire. 
 
 When wit and humour are introduced for such good pur- 10 
 poses, when the agreeable is blended with the useful, then is 
 the writer said to have succeeded in every point. Pleasantry, 
 (as the ingenious author of Clarissa says of a story) should 
 be made only the vehicle of instruction; and thus romances 
 themselves, as well as Epic Poems, may become worthy the 15 
 perusal of the greatest of men : but when no moral, no lesson, 
 no instruction is conveyed to the reader, where the whole 
 design of the composition is no more than to make us laugh, 
 the writer comes very near to the character of a buffoon ; and 
 his admirers, if an old Latin proverb be true, deserve no great 20 
 compliments to be paid to their wisdom. 
 
 After what I have here advanced, I cannot fairly, I think, 
 be represented as an enemy to laughter, or to all those kinds 
 of writing that are apt to promote it. On the contrary, few 
 men, I believe, do more admire the works of those great mas- 25 
 ters who have sent their satire (if I may use the expression) 
 laughing into the world. Such are that great Triumvirate, 
 Lucian, Cervantes, and Swift. These authors I shall ever hold 
 in the highest degree of esteem ; not indeed for that wit and 
 humour alone which they all so eminently possest, but because 30 
 they all endeavoured, with the utmost force of their wit and 
 humour, to expose and extirpate those follies and vices which 
 chiefly prevailed in their several countries. 
 
8o SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 I would not be thought to confine wit and humour to these 
 writers. Shakespeare, Moliere, and some other authors, have 
 been blessed with the same talents, and have employed them 
 to the same purposes. There are some, however, who, though 
 5 not void of these talents, have made so wretched a use of them, 
 that, had the consecration of their labours been committed to 
 the hands of the hangman, no good man would have regretted 
 their loss : nor am I afraid to mention Rabelais, and Aris- 
 tophanes himself in this number. For, if I may speak my 
 
 lo opinion freely of these two last writers, and of their works, 
 their design appears to me very plainly to have been to ridi- 
 cule all sobriety, modesty, decency, virtue and religion, out of 
 the world. Now whoever reads over the five great writers 
 first mentioned in this paragraph, must either have a very bad 
 
 15 head, or a very bad heart, if he doth not become both a wiser 
 and a better man. 
 
 In the exercise of the mind, as well as in the exercise of the 
 body, diversion is a secondary consideration, and designed 
 only to make that agreeable, which is at the same time useful, 
 
 20 to such noble purposes as health and wisdom. But what should 
 we say to a man who mounted his chamber hobby, or fought 
 with his own shadow for his amusement only? how much 
 more absurd and weak would he appear, who swallowed 
 poison because it was sweet? 
 
 25 How differently did Horace think of study from our modern 
 readers ? 
 
 Quid vermn atque decens euro et rogo, et onifiis in hoc sum : 
 Condo et co?npono, quae mox depromere possijn. 
 
 " Truth and decency are my whole care and enquiry. In 
 
 30 this study I am entirely occupied ; these I am always laying 
 
 up, and so disposing, that I can at any time draw forth my 
 
 stores for my immediate use." The whole epistle indeed, from 
 
 I 
 
THE PURPOSE OF LETTERS 8 1 
 
 which 1 have paraphrased this passage, is a comment upon it, 
 and affords many useful lessons of philosophy. 
 
 When we are employed in reading a great and good author, 
 we ought to consider ourselves as searching after treasures, 
 which, if well and regularly laid up in the mind, will be of use 5 
 to us oh sundry occasions in our lives. If a man, for instance, 
 should be overloaded with prosperity or adversity, (both of 
 which cases are hable to happen to us) who is there so very 
 wise, or so very fooHsh, that, if he was a master of Seneca and 
 Plutarch, could not find great matter of comfort and utility 10 
 from their doctrines? I mention these rather than Plato and 
 Aristotle, as the works of the latter are not, I think, yet com- 
 pletely made English ; and, consequently, are less within the 
 reach of most of my countrymen. 
 
 But, perhaps, it may be asked, will Seneca or Plutarch make 15 
 us laugh ? perhaps not ; but if you are not a fool, my worthy 
 friend, which I can hardly with civility suspect, they will both, 
 (the latter especially) please you more than if they did. For 
 my own part, I declare, I have not read even Lucian himself 
 with more delight than I have Plutarch ; but surely it is aston- 20 
 ishing that such scriblers as Tom Brown, Tom D'Urfy, and 
 the wits of our age should find readers, whilst the writings of 
 so excellent, so entertaining, and so voluminous an author as 
 Plutarch remain in the world, and, as I apprehend, are very 
 little known. 25 
 
 The truth I am afraid is, that real taste is a quality with 
 which human nature is very slenderly gifted. It is indeed so 
 very rare, and so little known, that scarce two authors have 
 agreed in their notions of it ; and those who have endeavoured 
 to explain it to others, seem to have succeeded only in shew- 30 
 ing us that they knew it not themselves. If I might be allowed 
 to give my own sentiments, I should derive it from a nice har- 
 mony between the imagination and the judgment ; and hence 
 
82 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 perhaps it is, that so few have ever possessed this talent in any 
 eminent degree. Neither of these will alone bestow it ; noth- 
 ing is indeed more common than to see men of very bright 
 imaginations, and of very accurate learning (which can hardly 
 5 be acquired without judgment) who are entirely devoid of 
 taste ; and Longinus, who of all men seems most exquisitely 
 to have possessed it, will puzzle his reader very much if he 
 should attempt to decide, whether imagination or judgment 
 shine the brighter in that inimitable critic. 
 
 lo But as for the bulk of mankind, they are clearly void of any 
 degree of taste. It is a quality in which they advance very 
 little beyond a state of infancy. The first thing a child is fond 
 of in a book, is a picture ; the second is a story ; and the 
 third a jest. Here then is the true Pons Asinorum, which very 
 
 15 few readers ever get over. 
 
 From what I have said, it may perhaps be thought to appear, 
 that true taste is the real gift of nature only ; and if so, some may 
 ask to what purpose have I endeavoured to show men that they 
 are without a blessing, which it is impossible for them to attain ? 
 
 20 Now, though it is certain that to the highest consummation 
 of taste, as well as of every other excellence, nature must lend 
 much assistance ; yet great is the power of art almost of itself, 
 or at best with only slender aids from nature ; and to say the 
 truth, there are very few who have not in their minds some 
 
 25 small seeds of taste. "All men (says Cicero) have a sort of 
 tacit sense of what is right or wrong in arts and sciences, even 
 without the help of arts." This surely it is in the power of art 
 very greatly to improve. That most men therefore proceed 
 no farther than as I have above declared, is owing either to 
 
 30 the want of any, or (what is perhaps yet worse) to an improper 
 education. 
 
 I shall, probably, therefore, in a future paper, endeavour to 
 lay down some rules by which all men may acquire, at least, 
 
ACHIEVEMENTS OF GREAT MEN 83 
 
 some degree of taste. In the mean while, I shall, (according 
 to the method observed in innoculation) recommend to my 
 readers, as a preparative for their receiving my instructions, a 
 total abstinence from all bad books. I do therefore most ear- 
 nestly intreat all my young readers, that they would cautiously 5 
 avoid the perusal of any modern book till it hath first had the 
 sanction of some wise and learned man ; and the same caution 
 I propose to all fathers, mothers, and guardians.^ 
 
 " Evil communications corrupt good manners," is a quota- 
 tion of St. Paul from Menander. Evil books corrupt at once 10 
 both our manners and our taste. 
 
 XX 
 
 SHEWING THE WHOLESOME USES DRAWN FROM 
 RECORDING THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF THOSE 
 WONDERFUL PRODUCTIONS OF NATURE 
 CALLED GREAT MEN 
 
 As it is necessary that all great and surprizing events, the 
 designs of which are laid, conducted, and brought to perfec- 
 tion by the utmost force of human invention and art, should 
 be managed by great and eminent men, so the lives of such 15 
 may be justly and properly styled the quintessence of history. 
 In these, when dehvered to us by sensible writers, we are not 
 only most agreeably entertained, but usefully instructed ; for 
 besides the attaining hence a consummate knowledge of 
 human nature in general ; its secret springs, various windings, 20 
 and perplexed mazes ; we have here before our eyes, lively 
 examples of whatever is amiable or detestable, worthy of 
 admiration or abhorrence, and are consequently taught in a 
 manner infinitely more effectual than by precept, what we are 
 eagerly to imitate or carefully to avoid. 25 
 
84 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 But besides the two obvious advantages of surveying as it 
 were in a picture, the true beauty of virtue, and deformity of 
 vice, we may moreover learn from Plutarch^ Nepos, Suetonius, 
 and other biographers this useful lesson, not too hastily nor 
 
 5 in the gross to bestow either our praise or censure : since we 
 shall often find such a mixture of good and evil in the same 
 character, that it may require a very accurate judgment and 
 elaborate inquiry to determine which side the ballance turns : 
 for tho' we sometimes meet with an Ai-istides or a S?'utus, a 
 
 lo Lysander or a Nero, yet far the greater number are of the mixt 
 kind ; neither totally good nor bad ; their greatest virtues 
 being obscured and allayed by their vices, and those again 
 softened and coloured over by their virtues. 
 
 Of this kind was the illustrious person whose history we here 
 
 15 now undertake; who, as he was embellished with many of the 
 greatest and noblest endowments, so these could not well be 
 said to be absolutely pure and without allay. If we view one 
 side of his character only, he must be acknowledged equal, if 
 not superior to most of the heroes of antiquity : but if we turn 
 
 20 to the reverse, it must be confessed our admiration will be a 
 little abated, and his character will savour rather of the weak- 
 ness of modern than the uniform greatness of ancient heroes. 
 
 We would not therefore be understood to affect giving the 
 reader a perfect or consummate pattern of human virtue ; but 
 
 25 rather by faithfully recording the little imperfections which 
 somewhat darkened the lustre of his great qualities, to teach 
 the lesson we have above mentioned, and induce our reader 
 with us to lament the frailty of human nature, and to convince 
 him that no mortal, after a thorough scrutiny, can be a proper 
 
 30 object of our adoration. 
 
 But before we enter on this great work, we must endeavour 
 to remove some errors of opinion which mankind have by the 
 disingenuity of writers contracted : for those from their fear 
 
ACHIEVEMENTS OF GREAT MEN 85 
 
 of attacking or contradicting the obsolete doctrines of a set 
 of simple fellows called, in derision, sages or philosophers, 
 have endeavoured as much as possible, to confound the ideas 
 of greatness and goodness, whereas no two things can possibly 
 be more distinct from each other. For greatness consists in 5 
 bringing all manner of mischief on mankind, and goodness in 
 removing it from them. Now, tho' the writer, if he will con- 
 fine himself to truth, is obliged to draw a perfect picture of 
 the former in all the actions which he records of his hero, yet 
 to reconcile his work with those absurd doctrines abovemen- 10 
 tioned, he is ever guilty of interspersing reflections in reality 
 to the disadvantage of that great perfection, uniformity of 
 character ; for instance, in the histories of Alexander and 
 Ccesar, we are frequently reminded of their benevolence and 
 generosity. When the former had with fire and sword overrun 15 
 a whole empire, and destroyed the lives of millions of inno- 
 cent people, we are told as an example of his benevolence, 
 that he did not cut the throat of an old woman, and ravish 
 her daughters whom he had before undone : And when the 
 mighty Ccesar had with wonderful greatness of mind destroyed 20 
 the liberties of his country, and gotten all the power into his 
 own hands, we receive, as an evidence of his generosity, his 
 largesses to his followers and tools, by whose means he had 
 accomplished his purpose, and by whose assistance he was to 
 establish it. 25 
 
 Now who doth not see that such sneaking qualities as these 
 are rather to be bewailed as imperfections than admired as 
 ornaments in those great men, rather obscuring their glory 
 and holding them back in their race to greatness, and unworthy 
 the end for which they seem to have come into the world, viz. 30 
 of perpetrating vast and mighty mischief ? 
 
 We hope our reader will have reason justly to acquit us of 
 any such confounding ideas in the following pages, in which, 
 
S6 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 as we are to record the actions of a great man, so we have no 
 where mentioned any spark of goodness which hath discovered 
 itself either faintly in him, or more glaringly in any other per- 
 son, but as a meanness and imperfection, disquahfying them 
 5 for undertakings which lead to honour and esteem among 
 men. 
 
 As our hero had as little as perhaps is to be found of that 
 meanness, indeed only enough to make him partaker of the 
 imperfection of humanity, and not the perfection of dcemonism, 
 lo we have ventured to call him THE GREAT ; nor do we doubt 
 but our reader will, when he hath perused his story, concur 
 with us in allowing him that title. 
 
 XXI 
 [THE CHARACTER OF A GREAT THIEF] 
 
 We will now endeavor to draw the character of this GREAT 
 MAN, and by bringing together those several features as it 
 
 15 were of his mind, which lie scattered up and down in this 
 history, to present our readers with a perfect picture of 
 GREATNESS. 
 
 Jonathan Wild had every qualification necessary to form 
 a GREAT MAN : As his most powerful and predominant 
 
 20 passion was ambition, so nature had with consummate pro- 
 priety, adapted all his faculties to the attaining those glo- 
 rious ends, to which this passion directed him. He was 
 extremely ingenious in inventing designs ; artful in contriving 
 the means to accomplish his purposes, and resolute in execut- 
 
 25 ing them : For, as the most exquisite cunning, and most 
 undaunted boldness qualified him for any undertaking, so was 
 he not restrained by any of those weaknesses which disappoint 
 the views of mean and vulgar souls, and which are compre- 
 
THE CHARACTER OF A GREAT THIEF ^J 
 
 hended in one general term of Honesty, which is a corruption 
 of Nonosty, a word derived from what the Greeks call an ass. 
 He was entirely free from those low vices of modesty and 
 good-nature, which, as he said, implied a total negative of 
 human GREATNESS, and were the only qualities which 5 
 absolutely rendered a man incapable of making a considerable 
 figure in the world. His lust was inferior only to his ambition ; 
 but, as for what simple people call love, he knew not what it 
 was. His avarice was immense ; but it was of the rapacious, 
 not of the tenacious kind ; his rapaciousness was indeed so 10 
 violent, that nothing ever contented him but the whole ; for, 
 however considerable the share was, which his coadjutors 
 allowed him of a booty, he was restless in inventing means to 
 make himself master of the meanest pittance reserved by them. 
 He said. Laws were made for the use of prigs only, and to 15 
 secure their property; they were never therefore more per- 
 verted, than when their edge was turned against these ; but 
 that this generally happened through their want of sufficient 
 dexterity. The character which he most valued himself upon, 
 and which he principally honoured in others, was that of hypoc- 20 
 risy. His opinion was, that no one could carry priggism very 
 far without it; for which reason, he said, there was little 
 GREATNESS to be expected in a man who acknowledged his 
 vices ; but always much to be hoped from him, who professed 
 great virtues ; wherefore, though he would always shun the 25 
 person whom he discovered guilty of a good action, yet he 
 was never deterred by a good character, which was more com- 
 monly the effect of profession than of action : For which reason, 
 he himself was always very liberal of honest professions, and 
 had as much virtue and goodness in his mouth as a saint; 30 
 never in the least scrupling to swear by his honour, even to 
 those who knew him the best ; nay, tho' he held good-nature 
 and modesty in the highest contempt, he constantly practised 
 
88 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 the affectation of both, and recommended it to others, whose 
 welfare, on his own account, he wished well to. He laid 
 down several maxims, as the certain methods of attaining 
 GREATNESS, to which, in his own pursuit of it, he constantly 
 5 adhered. As 
 
 1. Never to do more mischief to another, than was necessary to 
 the effecting his purpose ; for that mischief was too precious a 
 thing to be thrown away, 
 
 2. To know no distinction of men from affection ; but to sacrifice 
 lo all with equal readiness to his interest. 
 
 3. Never to communicate more of an affair than was necessary, 
 to the person who was to execute it. 
 
 4. Not to trust him, who had deceived him, nor who knew he 
 had been deceived by him. 
 
 15 5. To forgive no enemy ; but to be cautious and often dilatory in 
 revenge. 
 
 6. To shun poverty and distress, and to ally himself, as close as 
 possible, to power and riches. 
 
 7. To maintain a constant gravity in his countenance and behav- 
 20 iour, and to affect wisdom on all occasions. 
 
 8. To foment eternal jealousies in his gang, one of another. 
 
 9. Never to reward any one equal to his merit ; but always to 
 insinuate, that the reward was above it. 
 
 10. That all men were knaves or fools, and much the greater 
 25 number a composition of both. 
 
 11. That a good name, like money, must be parted with, or at 
 least greatly risqued, in order to bring the owner any advan- 
 tage. 
 
 1 2. That virtues, like precious stones, were easily counterfeited ; 
 30 that counterfeits in both cases adorned the wearer equally, 
 
 and that very few had knowledge or discernment sufficient to 
 distinguish the counterfeit jewel from the real. 
 
 13. That many men were undone by not going deep enough in 
 roguery, as in gaming any man may be the loser who doth 
 
 35 not play the whole game. 
 
THE CHARACTER OF A GREAT THIEF 89 
 
 14. That men proclaim their own virtues, as shopkeepers expose 
 their goods, in order to profit by them. 
 
 15. That the heart was the proper seat of hatred, and the coun- 
 tenance of affection and friendship. 
 
 He had many more of the same kind, all equally good with 5 
 these, and which were after his decease found in his study, as 
 the twelve excellent and celebrated rules were in that of King 
 Charles the first ; for he never promulgated them in his life 
 time, not having them constantly in his mouth, as some grave 
 persons have the rules of virtue and morality, without paying 10 
 the least regard to them in their actions ; whereas our hero, by 
 a constant and steady adherence to his rules in conforming every 
 thing he did to them, acquired at last a settled habit of walk- 
 ing by them, till at last he was in no danger of inadvertently 
 going out of the way; and by these means he arrived at that 15 
 degree of GREATNESS, which few have equalled ; none, we 
 may say, have exceeded : For, tho' it must be allowed that 
 there have been some few heroes, who have done greater 
 mischiefs to mankind, such as those who have betrayed the 
 liberties of their country to others, or have undermined and 20 
 over-powered it themselves, or conquerors who have impover- 
 ished, pillaged, sacked, burnt, and destroyed the countries and 
 cities of their fellow creatures, from no other provocation than 
 that of glory ; i.e. as the tragic poet calls it, 
 
 A Privilege to kill, 25 
 
 A strong Te7nptation to do bravely ill. 
 
 yet, if we consider it in the light wherein actions are placed 
 in this line, 
 
 Lcetius est, quoties magno tibi constat honestum . 
 
 when we see him, without the least assistance or pretence, 30 
 setting himself at the head of a gang, which he had not any 
 
go SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 shadow of right to govern ; if we view him maintaining abso- 
 lute power, and exercising tyranny over a lawless crew, con- 
 trary to all law, but that of his own will. If we consider him 
 setting up an open trade publicly, in defiance, not only of the 
 5 laws of his country but of the common sense of his country- 
 men ; if we see him first contriving the robbery of others, and 
 again the defrauding the very robbers of that booty, which they 
 had ventured their necks to acquire, and which without any 
 hazard they might have retained : Here sure he must appear 
 lo admirable, and we may challenge riot only the truth of history, 
 but almost the latitude of fiction, to equal it. 
 
 XXII 
 [MATTERS POLITICAL] 
 
 " How can it be otherwise ? says the peer. Do you think it 
 is possible to provide for all men of merit? " 
 
 " Yes, surely do I," said the Doctor. " And very easily 
 15 too." 
 
 "How pray? — cries the Lord — "Upon my word, I shall 
 be glad to know." 
 
 "Only by not providing for those of none — The men of 
 merit in any capacity are not I am afraid so extremely numer- 
 20 ous, that we need starve any of them, unless we wickedly suf- 
 fer a set of worthless fellows to eat their bread." 
 
 " This is all mere Utopia^ cries his Lordship. The chimer- 
 ical system of Plato's Commonwealth with which we amused 
 ourselves at the university; politics which are inconsistent 
 25 with the state of human affairs." 
 
 " Sure, my Lord, cries the Doctor, we have read of states 
 where such doctrines have been put in practice. What is 
 your Lordship's opinion of Rome in the earlier ages of the 
 
MATTERS POLITICAL 9I 
 
 commonwealth, of Sparta^ and even of Athens itself, in some 
 periods of its history? " 
 
 " Indeed, Doctor, cries the Lord, all these notions are obso- 
 lete and long since exploded. To apply maxims of govern- 
 ment drawn from the Greek and Roman histories, to this 5 
 nation, is absurd and impossible. But if you will have Roman 
 examples, fetch them from times like our own. Do you not 
 know. Doctor, that this is as corrupt a nation as ever existed 
 under the sun? And would you think of governing such a 
 people by the strict principles of honesty and morality?" 10 
 
 *' If it be so corrupt, said the Doctor, I think it is high time 
 to amend it. Or else it is easy to foresee the consequence : 
 for corruption in the body politic as naturally tends to disso- 
 lution as in the natural body." 
 
 "I thank you for your simile, cries my Lord: for in the 15 
 natural body, I believe, you will allow there is the season of 
 youth, the season of manhood, and the season of old age ; 
 and that, when the last of these arrives, it will be an impos- 
 sible attempt by all the means of art to restore the body again 
 to its youth, or to the vigour of its middle age. The same 20 
 periods happen to every great kingdom. In its youth it rises 
 by arts and arms to power and prosperity. This it enjoys 
 and flourishes with a while ; and then it may be said to be in 
 the vigour of its age, enrich'd at home with all the emolu- 
 ments and blessings of peace, and formidable abroad with all 25 
 the terrors of war. At length this very prosperity introduces 
 corruption ; and then comes on its old age. Virtue and 
 learning, art and industry, decay by degrees. The people 
 sink into sloth and luxury, and prostitution. It is enervated 
 at home, becomes contemptible abroad ; and such indeed is 30 
 its misery and wretchedness, that it resembles a man in the 
 last decrepid stage of life, who looks with unconcern at his 
 approaching dissolution." 
 
92 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 " This is a melancholy picture indeed," cries the Doctor ; 
 
 " and if the latter part of it can be applied to our case, I see 
 
 nothing but religion which should prevent a man of spirit 
 
 from hanging himself out of the way of so wretched a con- 
 
 5 templation." 
 
 "Why so?" said the peer; "Why hang himself, Doctor? 
 Would it not be wiser, think you, to make the best of your 
 time, and the most you can in such a nation?" 
 
 "And is religion then to be really laid out of the ques- 
 
 lo tion? " cries the Doctor. 
 
 " If I am to speak my own opinion, sir," answered the 
 peer, " you know I shall answer in the negative. — But you 
 are too well acquainted with the world to be told, that the 
 conduct of politicians is not formed upon the principles of 
 
 15 religion." 
 
 "I am very sorry for it," cries the Doctor; "but I will 
 talk to them then of honour and honesty : This is a language 
 which I hope they will at least pretend to understand. Now 
 to deny a man the preferment which he merits, and to give 
 
 20 it to another man who doth not merit it, is a manifest act of 
 injustice ; and is consequently inconsistent with both honour 
 and honesty. Nor is it only an act of injustice to the man 
 himself, but to the public, for whose good principally all 
 public offices are, or ought to be instituted. Now this good 
 
 25 can never be completed, nor obtained, but by employing all 
 persons according to their capacities. Wherever true merit 
 is liable to be superseded by favour and partiality, and men 
 are intrusted with offices, without any regard to capacity or 
 integrity, the affairs of that state will always be in a deplor- 
 
 30 able situation. Such, as Livy tells us, was the state of Capita^ 
 a little before its final destruction ; and the consequence 
 your Lordship well knows. But, my Lord, there is another 
 mischief which attends this kind of injustice, and that is, it 
 
MATTERS POLITICAL 93 
 
 hath a manifest tendency to destroy all virtue and all ability 
 among the people, by taking away all that encouragement 
 and incentive, which should promote emulation, and raise 
 men to aim at excelling in any art, science, or profession. 
 Nor can anything, my Lord, contribute more to render a 5 
 nation contemptible among its neighbours ; for what opinion 
 can other countries have of the councils, or what terror can 
 they conceive of the arms of such a people? And it was 
 owing singly, perhaps, to the avoiding this error, that Oliver 
 Cromwell C2kxnt<l the reputation of England higher than it ever 10 
 was at any other time. I will add only one argument more, 
 and that is founded on the most narrow and selfish system 
 of politics ; and this is, that such a conduct is sure to create 
 universal discontent and grumbling at home : for nothing can 
 bring men to rest satisfied, when they see others preferred to 15 
 them, but an opinion that they deserve that elevation ; for as one 
 of the greatest men this country ever produced, observes. 
 
 One worthless Man that gains what he pretends^ 
 Disgusts a thousand unpretenditig Friends. 
 
 With what heartburnings then must any nation see them- 20 
 selves obliged to contribute to the support of a set of men, 
 of whose incapacity to serve them they are well apprized, and 
 who do their country a double diskindness ; by being them- 
 selves employed in posts to which they are unequal, and by 
 keeping others out of those employments, for which they are 25 
 qualified ! " 
 
 "And do you really think. Doctor," cries the nobleman, 
 " that any minister could support himself in this country upon 
 such principles as you recommend? Do you think he would 
 be able to baffle an opposition, unless he should oblige his 30 
 friends by conferring places often, contrary to his own inch- 
 nations, and his own opinion? " 
 
94 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 " Yes, really do I," cries the Doctor. " Indeed if a minister is 
 resolved to make good his confession in the liturgy, by leaving 
 undone all those things which he ought to have done, and by 
 doing all those things which he ought not to have done : such 
 5 a minister, I grant, will be obliged to baffle opposition, as you 
 are pleased to term it ; for as Shakespeare somewhere says, 
 
 Things ill begicn strengthen themselves by III. 
 
 But if, on the contrary, he will please to consider the true 
 interest of his country, and that only in great and national 
 
 lo points; if he will engage his country in neither alliances or 
 quarrels, but where it is really interested ; if he will raise no 
 money but what is wanted ; nor employ any civil or military 
 officers but what are useful ; and place in .these employments 
 men of the highest integrity, and of the greatest abilities ; if 
 
 15 he will employ some few of his hours to advance our trade, 
 and some few more to regulate our domestic government : if 
 he would do this, my Lord, I will answer for it he shall have 
 no opposition to baffle. Such a minister may, in the language 
 of the law, put himself on his country when he pleases and he 
 
 20 shall come off with honour and applause." 
 
 "And do you really believe, Doctor," cries the peer, "there 
 ever was such a minister, or ever will be? " 
 
 "Why not, my Lord? " answered the Doctor. " It requires 
 no very extraordinary parts, nor any extraordinary degree of 
 
 25 virtue. He need practise no great instances of self-denial. 
 He shall have power, and honour, and riches, and perhaps all 
 in a much greater degree than he can ever acquire, by pursu- 
 ing a contrary system. He shall have more of each, and much 
 more of safety." 
 
 30 " Pray, Doctor," said my Lord, " let me ask you one simple 
 question. Do you really believe any man upon earth was ever 
 a rogue out of choice? " 
 
MATTERS POLITICAL 95 
 
 "Really, my Lord," says the Doctor, "I am ashamed to 
 answer in the affirmative ; and yet I am afraid experience 
 would almost justify me if I should. Perhaps the opinion of 
 the world may sometimes mislead men to think those meas- 
 ures necessary, which in reality are not so. Or the truth may 5 
 be, that a man of good inclinations finds his office filled with 
 such corruption by the iniquity of his predecessors, that he 
 may despair of being capable of purging it ; and so sits down 
 contented, as Aiigeas did with the filth of his stables, not 
 because he thought them the better, or that such filth was 10 
 really necessary to a stable ; but that he despaired of suffi- 
 cient force to cleanse them." 
 
 '' I will ask you one question more, and I have done," said 
 the nobleman. " Do you imagine that if any minister was 
 really as good as you would have him, that the people in 15 
 general would believe that he was so?" 
 
 "Truly, my Lord," said the Doctor, " I think they may be 
 justified in not believing too hastily. But I beg leave to answer 
 your Lordship's question by another. Doth your Lordship 
 believe that the people of Greenland^ when they see the light 20 
 of the sun, and feel his warmth, after so long a season of cold 
 and darkness, will really be persuaded that he shines upon 
 them? " 
 
 My Lord smiled at the conceit ; and then the Doctor took 
 an opportunity to renew his suit, to which his Lordship 25 
 answered he would promise nothing, and could give him no 
 hopes of success : " But you may be assured," said he with a 
 leering countenance, " I shall do him all the service in my 
 power." A language which the Doctor well understood, and 
 soon after took a civil, but not a very ceremonial leave. 30 
 
96 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 XXIII 
 
 A COMPARISON BETWEEN THE WORLD AND 
 THE STAGE 
 
 The world hath been often compared to the theatre ; and 
 many grave writers, as well as the poets, have considered 
 human life as a great drama, resembling, in almost every par- 
 ticular, those scenical representations, which Thespis is first 
 5 reported to have invented, and which have been since received 
 with so much approbation and delight in all pohte countries. 
 
 This thought hath been carried so far, and become so gen- 
 eral, that some words proper to the theatre, and which were, 
 at first, metaphorically apphed to the world, are now indis- 
 
 lo criminately and Hterally spoken of both : thus stage and scene 
 are by common use grown as familiar to us, when we speak 
 of life in general, as when we confine ourselves to dramatic 
 performances ; and when we mention transactions behind the 
 curtain, St. James's is more likely to occur to our thoughts 
 
 15 than Drury-Lane. 
 
 It may seem easy enough to account for all this, by reflecting 
 that the theatrical stage is nothing more than a representation, 
 or, as Aristotle calls it, an imitation of what really exists ; and 
 hence, perhaps, we might fairly pay a very high compliment 
 
 20 to those, who by their writings or actions have been so capable 
 of imitating life, as to have their pictures, in a manner con- 
 founded with, or mistaken for, the originals. 
 
 But, in reality, we are not so fond of paying compliments 
 to these people, whom we use as children frequently do the 
 
 25 instruments of their amusement ; and have much more pleas- 
 ure in hissing and buffeting them, than in admiring their 
 excellence. There are many other reasons which have induced 
 us to see this analogy between the world and the stage. 
 
THE WORLD AND THE STAGE 97 
 
 Some have considered the larger part of mankmd in the 
 light of actors, as personating characters no more their own, 
 and to which, in fact, they have no better title, than the player 
 hath to be truly thought the king or emperor whom he repre- 
 sents. Thus the hypocrite may be said to be a player; and 5 
 indeed the Greeks called them both by one and the same 
 name. 
 
 The brevity of life hath likewise given occasion to this 
 comparison. So the immortal Shakespear. 
 
 Life ''s a poor player, 10 
 
 That storms and sti'uts his hour upon the stage, 
 And then is heard no more. 
 
 For which hackneyed quotation, I will make the reader amends 
 by a very noble one, which few, I believe, have read. It is 
 taken from a poem called the Deity, published about nine years 15 
 ago, and long since buried in obhvion. A proof that good 
 books no more than good men do always survive the bad. 
 
 From Thee * all human actions take their springs, 
 
 The rise of empires, and the fall of kings ! 
 
 See the vast theatre of time display'd, 20 
 
 While o'er the scene succeeding heroes tread ! 
 
 With pomp the shining images succeed, 
 
 What leaders triumph, and what monarchs bleed! 
 
 Perform the parts thy providence assign'd, 
 
 Their pride, their passions to thy ends inclin'd : 25 
 
 A while they glitter in the face of day, 
 
 Then at thy nod the phantoms pass away ; 
 
 No traces left of all the busy scene, 
 
 But that remembrance says — the things have been ! 
 
 In all these, however, and in every other similitude of life to 30 
 the theatre, the resemblance hath been always taken from the 
 
 * The Deity. 
 
98 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 stage only. None, as I remember, have at all considered the 
 audience at this great drama. 
 
 But as Nature often exhibits some of her best performances 
 to a very full house ; so will the behaviour of her spectators 
 5 no less admit the above-mentioned comparison than that of 
 her actors. In this vast theatre of time are seated the friend 
 and the critic ; here are claps and shouts, hisses and groans ; 
 in short, every thing which was ever seen or heard at the 
 Theatre Royal. 
 
 lo Now we, who are admitted behind the scenes of this great 
 theatre of nature, (and no author ought to write any thing 
 besides dictionaries and spelling-books who hath not this 
 privilege) can censure the action, without conceiving any 
 absolute detestation of the person, whom perhaps Nature may 
 
 1 5 not have designed to act an ill part in all her dramas : for in 
 this instance, life most exactly resembles the stage, since it 
 is often the same person who represents the villain and the 
 heroe ; and he who engages your admiration today, will prob- 
 ably attract your contempt tomorrow. As Garrick, whom I 
 
 2o regard in tragedy to be the greatest genius the world hath ever 
 produced, sometimes condescends to play the fool ; so did 
 Scipio the Great and Lcelius the Wise, according to Horace y 
 many years ago : nay, Cicero reports them to have been 
 "incredibly childish." — These, it is true play'd the fool, like 
 
 25 my friend Garrick^ in jest only; but several eminent charac- 
 ters have, in numberless instances of their lives, played the 
 fool egregiously in earnest; so far as to render it a matter of 
 some doubt, whether their wisdom or folly was predominant ; 
 or whether they were better intitled to the applause or censure, 
 
 30 the admiration or contempt, the love or hatred of mankind. 
 Those persons, indeed, who have passed any time behind 
 the scenes of this great theatre, and are thoroughly acquainted 
 not only with the several disguises which are there put on. 
 
MORAL REFLECTIONS BY JOSEPH ANDREWS 99 
 
 but also with the fantastic and capricious behaviour of the 
 Passions who are the managers and directors of this theatre, 
 (for as to Reason the patentee, he is known to be a very idle 
 fellow, and seldom to exert himself) may most probably have 
 learned to understand the famous nil admirari of Uoi^ace, or 5 
 in the English phrase, to stare at nothing. 
 
 A single bad act no more constitutes a villain in life, than a 
 single bad part on the stage. The passions, like the managers 
 of a playhouse, often force men upon parts, without consulting 
 their judgement, and sometimes without any regard to their 10 
 talents. Thus the man, as well as the player, may condemn 
 what he himself acts ; nay, it is common to see vice sit as 
 awkwardly on some men, as the character of lago would on 
 the honest face of Mr. William Mills. 
 
 Upon the whole then, the man of candour and of true 15 
 understanding, is never hasty to condemn. He can censure 
 an imperfection, or even a vice, without rage against the guilty 
 party. In a word, they are the same folly, the same childish- 
 ness, the same ill-breeding, and the same ill-nature, which 
 raise all the clamours and uproars both in life, and on the 20 
 stage. The worst of men generally have the words rogue and 
 villain most in their mouths, as the lowest of all wretches are 
 the aptest to cry out low in the pit. 
 
 XXIV 
 MORAL REFLECTIONS BY JOSEPH ANDREWS 
 
 I have often wondered, sir, said Joseph, to observe so few 
 instances of charity among mankind ; for tho' the goodness 25 
 of a man's heart did not incline him to relieve the distresses 
 of his fellow-creatures, methinks the desire of honour should 
 move him to it. What inspires a man to build fine houses, to 
 
 I. or c. 
 
lOO SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 purchase fine furniture, pictures, clothes, and other things at 
 a great expence, but an ambition to be respected more than 
 other people? Now would not one great act of charity, one 
 instance of redeeming a poor family from all the miseries of 
 5 poverty, restoring an unfortunate tradesman by a sum of money 
 to the means of procuring a liveHhood by his industry, discharg- 
 ing an undone debtor from his debts or a gaol, or any such 
 like example of goodness, create a man more honour and 
 respect than he could acquire by the finest house, furniture, 
 
 lo pictures or clothes that were ever beheld? For not only 
 the object himself, who was thus relieved, but all who heard 
 the name of such a person must, I imagine, reverence him 
 infinitely more than the possessor of all those other things : 
 which when we so admire, we rather praise the builder, the 
 
 15 workman, the painter, the laceman, the taylor, and the rest, 
 by whose ingenuity they are produced, than the person who 
 by his money makes them his own. For my own part, when I 
 have waited behind my lady in a room hung with fine pictures, 
 while I have been looking at them I have never once thought 
 
 20 of their owner, nor hath any one else, as I ever observed ; for 
 when it hath been asked whose picture that was, it was never 
 once answered the master's of the house, but Ammyconni, Paul 
 Varnish, Han^iibal Scratchi, or Hogarthi, which I suppose 
 were the names of the painters : but if it was asked, who 
 
 25 redeemed such a one out of prison? who lent such a ruined 
 tradesman money to set up? who cloathed that family of poor 
 little children? it is very plain, what must be the answer. 
 And besides, these great folks are mistaken, if they imagine 
 they get any honour at all by these means; for I do not 
 
 30 remember I ever was with my lady at any house where she 
 commended the house or furniture, but I have heard her at her 
 return home make sport and jeer at whatever she had before 
 commended : and I have been told by other gentlemen in 
 
MORAL REFLECTIONS BY JOSEPH ANDREWS lOI 
 
 livery, that it is the same in their families : but I defy the 
 wisest man in the world to turn a true good action into ridicule. 
 I defy him to do it. He who should endeavour it, would be 
 laughed at himself, instead of making others laugh. Nobody 
 scarce doth any good, yet they all agree in praising those who 5 
 do. Indeed it is strange that all men should consent in com- 
 mending goodness, and no man endeavour to deserve that 
 commendation ; whilst, on the contrary, all rail at wickedness, 
 and all are as eager to be what they abuse. This I know not the 
 reason of ; but it is as plain as daylight to those who converse 10 
 in the world, as I have done these three years. "■ Are all the 
 great folks wicked then? " says Fanny. To be sure there are 
 some exceptions, answered Joseph. Some gentlemen of our 
 cloth report charitable actions done by their lords and masters, 
 and I have heard Squire Pope, the great poet, at my lady's 15 
 table, tell stories of a man that lived at a place called Ross, 
 and another at the Bath, one Al — Al — I forget his name, 
 but it is in the book of verses. This gentleman hath built up 
 a stately house too, which the 'squire likes very well ; but his 
 charity is seen farther than his house, tho' it stands on a hill, 20 
 ay, and brings him more honour. It was his charity that put 
 him upon the book, where the 'squire says he puts all those 
 who deserve it ; and to be sure, as he lives among all those 
 great people, if there were any such, he would know them. 
 This was all of Mr. Joseph Andrews^ s speech which I could 25 
 get him to recollect, which I have delivered as near as was 
 possible in his own words, with a very small embellishment. 
 
I02 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 XXV 
 [HIGH PEOPLE AND LOW PEOPLE] 
 
 Be it known then, that the human species are divided into 
 two sorts of people, to wit, high people and low people. As by 
 high people, 1 would not be understood to mean persons lit- 
 erally born higher in their dimensions than the rest of the 
 5 species, nor metaphorically those of exalted characters or abil- 
 ities ; so by low people I cannot be construed to intend the 
 reverse. High people signify no other than people of fashion, 
 and low people those of no fashion. Now, this word fashion, 
 hath by long use lost its original meaning, from which at pres- 
 
 lo ent it gives us a very different idea : for I am deceived, if by 
 persons of fashion, we do not generally include a conception 
 of birth and accomphshments superior to the herd of man- 
 kind ; whereas in reality, nothing more was originally meant 
 by a person of fashion, than a person who drest himself, in the 
 
 15 fashion of the times; and the word really and truly signifies 
 no more at this day. Now the world being thus divided into 
 people of fashion, and people of no fashion, a fierce conten- 
 tion arose between them, nor would those of one party, to 
 avoid suspicion, be seen publicly to speak to those of the 
 
 20 other ; though they often held a very good correspondence in 
 private. In this contention, it is difficult to say which party 
 succeeded : for, whilst the people of fashion seized several 
 places to their own use, such as courts, assemblies, operas, 
 balls, &c. the people of no fashion, besides one royal place 
 
 25 called his Majesty's Bear-garden, have been in constant pos- 
 session of all hops, fairs, revels, &c. Two places have been 
 agreed to be divided between them, namely the church and the 
 playhouse; where they segregate themselves from each other 
 in a remarkable manner : for as the people of fashion exalt 
 
HIGH PEOPLE AND LOW PEOPLE 103 
 
 themselves at church over the heads of the people of no 
 fashion ; so in the playhouse they abase themselves in the 
 same degree under their feet. This distinction I have never 
 met with any one able to account for ; it is sufficient, that so 
 far from looking on each other as brethren in the Christian 5 
 language, they seem scarce to regard each other as of the 
 same species. This the terms strange persons, people one does 
 not know, the creature, iv retches, beasts, brutes, and many 
 other appellations evidently demonstrate ; which Mrs. Slipslop 
 having often heard her mistress use, thought she had also 10 
 a right to use in her turn : and perhaps she was not mis- 
 taken ; for these two parties, especially those bordering nearly 
 on each other, to wit the lowest of the high, and the highest 
 of the low, often change their parties according to place and 
 time ; for those who are people of fashion in one place, are 1 5 
 often people of no fashion in another : and with regard to 
 time, it may not be unpleasant to survey the picture of 
 dependance like a kind of ladder ; as for instance early in 
 the morning arises the postillion, or some other boy which 
 great families no more than great ships are without, and falls 20 
 to brushing the clothes, and cleaning the shoes of John the 
 footman, who being drest himself, applies his hands to the 
 same labours for Mr. Second-hand the squire's gentleman ; 
 the gentleman in the like manner, a little later in the day, 
 attends the squire ; the squire is no sooner equipped, than 25 
 he attends the levee of my lord ; which is no sooner over, 
 than my lord himself is seen at the levee of the favourite, 
 who after his hour of homage is at an end, appears himseK 
 to pay homage to the levee of his sovereign. Nor is there 
 perhaps, in this whole ladder of dependance, any one step 30 
 at a greater distance from the other, than the first from the 
 second : so that to a philosopher the question might only 
 seem whether you would chuse to be a great man at six in 
 
I04 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 the morning, or at two in the afternoon. And yet there are 
 scarce two of these, who do not think the least familiarity 
 with the persons below them a condescension, and if they 
 were to go one step farther, a degradation. 
 
 XXVI 
 [ON LIBERTY] 
 
 5 By liberty, however, I apprehend, is commonly understood 
 the power of doing what we please : not absolutely ; for then 
 it would be inconsistent with law, by whose control the liberty 
 of the freest people, except only the Hottentots and wild 
 Indians, must always be restrained. 
 
 lo But, indeed, however largely we extend, or however moder- 
 ately we confine, the sense of the word, no politician will, I 
 presume, contend that it is to pervade in an equal degree, and 
 be with the same extent enjoyed by every member of society ; 
 no such polity having been ever found, unless among those 
 
 15 vile people just before commemorated. Among the Greeks 
 and Romans, the servile and free conditions were opposed 
 to each other; and no man who had the misfortune to be 
 enrolled under the former, could lay any claim to liberty, 
 till the right was conveyed to him by that master whose slave 
 
 20 he was, either by the means of conquest, of purchase, or of 
 birth. 
 
 This was the state of all the free nations in the world ; and 
 
 this, till very lately, was understood to be the case of our own. 
 
 I will not indeed say this is the case at present, the lowest 
 
 25 class of our people having shaken off all the shackles of their 
 superiors, and become not only as free, but even freer, than 
 most of their superiors. I believe it cannot be doubted, 
 though, perhaps, we have no recent instance of it, that the 
 
ON LIBERTY 105 
 
 personal attendance of every man who hath three hundred 
 pounds per antiuui^ in parHament, is indispensably his duty ; 
 and that, if the citizens and burgesses of any city or borough 
 shall chuse such a one, however reluctant he appear, he may 
 be obliged to attend, and be forcibly brought to his duty by 5 
 the Serjeant at arms. 
 
 Again, there are numbers of subordinate offices, some of 
 which are of burthen, and others of expence, in the civil gov- 
 ernment : all of which, persons who are qualified, are liable 
 to have imposed on them, may be obliged to undertake and 10 
 properly execute, notwithstanding any bodily labour, or even 
 danger, to which they may subject themselves, under the pen- 
 alty of fines and imprisonment ; nay, and what may appear 
 somewhat hard, may be compelled to satisfy the losses which 
 are eventually incident to that of sheriff in particular, out of 15 
 their own private fortunes ; and though this should prove the 
 ruin of a family, yet the public, to whom the price is due, 
 incurs no debt or obligation to preserve its officer harmless, 
 let his innocence appear ever so clearly. 
 
 I purposely omit the mention of those military or militiary 20 
 duties, which our old constitution laid upon its greatest mem- 
 bers. These might, indeed, supply their posts with some other 
 able-bodied men ; but, if no such could have been found, the 
 obligation nevertheless remained, and they were compellable 
 to serve in their own proper persons. 25 
 
 The only one, therefore, who is possessed of absolute liberty, 
 is the lowest member of the society, who, if he prefers hunger, 
 or the wald product of the fields, hedges, lanes and rivers, with 
 the indulgence of ease and laziness, to a food a little more 
 delicate, but purchased at the expence of labour, may lay him- 30 
 self under a shade ; nor can be forced to take the other alter- 
 native from that which he hath, I will not affirm whether 
 wisely or foolishly, chosen. 
 
Io6 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Here I may, perhaps, be reminded of the last vagrant act, 
 where all such persons are compellable to work for the usual 
 and accustomed wages allowed in the place ; but this is a 
 clause little known to the justices of the peace, and least likely 
 5 to be executed by those who do know it, as they know like- 
 wise that it is formed on the antient power of the justices 
 to fix and settle these wages every year, making proper allow- 
 ances for the scarcity and plenty of the times, the cheapness 
 and dearness of the place ; and that the usual and accustomed 
 
 lo laages, are words without any force or meaning, when there are 
 no such ; but every man spunges and raps whatever he can 
 get ; and will haggle as long, and struggle as hard to cheat his 
 employer of two-pence in a day's labour, as an honest trades- 
 man will to cheat his customers of the same sum in a yard of 
 
 15 cloth or silk. 
 
 It is a great pity "then that this power, or rather this prac- 
 tice, was not revived; but this having been so long omitted, 
 that it is become obsolete, will be best done by a new law, in 
 which this power, as well as the consequent power of forcing 
 
 20 the poor to labour at a moderate and reasonable rate, should 
 be well considered, and their execution facihtated ; for gentle- 
 men who give their time and labour gratis, and even volun- 
 tarily, to the public, have a right to expect that all their busi- 
 ness be made as easy as possible ; and to enact laws without 
 
 25 doing this, is to fill our statute-books, much too full already, 
 still fuller with dead letter, of no use but to the printer of the 
 acts of parliament. 
 

 0^ 
 
 ^u THE POWER OF THE MOB 107 
 
 ^ 
 
 XXVII 
 [THE POWER OF THE MOB] 
 
 Odi profaiittm vulgus. HoR. 
 / hate the mob. 
 
 In a former paper I have endeavoured to trace the rise and 
 progress of the power of the fourth estate in this constitution. 
 I shall now examine that share of power which they actually 5 
 enjoy at this day, and then proceed to consider the several 
 means by which they have attained it. 
 
 First, though this estate have not as yet claimed that right 
 which was insisted on by the people or mob in old Rome, of 
 giving a negative voice in the enacting laws, they have clearly 10 
 exercised this power in controlling their execution. Of this 
 it is easy to give many instances, particularly in the case of 
 the gin-act some years ago; and in those of several turnpikes 
 which have been erected against the good-will and pleasure of 
 the mob, and have by them been demolished. 15 
 
 In opposing the execution of such laws, they do not always 
 rely on force ; but have frequent recourse to the most refined 
 policy : for sometimes, without openly expressing their disap- 
 probation, they take the most effectual means to prevent the 
 carrying a law into execution ; those are by discountenancing 20 
 all those who endeavour to prosecute the offences committed 
 against it. 
 
 They well know, that the courts of justice cannot proceed 
 without informations ; if they can stifle these, the law of course 
 becomes dead and useless. The informers therefore in such 25 
 cases, they declare to be infamous, and guilty of the crime 
 IcEsae mobilitatis. Of this whoever is suspected (which is 
 with them a synonymous term with convicted) is immediately 
 punished by buffeting, kicking, stoning, ducking, bemudding, 
 
I08 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 &c. in short, by all those means of putting, (sometimes quite, 
 sometimes almost) to death, which are called by that general 
 phrase of mobbing. 
 
 It may perhaps be said that the mob do, even at this day, 
 5 connive at the execution of some laws, which they can by no 
 means be supposed to approve. 
 
 Such are the laws against robbery, burglary, and theft. 
 This is, I confess, true ; and I have often wondered that it is 
 so. The reason perhaps is, the great love which the mob have 
 
 lo for a holiday, and the great pleasure they take in seeing men 
 hanged ; so great, that, while they are enjoying it, they are 
 all apt to forget, that this is hereafter, in all probability, to 
 be their own fate. 
 
 In all these matters however, the power of this estate is 
 
 15 rather felt than seen. It seems indeed to be Hke that power 
 of the crown of France, which Cardinal de Retz compares to 
 those religious mysteries that are performed in the sanctum 
 sanctorum ; and which, though it be often exercised, is never 
 expressly claimed. 
 
 20 In other instances, the fourth estate is much more explicit 
 in their pretensions, and much more constant in asserting and 
 maintaining them ; of which I shall mention some of the 
 principal. 
 
 First, they assert an exclusive right to the river of Thames. 
 
 25 It is true, the other estates do sometimes venture themselves 
 upon the river ; but this is only upon sufferance ; for which 
 they pay whatever that branch of the fourth estate called 
 
 - watermen, are pleased to exact of them. Nor are the mob 
 contented with all these exactions. They grumble whenever 
 
 30 they meet any persons in a boat, whose dress declares them 
 to be of a different order from themselves. Sometimes they 
 carry their resentment so far, as to endeavour to run against 
 the boat, and overset it ; but if they are too good-natured to 
 
THE POWER OF THE MOB 109 
 
 attempt this, they never fail to attack the passengers with all 
 kind of scurrilous, abusive, and indecent terms, which indeed 
 they claim as their own, and call mob language. 
 
 The second exclusive right which they insist on, is to those 
 parts of the streets, that are set apart for the foot-passengers. 5 
 In asserting this privilege, they are extremely rigorous ; inso- 
 much, that none of the other orders can walk through the 
 streets by day without being insulted, nor by night without 
 being knocked down. And the better to secure these foot- 
 paths to themselves, they take effectual care to keep the said 10 
 paths always well blocked up with chairs, wheel-barrows, and 
 every other kind of obstruction ; in order to break the legs of 
 those who shall presume to encroach upon their privileges by 
 walking the streets. 
 
 Here it was hoped their pretensions would have stopped ; 1 5 
 but it is difficult to set any bounds to ambition ; for, having 
 sufficiently established this right, they now begin to assert 
 their right to the whole street, and to have lately made such a 
 disposition with their waggons, carts, and drays, that no coach 
 can pass along without the utmost difficulty and danger. With 20 
 this view we every day see them driving side by side, and 
 sometimes in the broader streets three a breast ; again, we see 
 them leaving a cart or waggon in the middle of the street, 
 and often set a-cross it, while the driver repairs to a neighbour- 
 ing ale-house, from the window of which he diverts himself 25 
 while he is drinking, with the mischief or inconvenience which 
 his vehicle occasions. 
 
 The same pretensions which they make to the possession 
 of the streets, they make likewise to the possession of the 
 high-ways. I doubt not I shall be told they claim only an 30 
 equal right : for I know it is very usual when a carter or a 
 dray-man is civilly desired to make a little room, by moving 
 out of the middle of the road either to the right or left, to 
 
no SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 hear the following answer: " D — n your eyes, who are you? 
 Is not the road, and be d — n'd to you, as free for me as 
 you? " Hence it will, I suppose, be inferred that they do not 
 absolutely exclude the other estates from the use of the com- 
 5 mon high- ways. But notwithstanding this generous concession 
 in words, I do aver this practice is different, and that a gentle- 
 man may go a voyage at sea with little more hazard than he 
 can travel ten miles from the metropolis. 
 
 I shall mention only one claim more, and that a very new 
 
 lo and a very extraordinary one. It is the right of excluding all 
 women of fashion out of St, James's-Park on a Sunday evening. 
 This they have lately asserted with great vehemence, and have 
 inflicted the punishment of mobbing on several ladies, who had 
 transgressed without design, not having been apprised of the 
 
 15 good pleasure of the mob in this point. And this I the rather 
 publish to prevent any such transgressions for the future, since 
 it hath already appeared that no degree of either dignity or 
 beauty can secure the offender.* 
 
 Many things have contributed to raise this fourth estate to 
 
 20 that exorbitant degree of power which they at present enjoy, 
 and which seems to threaten to shake the balance of our con- 
 stitution. I shall name only three, as these appear to me to 
 have had much the greatest share in bringing it about. 
 
 The first is that act of parliament which was made at the 
 
 25 latter end of Queen Elizabeth's reign, and wliich I cannot 
 help considering as a kind of compromise between the other 
 three estates and this. By this act it was stipulated, that the 
 fourth estate should annually receive out of the possessions of 
 the others, a certain large proportion yearly, upon an implied 
 
 30 condition (for no such was expre^t) that they should suffer the 
 other estates to enjoy the rest of their property without loss 
 or molestation. 
 
 * A lady of great quality, and admirable beauty, was mobbed in the 
 park at this time. 
 
THE POWER OF THE MOB m 
 
 This law gave a new turn to the minds of the mobility. 
 They found themselves no longer obliged to depend on the 
 charity of their neighbours, nor on their own industry for a 
 maintenance. They now looked on themselves as joint pro- 
 prietors in the land, and celebrated their independency in 5 
 songs of triumph ; witness the old ballad which was in all their 
 
 mouths, 
 
 Hang sorrow, cast away care; 
 
 The parish is bound to find us, &c. 
 
 A second cause of their present elevation has been the 10 
 private quarrels between particular members of the other 
 estates, who, on such occasions, have done all they could on 
 both sides to raise the power of the mob, in order to avail 
 themselves of it, and to employ it against their enemies. 
 
 The third and the last which I shall mention, is the mis- 15 
 taken idea which some particular persons have always enter- 
 tained of the word liberty; but this will open too copious a 
 subject, and shall be therefore treated in a future paper. 
 
 But before I dismiss this, I must observe that there are two 
 sorts of persons of whom this fourth estate do yet stand in 20 
 some awe, and whom consequently they have in great abhor- 
 rence : These are a justice of peace, and a soldier. To these 
 two it is entirely owing that they have not long since rooted 
 all the other orders out of the commonwealth. 
 
^ ^< 112 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 XXVIII 
 [ON HUMOROUS CHARACTERS] 
 
 ^ Juvat integros accedere fontes, 
 
 Atque haurire Lucretius 
 
 It is pleasant to handle 
 
 An untouched subject. 
 
 5 It hath been observed, that characters of humour do abound 
 more in this our island, than in any other country ; and this 
 hath been commonly supposed to arise from that pure and per- 
 fect state of liberty which we enjoy in" a degree greatly supe- 
 rior to every foreign nation. 
 
 lo This opinion, I know, hath great sanction, and yet I am 
 inclined to suspect the truth of it, unless we will extend the 
 meaning of the word liberty farther than I think it hath been 
 yet carried, and will include in it not only an exemption from 
 all restraint of municipal laws, but likewise from all restraint of 
 
 15 those rules of behaviour which are expressed in the general term 
 of good breeding. Laws which, though not written, are per- 
 haps better understood, and though established by no coercive 
 power, much better obeyed within the circle where they are 
 received, than any of those laws which are recorded in books, 
 
 20 or enforced by public authority. 
 
 A perfect freedom from these laws, if I am not greatly mis- 
 taken, is absolutely necessary to form the true character of 
 humour ; a character which is therefore not [to] be met with 
 among those people who conduct themselves by the rules of 
 
 25 good breeding. 
 
 For, indeed, good breeding is little more than the art of 
 rooting out all those seeds of humour which nature had origi- 
 nally implanted in our minds. 
 
ON HUMOROUS CHARACTERS 1 13 
 
 To make this evident, it seems necessary only to explain the 
 terms, a matter in which I do not see the great difficulty which 
 hath appeared to other writers. Some of these have spoken of 
 the word humour, as if it contained in it some mystery impos- 
 sible to be revealed, and no one, as I know of, hath undertaken 5 
 to shew us expressly what it is, though I scarce doubt but it 
 was done by Aristotle in his treatise on comedy, which is unhap- 
 pily lost. 
 
 But what is more surprising, . is, that we find it pretty well 
 explained in authors who at the same time tell us, they know 10 
 not what it is. Mr. Congreve, in a letter to Mr. Dennis, hath 
 these words : "■ We cannot certainly tell what wit is, or what 
 humour is," and within a few lines afterwards he says, "There 
 is a great difference between a comedy wherein there are many 
 things humourously, as they call it, which is pleasantly spoken ; 15 
 and one where there are several characters of humour, distin- 
 guished by the particular and different humours appropriated 
 to the several persons represented, and which naturally arise 
 from the different constitutions, complexions, and dispositions 
 of men. And again, I take humour to be a singular and una- 20 
 voidable manner of saying or doing any thing peculiar and 
 natural to one man only ; by which his speech and actions are 
 distinguished from those of other men. Our humour hath rela- 
 tion to us, and to what proceeds from us, as the accidents have 
 to a substance ; it is a colour, taste, and smell diffused through 25 
 all ; though our actions are ever so many, and different in form, 
 they are all splinters of the same wood, and have naturally one 
 complexion, &c." 
 
 If my reader hath any doubt whether this is a just description 
 of humour, let him compare it with those examples of humor- 30 
 ous characters, which the greatest masters have given us, and 
 which have been universally acknowledged as such, and he 
 will be perhaps convinced. 
 
114 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Ben Johnson, after complaining of the abuse of the word, 
 proceeds thus : 
 
 Why humour (as 't is ens) we thus define it, 
 To be a quality of air, or water, 
 5 And in itself holds these two properties, 
 
 Moisture and iluxure ; as for demonstration. 
 Pour water on this floor ; 'twill wet and run ; 
 Likewise the air forc'd thro' a horn, or trumpet 
 Flows instantly away, and leaves behind 
 
 ID A kind of dew ; and hence we do conclude. 
 
 That whatsoe'er hath fluxure and humidity, 
 As wanting power to contain itself, 
 Is humour. So in every human body. 
 The choler, melancholy, phlegm and blood, 
 
 IS By reason that they flow continually 
 
 In some one part, and are not continent, 
 Receive the name of humours. ' Now thus far, 
 ♦ It may, by metaphor, apply itself 
 ' Unto the general disposition : 
 
 20 ' As when some one peculiar quality 
 
 < Doth so possess a man, that it doth draw, 
 ' All his effects, his spirits, and his powers, 
 ' In their conflnxions all to run one way,' 
 Tkzs may be truly said to be a humour. 
 
 25 But that a rook by wearing a py'd feather, 
 
 The cable hatband, or the three piled ruff, 
 A yard of shoe-tie, or the Switzer's knot 
 On his French garters, should affect a humour ! 
 O ! it is more than most ridiculous. 
 
 30 This passage is in the first act of Every man out of his humour; 
 and I question not but to some readers, the author will appear 
 to have been out of his wits when he wrote it ; but others, I 
 am positive, will discern much excellent ore shining among the 
 rubbish. In truth, his sentiment, when let loose from that stiff 
 
ON HUMOROUS CHARACTERS II5 
 
 boddice in which it is laced, will amount to this, that as the term- 
 humour contains in it the ideas of moisture and fluxure, it was 
 applied to certain moist and flux habits of the body, and after- 
 wards metaphorically to peculiar qualities of the mind, which, 
 when they are extremely prevalent, do, like the predominant 5 
 humours of the body, flow all to one part, and as the latter 
 are known to absorb and drain off all the corporeal juices and 
 strength to themselves, so the former are no less certain of 
 engaging the affections, spirits, and powers of the mind, and 
 of enlisting them as it were, into their own service, and under 10 
 their own absolute command. 
 
 Here then we have another pretty adequate notion of 
 humour, which is indeed nothing more than a violent bent 
 or disposition of the mind to some particular point. To enu- 
 merate indeed these several dispositions would be, as Mr. Con- 15 
 greve observes, as endless as to sum up the several opinions of 
 men ; nay, as he well says, the quot homines^ tot sentetiticB may 
 be more properly interpreted of their humours, than their 
 opinions. 
 
 Hitherto there is no mention of the ridiculous, the idea of 20 
 which, though not essential to humour, is always included 
 in our notions of it. The ridiculous is annexed to it these 
 two ways, either by the manner or the degree in which it is 
 exerted. 
 
 By either of these, the very best and worthiest disposition 25 
 of the human mind may become ridiculous. Excess, says 
 Horace, even in the pursuit of virtue, will lead a wise and 
 good man into folly and vice. — So will it subject him to 
 ridicule ; for into this, says the judicious Abbe Bellegarde, a 
 man may tumble headlong with an excellent understanding, 30 
 and with the most laudable qualities. Piety, patriotism, loyalty, 
 parental affection, &c. have all afforded characters of humour 
 for the stage. 
 
Il6 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 By the manner of exerting itself likewise a humour becomes 
 ridiculous. By this means chiefly the tragic humour differs from 
 the comic ; • it is the same ambition which raises our horror in 
 Macbeth, and our laughter at the drunken sailors in the Tem- 
 5 pest ; the same avarice which causes the dreadful incidents in 
 the fatal curiosity of Lillo, and in the Miser of Moliere ; the 
 same jealousy which forms an Othello, or a Suspicious Hus- 
 band. No passion or humour of the mind is absolutely either 
 tragic or comic in itself. Nero had the art of making vanity 
 
 lo the object of horror ; and Domitian, in one instance, at least, 
 made cruelty ridiculous. 
 
 As these tragic modes however never enter into our notion 
 of humour, I will venture to make a small addition to the sen- 
 timents of the two great masters I have mentioned, by which 
 
 15 I apprehend my description of humour will pretty well coin- 
 cide with the general opinion. By humour then, I suppose, 
 is generally intended a violent impulse of the mind, determin- 
 ing it to some one particular point, by which a man becomes 
 ridiculously distinguished from all other men. 
 
 20 If there be any truth in what I have now said, nothing 
 can more clearly follow than the manifest repugnancy between 
 humour and good breeding. The latter being the art of con- 
 ducting yourself by certain common and general rules, by 
 which means, if they were universally observed, the whole 
 
 25 world would appear (as all courtiers actually do) to be, in their 
 external behaviour, at least, but one and the same person. 
 
 I have not room at present, if I were able, to enumerate 
 the rules of good breeding : I shall only mention one, which 
 is a summary of them all. This is the most golden of all rules, 
 
 30 no less than that of doing to all men as you would they should 
 do unto you. 
 
 In the deviation from this law, as I hope to evince in my 
 next, all that we call humour principally consists. I shall at 
 
CONTEMPORARY EDUCATION 11/ 
 
 the same time, I think, be able to shew, that it is to this devi- 
 ation we owe the general character mentioned in the begin- 
 ning of this paper, as well as to assign the reasons why we of 
 this nation have been capable of attracting to ourselves such 
 merit in preference to others. 
 
 C-6 
 
 J 
 
 2-Cy /7rv 
 
 XXIX 
 [CONTEMPORARY EDUCATION] 
 
 Hoc fonte derivata. HoR. 
 These are the sources. 
 
 At the conclusion of my last paper, I asserted that the sum- 
 mary of good breeding was no other than that comprehensive 
 and exalted rule, which the greatest authority hath told us is lo 
 the sum total of all religion and all morality. 
 
 Here, however, my readers will be pleased to observe that 
 the subject matter of good breeding being only what is called 
 behaviour, it is this only to which we are to apply it on the 
 present occasion. Perhaps therefore we shall be better under- 15 
 stood, if we vary the word, and read it thus : Behave unto all 
 men, as you would they should behave unto you. 
 
 This will most certainly oblige us to treat all mankind with 
 the utmost civility and respect, there being nothing which we 
 desire more than to be treated so by them. This will most 20 
 effectually restrain the indulgence of all those violent and 
 inordinate desires, which, as we have endeavoured to shew, 
 are the true seeds of humour in the human mind : the growth 
 of which good breeding will be sure to obstruct ; or will at 
 least so overtop and shadow, that they shall not appear. The 25 
 ambitious, the covetous, the proud, the vain, the angry, 
 the debauchee, the glutton, are all lost in the character of 
 
Il8 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 the well-bred man ; or, if nature should now and then venture 
 to peep forth, she withdraws in an instant, and doth not shew 
 enough of herself to become ridiculous. 
 
 Now humour arises from the very opposite behaviour, from 
 
 5 throwing the reins on the neck of our favourite passion, and 
 giving it a full scope and indulgence. The ingenious Abbe, 
 whom I quoted in my former paper, paints this admirably in 
 the characters of ill-breeding, which he mentions as the first 
 scene of the ridiculous. ' 111 breeding (ITmpoUtesse) says he, 
 
 lo is not a single defect, it is the result of many. It is sometimes 
 a gross ignorance of decorum, or a stupid indolence, which 
 prevents us from giving to others what is due to them. It is 
 a peevish malignity which inclines us to oppose the inclina- 
 tions of those with whom we converse. It is the consequence 
 
 15 of a foolish vanity, which hath no complaisance for any other 
 person ; the effect of a proud and whimsical humour, which 
 soars above all the rules of civility ; or, lastly, it is produced 
 by a melancholy turn of mind, which pampers itself (^ui trouve 
 du Ragout) with a rude and disobliging behaviour.' 
 
 20 Having thus shewn, I think, very clearly, that good breed- 
 ing is, and must be, the very bane of the ridiculous, that is to 
 say, of all humorous characters ; it will perhaps be no difficult 
 task to discover why this character hath been in a singular 
 manner attributed to this nation. 
 
 25 For this I shall assign two reasons only, as these seem to 
 me abundantly satisfactory, and adequate to the purpose. 
 
 The first is that method so general in this kingdom of giving 
 no education to the youth of both sexes ; I say general only, 
 for it is not without some few exceptions. 
 
 30 Much the greater part of our lads of fashion return from 
 school at fifteen or sixteen, very little wiser, and not at all the 
 better, for having been sent thither. Part of these return to 
 the place from whence they came, their fathers' country seats ; 
 
CONTEMPORARY EDUCATION 119 
 
 where racing, cock-fighting, hunting, and other rural sports, 
 with smoaking, drinking, and party become their pursuit, and 
 form the whole business and amusement of their future lives. 
 The other part escape to town in the diversions, fashion, fol- 
 lies and vices of which they are immediately initiated. In this 5 
 academy some finish their studies, while others by their wiser 
 parents are sent abroad, to add the knowledge of the diver- 
 sions, fashions, follies, and vices of all Europe, to that of those 
 of their own country. 
 
 Hence then we are to derive two great general characters 10 
 of humour, which are the clown and the coxcomb, and both 
 of these will be almost infinitely diversified according to the 
 different passions and natural dispositions of each individual ; 
 and according to their different walks in life. Great will be 
 the difference, for instance, whether the country gentleman 15 
 be a whig or a tory ; whether he prefers women, drink, or 
 dogs ; so will it be whether the town spark be allotted to serve 
 his country as a politician, a courtier, a soldier, a sailor, or 
 possibly a churchman (for by draughts from this academy, all 
 these offices are supplied) ; or lastly, whether his ambition 20 
 shall be contented with no other appellation than merely that 
 of a beau. 
 
 Some of our lads however, are destined to a further progress 
 in learning ; these are not only confined longer to the labours 
 of a school, but are sent thence to the university. Here, if 25 
 they please, they may read on ; and if they please, they may 
 (as most of them do) let it alone, and betake themselves as 
 their fancy leads, to the imitation of their elder brothers either 
 in town or country. 
 
 This is a matter which I shall handle very tenderly, as I am 30 
 clearly of an opinion that an university education is much the 
 best we have ; for here at least there is some restraint laid on 
 the inclinations of our youth. The sportsman, the gamester. 
 
I20 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 and the sot, cannot give such a loose to their extravagance, as 
 if they were at home and under no manner of government ; 
 nor can our spark, who is disposed to the town pleasures, find 
 either gaming-houses or play-houses, nor half the taverns or 
 5 bawdy-houses which are ready to receive him in Covent- 
 Garden. 
 
 So far however, I hope, I may say without offence, that, 
 among all the schools at the universities, there is none where 
 the science of good-breeding is taught; no lectures like the 
 
 lo excellent lessons on the ridiculous, which I have quoted above, 
 and which I do most earnestly recommend to all my young 
 readers. Hence the learned professions produce such excel- 
 lent characters of humour ; and the rudeness of physicians, 
 lawyers, and parsons, however dignified or distinguished, affords 
 
 15 such pleasant stories to divert private companies, and some- 
 times the public. 
 
 I come now to the beautiful part of the creation, who, in 
 the sense I here use the word, I am assured can hardly (for 
 the most part) be said to have any education. 
 
 20 As to the counterpart of my country squire, the country 
 gentlewoman, I apprehend, that, except in the article of the 
 dancing-master, and perhaps in that of being barely able to 
 read and write, there is very little difference between the edu- 
 cation of many a squire's daughter, and that of his dairymaid, 
 
 25 who is most likely her principal companion, nay, the little 
 difference which there is, I am afraid, not in the favour of the 
 former ; who, by being constantly flattered with her beauty 
 and her wealth, is made the vainest and most selfconceited 
 thing alive, at the same time, that such care is taken to instil 
 
 30 into her the principles of bashfulness and timidity, that she 
 becomes ashamed and afraid of she knows not what. 
 
 If by any chance this poor creature drops afterwards, as it 
 were, into the world, how absurd must be her behaviour ! If 
 
CONTEMPORARY EDUCATION 121 
 
 a man looks at her, she is confounded ; and if he speaks to 
 her, she is frightened out of her wits. She acts, in short, 
 as if she thought the whole sex was engaged in a conspiracy 
 to possess themselves of her person and fortune. 
 
 This poor girl, it is true, however she may appear to her 5 
 own sex, especially if she is handsome, is rather an object of 
 compassion, than of just ridicule ; but what shall we say when 
 time or marriage have carried off all this bashfulness and fear, 
 and when ignorance, aukwardness, and rusticity, are embellished 
 with the same degree, though perhaps not the same kind of 10 
 affectation, which are to be found in a court. Here sure is a 
 plentiful source of all that various humour which we find in 
 the character of a country gentlewoman. 
 
 All this, I apprehend, will be readily allowed ; but to deny 
 good- breeding to the town lady, may be the more dangerous 15 
 attempt. Here, besides the professors of reading, writing, 
 and dancing, the French and Italian masters, the music mas- 
 ter, and of modern times, the whist master, all concur in 
 forming this character. The manners master alone, I am 
 afraid is omitted. And what is the consequence? not only 20 
 bashfulness and fear are entirely subdued, but modesty and 
 discretion are taken off at the same time. So far from running 
 away from, she runs after, the men ; and instead of blushing 
 when a modest man looks at her, or speaks to her, she can 
 bear, without any such emotion, to stare an impudent fellow 25 
 in the face, and sometimes to utter what, if he be not very 
 impudent -indeed, may put him to the blush. — Hence all 
 those agreeable ingredients which form the humour of a 
 rampant woman of — the town. 
 
 I cannot quit this part of my subject, in which I have been 30 
 obliged to deal a little more freely than I am inclined with 
 the loveliest part of the creation, without preserving my own 
 character of good-breeding, by saying that this last excess, is 
 
122 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 by much the most rare ; and that every individual among my 
 female readers, either is already, or may be, when she pleases, 
 an example of a contrary behaviour. 
 
 The second general reason why humour so much abounds 
 5 in this nation, seems to me to arise from the great number of 
 people, who are daily raised by trade to the rank of gentry, 
 without having had any education at all ; or, to use no improper 
 phrase, without having served an apprenticeship to this calling. 
 But I have dwelt so long on the other branch, that I have no 
 
 lo room at present to animadvert on this ; nor is it indeed neces- 
 sary I should, since most readers with the hints I have already 
 given them, will easily suggest to themselves, a great number 
 of humorous characters with which the public have been fur- 
 nished this way. I shall conclude by wishing, that this excellent 
 
 15 source of humour may still continue to flow among us, since, 
 though it may make us a little laughed at, it will be sure to 
 make us the envy of all the nations of Europe. 
 
 XXX 
 AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 
 
 Man is generally represented as an animal formed for and 
 deUghting in society : in this state alone, it is said, his various 
 
 20 talents can be exerted, his numberless necessities relieved, the 
 dangers he is exposed to can be avoided, and many of the 
 pleasures he eagerly affects, enjoyed. If these assertions be, 
 as I think they are, undoubtedly and obviously certain, those 
 few who have denied man to be a social animal, have left us 
 
 25 these two solutions of their conduct : either that there are 
 men as bold in denial as can be found in assertion ; and as 
 Cicero says, there is no absurdity which some philosopher 
 or other hath not asserted ; so we may say, there is no truth 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 123 
 
 so glaring, that some have not denied it. Or else ; that these 
 rejectors of society borrow all their information from their 
 own savage dispositions, and are indeed themselves, the only 
 exceptions to the above general rule. 
 
 But to leave such persons to those who have thought them 5 
 more worthy of an answer ; there are others who are so seemingly 
 fond of this social state, that they are understood absolutely to 
 confine it to their own species ; and, entirely excluding the tamer 
 and gentler, the herding and flocking parts of the creation, from 
 all benefits of it, to set up this as one grand general distinction, 10 
 between the human and the brute species. 
 
 Shall we conclude this denial of all society to the nature of 
 brutes, which seems to be in defiance of every day's observation, 
 to be as bold, as the denial of it to the nature of men? Or, 
 may we not more justly derive the error from an improper 15 
 understanding of this word society in too confined and special 
 a sense ? In a word ; do those who utterly deny it to the 
 brutal nature, mean any other by society than conversation? 
 
 Now if we comprehend them in this sense, as I think we 
 very reasonably may, the distinction appears to me to be truly 20 
 just; for though other animals are not without all use of 
 society, yet this noble branch of it seems, of all the inhab- 
 itants of this globe, confined to man only ; the narrow power 
 of communicating some few ideas of lust, or fear, or anger, 
 which may be observable in brutes, falling infinitely short of 25 
 what is commonly meant by conversation, as may be deduced 
 from the origination of the word itself, the only accurate guide 
 to knowledge. The primitive and Hteral sense of this word 
 is, I apprehend, to turn round together; and in its more copi- 
 ous usage we intend by it, that reciprocal interchange of ideas, 30 
 by which truth is examined, things are, in a manner, turned 
 rou?id, and sifted, and all our knowledge communicated to 
 each other. 
 
124 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 In this respect man stands, I conceive, distinguished from 
 and superior to all other earthly creatures : it is this privilege 
 which, while he is inferior in strength to some, in swiftness 
 to others ; without horns, or claws, or tusks to attack them, or 
 5 even to defend himself against them, hath made him master 
 of them all. Indeed, in other views, however vain men may 
 be of their abilities, they are greatly inferior to their animal 
 neighbors. With what envy must a swine, or a much less 
 voracious animal, be survey'd by a glutton ; and how con- 
 
 lo temptible must the talents of other sensuahsts appear, when 
 oppos'd, perhaps, to some of the lowest and meanest of brutes : 
 but in conversation man stands alone, at least in this part of 
 the creation ; he leaves all others behind him at his first start, 
 and the greater progress he makes, the greater distance is 
 
 15 between them. 
 
 Conversation is of three sorts. Men are said to converse 
 with God, with themselves, and with one another. The two 
 first of these have been so liberally and excellently spoken to 
 by others, that I shall, at present, pass them by, and confine 
 
 20 myself, in this essay, to the third only : since it seems to me 
 amazing, that this grand business of our lives, the foundation 
 of every thing, either useful or pleasant, should have been so 
 slightly treated of; that while there is scarce a profession or 
 handicraft in life, however mean and contemptible, which is 
 
 25 not abundantly furnished with proper rules to the attaining 
 its perfection, men should be left almost totally in the dark, 
 and without the least light to direct, or any guide to conduct 
 them in the proper exerting of those talents, which are the 
 noblest privilege of human nature, and productive of all 
 
 30 rational happiness ; and the rather as this power is by no 
 means self-instructed, and in the possession of the artless and 
 ignorant, is of so mean use, that it raises them very little above 
 those animals who are void of it. 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 1 25 
 
 As conversation is a branch of society, it follows, that it can 
 be proper to none who is not in his nature social. Now society 
 is agreeable to no creatures who are not inoffensive to each 
 other; and we therefore observe in animals who are entirely 
 guided by nature, that it is cultivated by such only, while those 5 
 of more noxious disposition addict themselves to solitude, and, 
 unless when prompted by lust, or that necessary instinct 
 implanted in them by nature, for the nurture of their young, 
 shun as much as possible the society of their own species. If 
 therefore there should be found some human individuals of so 10 
 savage a habit, it would seem they were not adapted to society, 
 and consequently, not to conversation : nor would any incon- 
 venience ensue the admittance of such exceptions, since it 
 would by no means impeach the general rule of man's being 
 a social animal ; especially when it appears (as is sufficiently 1 5 
 and admirably proved by my friend, the author of An Enquiry 
 ifito Happiness) * that these men live a constant opposition to 
 their own nature, and are no less monsters than the most wan- 
 ton abortions, or extravagant births. 
 
 Again ; if society requires that its members should be 20 
 inoffensive, so the more useful and beneficial they are to each 
 other, the more suitable are they to the social nature, and 
 more perfectly adapted to its institution : for all creatures 
 seek their own happiness, and society is therefore natural to 
 any, because it is naturally productive of this happiness. To 25 
 render therefore any animal social is to render it inoffensive ; 
 an instance of which is to be seen in those the ferocity of 
 whose nature can be tamed by man. And here the reader 
 may observe a double distinction of man from the more savage 
 animals by society, and from the social by conversation. 30 
 
 But if men were meerly inoffensive to each other, it seems 
 as if society and conversation would be meerly indifferent; 
 
 * The Treatise here mentioned is not yet pubhc. 
 
126 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 and that in order to make it desirable by a sensible being, it is 
 necessary we should go farther, and propose some positive 
 good to ourselves from it; and this presupposes not only 
 negatively, our not receiving any hurt ; but positively, our 
 5 receiving some good, some pleasure or advantage from each 
 other in it, something which we could not find in an unsocial 
 and solitary state : otherwise we might cry out with the right 
 honourable poet ; * 
 
 Give us our Wildness and our Woods, 
 lo Our Htits and Caves again. 
 
 The art of pleasing or doing good to one another is therefore 
 the art of conversation. It is this habit which gives it all its 
 value. And as man's being a social animal (the truth of which 
 is incontestably proved by that excellent author of An Enquiry, 
 
 1 5 &c. I have above cited) presupposes a natural desire or tend- 
 ency this way, it will follow, that we can fail in attaining 
 this truly desirable end from ignorance only in the means ; 
 and how general this ignorance is, may be, with some proba- 
 bility, inferred from our want of even a word to express this 
 
 2o art by : that which comes the nearest to it, and by which, 
 perhaps, we would sometimes intend it, being so horribly and 
 barbarously corrupted, that it contains at present scarce a 
 simple ingredient of what it seems originally to have been 
 designed to express. 
 
 25 The word I mean is good b7'eeding ; a word, I apprehend, 
 not at first confined to externals, much less to any particu- 
 lar dress or attitude of the body : nor were the qualifications 
 expressed by it to be furnished by a milHner, a taylor, or a 
 perriwig-maker ; no, nor even by a dancing-master himself. 
 
 30 According to the idea I myself conceive from this word, I 
 should not have scrupled to call Socrates a well-bred man, 
 
 * The Duke of Buckins:ha7n. 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 12/ 
 
 though I believe he was very Httle instructed by any of the 
 persons I have above enumerated. In short, by good breeding 
 (notwithstanding the corrupt use of the word in a very differ- 
 ent sense) I mean the art of pleasing, or contributing as much 
 as possible to the ease and happiness of those with whom you 5 
 converse. I shall contend therefore no longer on this head : 
 for whilst my reader clearly conceives the sense in which I use 
 this word, it will not be very material whether I am right or 
 wrong in its original application. 
 
 Good breedifig then, or the art of pleasing in conversation, le 
 is expressed two different ways, viz. in our actions and our 
 words, and our conduct in both may be reduced to that con- 
 cise, comprehensive rule in scripture ; Do imto all men as yoic 
 would they should do unto you. Indeed, concise as this rule is, 
 and plain as it appears, what are all treatises on ethics, but 15 
 comments upon it? And whoever is well-read in the book of 
 nature, and hath made much observation on the actions of men, 
 will perceive so few capable of judging, or rightly pursuing 
 their own happiness, that he will be apt to conclude that some 
 attention is necessary (and more than is commonly used) to 20 
 enable men to know truly, what they would have do7ie unto 
 them, or at least, what it would be their interest to have done. 
 
 If therefore men, through weakness or inattention, often err 
 in their conceptions of what would produce their own happi- 
 ness, no wonder they should miss in the application of what 25 
 will contribute to that of others; and thus we may, without 
 too severe a censure on their inclinations, account for that 
 frequent failure in true good breeding, which daily experience 
 gives us instances of. 
 
 Besides, the commentators have well paraphrased on the 30 
 abovementioned divine rule, that it is, to do unto men what 
 you. would they, if they were in your situation and circum- 
 stances, AND YOU IN THEIRS, should do uuto you : and as this 
 
128 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 comment is necessary to be observed in ethics, so it is particu- 
 larly useful in this our art, where the degree of the person is 
 always to be considered, as we shall explain more at large 
 hereafter. 
 5 We see then a possibility for a man well disposed to this 
 golden rule, without some precautions, to err in the practice ; 
 nay, even good-nature itself, the very habit of mind most 
 essential to furnish us with true good breeding, the latter so 
 nearly resembling the former, that it hath been called, and 
 lo with the appearance at least of propriety, a.rt[fic\a\ good /lafure. 
 This excellent quality itself sometimes shoots us beyond the 
 mark, and shews the truth of those lines in Horace : 
 
 Insani sapiens nomen ferat^ cequus iniqui, 
 Ultra quant satis est^ Virttitetjt si petat ipsain. 
 
 1 5 Instances of this will be naturally produced where we shew the 
 deviations from those rules, which we shall now attempt to lay 
 down. 
 
 As this good breeding is the art of pleasing, it will be first 
 necessary, with the utmost caution, to avoid hurting or giving 
 
 2o any offense to those with whom we converse. And here we 
 are surely to shun any kind of actual disrespect, or affront to 
 their persons, by insolence, which is the severest attack that 
 can be made on the pride of man, and of which Florus seems 
 to have had no inadequate opinion, when speaking of the second 
 
 25 Tarquin, he says; In omnes superhia (^qucB Crudelitate gravior 
 est bonis) grassatus; " He trod on all with insolence, which 
 sits heavier on men of great minds than cruelty itself." If 
 there is any temper in man which more than all others dis- 
 qualifies him for society, it is this insolence or haughtiness, 
 
 30 which, blinding a man to his own imperfections, and giving 
 him a hawk's quick-sightedness to those of others, raises in 
 him that contempt for his species, which inflates the cheeks, 
 erects the head, and stiffens the gaite of those strutting animals 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 129 • 
 
 who sometimes stalk in assemblies, for no other reason, but to 
 shew in their gesture and behaviour the disregard they have 
 for the company. Though to a truly great and philosophical 
 mind, it is not easy to conceive a more ridiculous exhibition 
 than this puppet ; yet to others he is little less than a nusance ; 5 
 for contempt is a murtherous weapon, and there is this dif- 
 ference only between the greatest and weakest men, when 
 attacked by it ; that, in order to wound the former, it must be 
 just ; whereas without the shields of wisdom and philosophy, 
 which God knows are in the possession of very few, it wants 10 
 no justice to point it; but is certain to penetrate, from what- 
 ever corner it comes. It is this disposition which inspires the 
 empty Cacus to deny his acquaintance, and overlook men of 
 merit in distress; and the little, silly, pretty Phillida^ or FooUda, 
 to stare at the strange creatures round her. It is this temper 15 
 which constitutes the supercilious eye, the reserved look, the 
 distant bowe, the scornful leer, the affected astonishment, the 
 loud whisper, ending in a laugh directed full in the teeth of 
 another. Hence spring, in short, those numberless offenses 
 given too frequently, in public and private assemblies, by per- 20 
 sons of weak understandings, indelicate habits, and so hungry 
 and foul-feeding a vanity, that it wants to devour whatever 
 comes in its way. Now, if good breeding be what we have 
 endeavoured to prove it, how foreign, and indeed how oppo- 
 site to it, must such a behaviour be? And can any man call 25 
 a duke or a dutchess who wears it, well-bred? or are they not 
 more justly entitled to those inhuman names which they them- 
 selves allot to the lowest vulgar? But behold a more pleasing 
 
 picture on the reverse. See the Earl of C noble in his 
 
 birth, splendid in his fortune, and embellished with every 30 
 endowment of mind ; how affable, how condescending ! him- 
 self the only one who seems ignorant that he is in every way 
 the greatest person in the room. 
 
130 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 But it is not sufificient to be inoffensive, we must be prof- 
 itable servants to each other : we are, in the second place, to 
 proceed to the utmost verge in paying the respect due to others. 
 We had better go a little too far than stop short in this particu- 
 5 lar. My Lord Shaftsbiiry hath a pretty observation, that the 
 beggar, in addressing to a coach with, my Lord, is sure not 
 to offend, even though there be no lord there ; but, on the 
 contrary, should plain sir fly in the face of a nobleman, what 
 must be the consequence ? And indeed, whoever considers the 
 
 lo bustle and contention about j^recedence, the pains and labours 
 undertaken, and sometimes the prices given, for the smallest 
 title or mark of pre-eminence, and the visible satisfaction 
 betray'd in its enjoyment, may reasonably conclude this is a 
 matter of no small consequence. The truth is, we live in a 
 
 15 world of common men, and not of philosophers; for one of 
 these, when he appears (which is very seldom) among us, is 
 distinguished, and very properly too, by the name of an odd 
 fellow : for what is it less than extream oddity to despise what 
 the generality of the world think the labour of their whole lives 
 
 20 well employed in procuring : we are therefore to adapt our 
 behaviour to the opinion of the generality of mankind, and 
 not to that of a few odd fellows. It would be tedious, and 
 perhaps impossible, to specify every instance, or to lay down 
 exact rules for our conduct in every minute particular. How- 
 
 25 ever, I shall mention some of the chief which most ordinarily 
 occur, after premising, that the business of the whole is no 
 more than to convey to others an idea of your esteem of 
 them, which is indeed the substance of all the compliments, 
 ceremonies, presents, and whatever passes between well-bred 
 
 30 people. And here I shall lay down these positions. 
 
 First, that all meer ceremonies exist mfor?7i only, and have 
 in them no substance at all : but being imposed by the laws 
 of custom, become essential to good breeding, from those 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 131 
 
 high-flown comphments paid to the Eastern monarchs, and 
 which pass between Chinese mandarines, to those coarser 
 ceremonials in use between English farmers and Dutch boors. 
 
 Secondly, that these ceremonies, poor as they are, are of 
 more consequence than they at first appear, and, in reality, 5 
 constitute the only external difference between man and man. 
 Thus, His Grace, Right Honourable, My Lord, Right Rev- 
 erend, Reverend, Honourable, Sir, Esquire, Mr. &c. have in 
 a philosophical sense, no meaning, yet are, perhaps, politically 
 essential, and must be preserved by good breeding; because, 10 
 
 Thirdly, they raise an expectation in the person by law 
 and custom entitled to them, and who will consequently be 
 displeased with the disappointment. 
 
 Now, in order to descend minutely into any rules for good 
 breeding, it will be necessary to lay some scene, or to throw 15 
 our disciple into some particular circumstance. We will begin 
 then with a visit in the country ; and as the principal actor on 
 this occasion is the person who receives it, we will, as briefly 
 as possible, lay down some general rules for his conduct; 
 marking, at the same time, the principal deviations we have 20 
 observed on these occasions. 
 
 When an expected guest arrives to dinner at your house, if 
 your equal, or indeed not greatly your inferior, he should be 
 sure to find your family in some order, and yourself dress'd 
 and ready to receive him at your gate with a smiling counte- 25 
 nance. This infuses an immediate cheerfulness into your guest, 
 and perswades him of your esteem and desire of his company. 
 Not so is the behaviour of Polysperchojt, at whose gate you are 
 obliged to knock a considerable time before you gain admit- 
 tance. At length, the door being opened to you by a maid, 30 
 or some improper servant, who wonders where the devil all 
 the men are ; and being asked if the gentleman is at home, 
 answers, She believes so ; you are conducted into a hall, or 
 
132 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 back parlour, where you stay some time, before the gentleman, 
 in dishabille from his study or his garden, waits upon you, asks 
 pardon, and assures you he did not expect you so soon. 
 
 Your guest, being introduced into a drawing-room, is, after 
 5 the first ceremonies, to be asked whether he will refresh him- 
 self after his journey, before dinner, (for which he is never to 
 stay longer than the usual or fixed hour). But this request is 
 never to be repeated oftner than twice, [not] in imitation of 
 Chalepus^ who, as if hired by a physician, crams wine in a 
 
 10 morning down the throats of his most temperate friends, 
 their constitutions being not so dear to them as their present 
 quiet. 
 
 When dinner is on the table, and the ladies have taken their 
 places, the gentlemen are to be introduced into the eating- 
 
 15 room, where they are to be seated with as much seeming indif- 
 ference as possible, unless there be any present whose degrees 
 claim an undoubted precedence. As to the rest, the general 
 rules of precedence are by marriage, age, and profession. 
 Lastly ; in placing your guests, regard is rather to be had to 
 
 20 birth than fortune : for though purse-pride is forward enough 
 to exalt itself, it bears a degradation with more secret comfort 
 and ease than the former, as being more inwardly satisfied with 
 itself, and less apprehensive of neglect or contempt. 
 
 The order of helping your guests is to be regulated by that 
 
 25 of placing them : but here I must with great submission rec- 
 ommend to the lady at the upper end of the table, to dis- 
 tribute her favours as equally, and as impartially as she can. 
 I have sometimes seen a large dish of fish extend no farther 
 than to the fifth person, and a haunch of venison lose all its 
 
 30 fat before half the table had tasted it. 
 
 A single request to eat of any particular dish, how elegant 
 soever, is the utmost I allow. I strictly prohibit all earnest 
 solicitations, all complaints that you have no appetite, which 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 133 
 
 are sometimes little less than burlesque, and always impertinent 
 and troublesome. 
 
 And here, however low it may appear to some readers, as I 
 have known omissions of this kind give offense, and sometimes 
 make the offenders, who have been very well-meaning persons, 5 
 ridiculous, I cannot help mentioning the ceremonial of drink- 
 ing healths at table, which is always to begin with the lady's, 
 and next the master's of the house. 
 
 When dinner is ended, and the ladies retired, though I do 
 not hold the master of the feast obliged to fuddle himself 10 
 through complacence ; and indeed it is his own fault generally, 
 if his company be such as would desire it, yet he is to see that 
 the bottle circulate sufficiently to afford every person present a 
 moderate quantity of wine, if he chuses it; at the same time 
 permitting those who desire it, either to pass the bottle, or 15 
 to fill their glass as they please. Indeed, the beastly custom 
 of besotting, and ostentatious contention for pre-eminence in 
 their cups, seems at present pretty well abolished among the 
 better sort of people. Yet Me thus still remains, who measures 
 the honesty and understanding of mankind by the capacious- 20 
 ness of their swallow ; who sings forth the praises of a bumper, 
 and complains of the light in your glass ; and at whose table 
 it is as difficult to preserve your senses, as to preserve your 
 purse at a gaming table. On the other side, Sophronus eyes 
 you carefully whilst you are filling out his liquor. The bottle 25 
 as surely stops when it comes to him, as your chariot at Temple- 
 Bar ; and it is almost as impossible to carry a pint of wine 
 from his house, as to gain the love of a reigning beauty, or 
 borrow a shilling of P W . 
 
 But to proceed. After a reasonable time, if your guest 30 
 intends staying with you the whole evening, and declines the 
 bottle, you may propose play, walking, or any other amuse- 
 ment ; but these are to be but barely mentioned, and offered 
 
134 
 
 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 to his choice with all indifference on your part. What person 
 can be so dull as not to perceive in Agyrtes a longing to pick 
 your pockets? or in Aiazon, a desire to satisfy his own vanity in 
 shewing you the rarities of his house and gardens ? When your 
 
 5 guest offers to go, there should be no solicitations to stay, 
 unless for the whole night, and that no farther than to give him 
 a moral assurance of his being welcome so to do : no assertions 
 that he shan't go yet ; no laying on violent hands ; no private 
 orders to servants, to delay providing the horses or vehicles ; like 
 
 lo Desmophylax, who never suffers any one to depart from his 
 house without entitling him to an action of false imprisonment. 
 Let us now consider a little the part which the visitor him- 
 self is to act. And first, he is to avoid the two extremes of 
 being too early, or too late, so as neither to surprize his friend 
 
 15 unawares or unprovided, nor detain him too long in expecta- 
 tion. Orthrius, who hath nothing to do, disturbs your rest in 
 a morning ; and the frugal Chronophidiis, lest he should waste 
 some minutes of his precious time, is sure to spoil your dinner. 
 The address at your arrival should be as short as possible, 
 
 20 especially when you visit a superior ; not imitating Phlenaphius^ 
 who would stop his friend in the rain, rather than omit a single 
 bowe. 
 
 Be not too observant of trifling ceremonies, such as rising, 
 sitting, walking first in or out of the room, except with one 
 
 25 greatly your superior ; but when such a one offers you prece- 
 dence, it is uncivil to refuse it : of which I will give you the 
 following instance. An English nobleman being in France, 
 was bid by Lewis XIV. to enter his coach before him, which 
 he excused himself from ; the king then immediately mounted, 
 
 30 and ordering the door to be shut, drove on, leaving the noble- 
 man behind him. 
 
 Never refuse anything offered you out of civility, unless in 
 preference of a lady, and that no oftner than once ; for nothing 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 135 
 
 is more truly good breeding, than to avoid being trouble- 
 some. Though the taste and humour of the visitor is to be 
 chiefly considered, yet is some regard likewise to be had to 
 that of the master of the house ; for otherwise your company 
 will be rather a penance than a pleasure. Methusus plainly 5 
 discovers his visit to be paid to his sober friend's bottle ; nor 
 will Philopasus abstain from cards, though he is certain they 
 are agreeable only to himself ; whilst the slender Leptines gives 
 his fat entertainer a sweat, and makes him run the hazard of 
 breaking his wind up his own mounts. 10 
 
 If conveniency allows your staying longer than the time 
 proposed, it may be civil to offer to depart, lest your stay may 
 be incommodious to your friend : but if you perceive the con- 
 trary, by his solicitations, they should be readily accepted ; 
 without tempting him to break these rules we have above laid 15 
 down for him ; causing a confusion in his family, and among 
 his servants, by preparations for your departure. Lastly, when 
 you are resolved to go, the same method is to be observed 
 which I have prescribed at your arrival. No tedious cere- 
 monies of taking leave : not like Hyperphylus^ who bowes and 20 
 kisses, and squeezes by the hand as heartily, and wishes you as 
 much health and happiness, when he is going a journey home 
 of ten miles, from a common acquaintance, as if he was leaving 
 his nearest friend or relation on a voyage to the East-Indies. 
 
 Having thus briefly considered our reader in the circum- 25 
 stance of a private visit, let us now take him into a public 
 assembly, where, as more eyes will be on his behaviour, it 
 cannot be less his interest to be instructed. We have indeed 
 already formed a general picture of the chief enormities com- 
 mitted on these occasions, we shall here endeavour to explain 30 
 more particularly the rules of an opposite demeanour, which 
 we may divide into three sorts, viz. our behaviour to our . 
 superiours, to our equals, and to our inferiours. 
 
136 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 In our behaviour to our superiours two extremes are to be 
 avoided, namely, an abject and base servility, and an impu- 
 dent and encroaching freedom. When the well-born Hyper- 
 dulus approaches a nobleman in any public place, you would 
 
 5 be persuaded he was one of the meanest of his domestics ; his 
 cringes fall little short of prostration ; and his whole behaviour 
 is so mean and servile, that an Eastern monarch would not 
 require more humiliation from his vassals. On the other side ; 
 Afiaschyntus, whom fortunate accidents, without any preten- 
 
 10 sions from his birth, have raised to associate with his betters, 
 shakes my lord duke by the hand, with a familiarity savouring 
 not only of the most perfect intimacy, but the closest alliance. 
 The former behaviour properly raises our contempt, the latter 
 our disgust. Hyperdulus seems worthy of wearing his lord- 
 
 15 ship's livery; Anaschyntus deserves to be turned out of his 
 service for his impudence. Between these two is that golden 
 mean, which declares a man ready to acquiesce in allowing the 
 respect due to a title by the laws and customs of his country, 
 but impatient of any insult, and disdaining to purchase the 
 
 20 intimacy with, and favour of a superior, at the expence of con- 
 science or honour. As to the question, who are our superiours ? 
 I shall endeavour to ascertain them, when I come, in the second 
 place, to mention our behaviour to our equals. The first instruc- 
 tion on this head, being carefully to consider who are such : 
 
 25 every little superiority of fortune or profession being too apt 
 to intoxicate men's minds, and elevate them in their own 
 opinion, beyond their merit or pretensions. Men are superior 
 to each other in this our country by title, by birth, by rank in 
 profession, and by age ; very little, if any, being to be allowed 
 
 30 to fortune, though so much is generally exacted by it, and 
 commonly paid to it. Mankind never appear to me in a more 
 despicable light than when I see them, by a simple as well as 
 mean servility, voluntarily concurring in the adoration of riches, 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 137 
 
 without the least benefit or prospect from them. Respect and 
 deference are perhaps justly demandable of the obliged, and 
 may be, with some reason at least, from expectation, paid to 
 the rich and liberal from the necessitious : but that men should 
 be allured by the glittering of wealth only, to feed the insolent 5 
 pride of those who will not in return feed their hunger ; that 
 the sordid niggard should find any sacrifices on the altar of 
 his vanity, seems to arise from a blinder idolatry, and a more 
 bigotted and senseless superstition, than any which the sharp 
 eyes of priests have discovered in the human mind. 10 
 
 All gentlemen, therefore, who are not raised above each 
 other by title, birth, rank in profession, age, or actual obliga- 
 tion, being to be considered as equals, let us take some lessons 
 for their behaviour to each other in public, from the following 
 examples; in which we shall discern as well what we are to 15 
 elect, as what we are to avoid. Authades is so absolutely 
 abandoned to his own humour, that he never gives it up on 
 any occasion. If Seraphijia herself, whose charms one would 
 imagine should infuse alacrity into the limbs of a cripple 
 sooner than the Bath waters, was to offer herself for his part- 20 
 ner, he would answer. He never dmiced^ even though the ladies 
 lost their ball by it. Nor doth this denial arise from inca- 
 pacity ; for he was in his youth an excellent dancer, and still 
 retains sufficient knowledge of the art, and sufficient abilities 
 in his limbs to practice it; but from an affectation of gravity, 25 
 which he will not sacrifice to the eagerest desire of others. 
 Dyskolus hath the same aversion to cards ; and though com- 
 petently skilled in all games, is by no importunities to be pre- 
 vailed on to make a third at ombre, or a fourth at whisk and 
 quadrille. He will suffer any company to be disappointed of 30 
 their amusement, rather than submit to pass an hour or two a 
 little disagreeably to himself. The refusal of Philautus is not 
 so general : he is very ready to engage, provided you will 
 
138 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 indulge him in his favourite game, but it is impossible to per- 
 svvade him to any other. I should add, both these are men of 
 fortune, and the consequences of loss or gain, at the rate they 
 are desired to engage, very trifling and inconsiderable to them. 
 5 The rebukes these people sometimes meet with, are no 
 more equal to their deserts than the honour paid to Charistus, 
 the benevolence of whose mind scarce permits him to indulge 
 his own will, unless by accident. Though neither his age 
 nor understanding incline him to dance, nor will admit his 
 
 10 receiving any pleasure from it, yet would he caper a whole 
 evening, rather than a fine young lady should lose an oppor- 
 tunity of displaying her charms by the several genteel and 
 amiable attitudes which this exercise affords the skilful of that 
 sex. And though cards are not adapted to his temper, he 
 
 15 never once baulked the inclinations of others on that account. 
 
 But as there are many who will not in the least instance 
 
 mortify their own humour to purchase the satisfaction of all 
 
 mankind, so there are some who make no scruple of satisfying 
 
 their own pride and vanity, at the expence of the most cruel 
 
 20 mortification of others. Of this kind is Agroicus, who seldom 
 goes to an assembly, but he affronts half his acquaintance, by 
 overlooking, or disregarding them. 
 
 As this is a very common offence, and indeed much more 
 criminal, both in its cause and effect, than is generally im- 
 
 25 agined, I shall examine it very minutely ; and I doubt not but 
 to make it appear, that there is no behaviour (to speak like a 
 philosopher) more contemptible, nor, in a civil sense, more 
 detestable than this. 
 
 The first ingredient in this composition is pride, which, 
 
 30 according to the doctrine of some, is the universal passion. 
 There are others who consider it as the foible of great minds ; 
 and others again, who will have it to be the very foundation 
 of greatness ; and perhaps it may be of that greatness which 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 139 
 
 we have endeavoured to expose in many parts of these works : 
 but to real greatness, which is the union of a good heart with 
 a good head, it is ahiiost diametrically opposite, as it generally 
 proceeds from the depravity of both, and almost certainly 
 from the badness of the latter. Indeed, a little observation 5 
 will shew us, that fools are the most addicted to this vice ; 
 and a little reflection will teach us, that it is incompatible with 
 true understanding. Accordingly we see, that while the wisest 
 of men have constantly lamented the imbecility and imper- 
 fection of their own nature, the meanest and weakest have 10 
 been trumpeting forth their own excellencies, and triumphing 
 in their own sufficiency. 
 
 Pride may, I think, be properly defined ; the pleasure we 
 feel in conte^nplaiifig our own superior merit, on comparing it 
 with that of others. That it arises from this supposed superi- 15 
 ority is evident : for however great you admit a man's merit 
 to be, if all men were equal to him, there would be no room 
 for pride : now if it stop here, perhaps there is no enormous 
 harm in it, or at least, no more than is common to all other 
 folly ; every species of which is always liable to produce every 20 
 species of mischief : folly I fear it is ; for should the man 
 estimate rightly on this occasion, and the ballance should 
 fairly turn on his side in this particular instance ; should he 
 be indeed a greater orator, poet, general ; should he be more 
 wise, witty, learned, young, rich, healthy, or in whatever 25 
 instance he may excel one, or many, or all ; yet, if he examine 
 himself thoroughly, will he ftnd no reason to abate his pride? 
 Is the quality, in which -he is so eminent, so generally or justly 
 esteemed; is it so entirely his own? Doth he not rather owe 
 his superiority to the defects of others, than to his own per- 30 
 fection? Or, lastly, can he find in no part of his character, a 
 weakness which may counterpoise this merit, and which as 
 justly, at least, threatens him with shame, as this entices him 
 
I40 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 to pride? I fancy, if such a scrutiny was made, (and nothing 
 so ready as good sense to make it) a proud man would be as 
 rare, as in reality he is a ridiculous monster. But suppose a 
 man, on this comparison, is (as may sometimes happen) a little 
 5 partial to himself, the harm is to himself, and he becomes only 
 ridiculous from it. If I prefer my excellence in poetry to Pope 
 or Young: if an inferior actor should, in his opinion, exceed 
 Quin or Garrick ; or a sign-post painter set himself above 
 the inimitable Hogarth; we become only ridiculous by our 
 
 lo vanity ; and the persons themselves, who are thus humbled in 
 the comparison, would laugh with more reason than any other. 
 Pride therefore, hitherto, seems an inoffensive weakness' only, 
 and entitles a man to no worse an appellation than that of a 
 FOOL : but it will not stop here ; though fool be no perhaps 
 
 15 desirable term, the proud man will deserve worse: he is 
 not contented with the admiration he pays himself; he now 
 becomes arrogant, and requires the same respect and pref- 
 erence from the world ; for pride, though the greatest of flat- 
 terers, is by no means a profitable servant to itself; it resembles 
 
 20 the parson of the parish more than the 'squire, arid lives rather 
 on the tithes, oblations, and contributions it collects from 
 others, than on its own desmesne. As pride therefore is seldom 
 without arrogance, so is this never to be found without inso- 
 lence. The arrogant man must be insolent, in order to attain 
 
 25 his own ends : and to convince and remind men of the superi- 
 ority he affects, will naturally, by ill words, actions, and ges- 
 tures, endeavour to throw the despised person at as much 
 distance as possible from him. Hence proceeds that super- 
 cilious look, and all those visible indignities with which men 
 
 30 behave in public, to those whom they fancy their inferiors. 
 Hence the very notable custom of deriding and often denying 
 the nearest relations, friends, and acquaintance, in poverty and 
 distress ; lest we should anywise be levelled with the wretches 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 141 
 
 we despise, either in their own imagination, or in the conceit 
 of any who should behold familiarities pass between us. 
 
 But besides pride, folly, arrogance, and insolence, there is 
 another simple (which vice never willingly leaves out of any 
 composition) and that is ill-nature. A good-natured man may 5 
 indeed (provided he is a fool) be proud, but arrogant and 
 insolent he cannot be ; unless we will allow to such a still 
 greater degree of folly, and ignorance of human nature ; which 
 may indeed entitle them to forgiveness, in the benign lan- 
 guage of scripture, because they know not what they do. 10 
 
 For when we come to consider the effect of this behaviour 
 on the person who suffers it, we may perhaps have reason 
 to conclude, that murder is not a much more cruel injury. 
 What is the consequence of this contempt ? or indeed, What 
 is the design of it, but to expose the object of it to shame? a 15 
 sensation as uneasy, and almost as intolerable, as those which 
 arise from the severest pains inflicted on the body : a convul- 
 sion of the mind (if I may so call it) which immediately pro- 
 duces symptoms of universal disorder in the whole man ; which 
 hath sometimes been attended with death itself, and to which 20 
 death hath, by great multitudes, been with much alacrity pre- 
 ferred. Now, what less than the highest degree of ill-nature 
 can permit a man to pamper his own vanity at the price of 
 another's shame? Is the glutton, who, to raise the flavour of 
 his dish, puts some bird or beast to exquisite torment, more 25 
 cruel to the animal, than this our proud man to his own 
 species? 
 
 This character then is a composition made up of those odious 
 contemptible qualities, pride, folly, arrogance, insolence, and 
 ill-nature. I shall dismiss it with some general observations, 30 
 which will place it in so ridiculous a light, that a man must 
 hereafter be possessed of a very considerable portion, either 
 of folly or impudence, to assume it. 
 
142 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 First, it proceeds on one grand fallacy : for whereas this 
 wretch is endeavouring, by a supercilious conduct, to lead the 
 beholder into an opinion of his superiority to the despised 
 person, he inwardly flatters his own vanity with a deceitful 
 5 presumption, that this his conduct is founded on a general 
 pre-conceived opinion of this superiority. 
 
 Secondly, this caution to preserve it, plainly indicates a 
 doubt, that the superiority of our own character is very slightly 
 established ; for which reason we see it chiefly practiced by 
 
 TO men who have the weakest pretensions to the reputation they 
 aim at : and indeed, none was ever freer from it than that 
 noble person whom we have already mentioned in this essay, 
 and who can never be mentioned but with honour, by those 
 who know him. 
 
 15 Thirdly, this opinion of our superiority is commonly very 
 erroneous. Who hath not seen a general behaving in this super- 
 cilious manner to an officer of lower rank, who hath been greatly 
 his superior in that very art, to his excellence in which the gen- 
 eral ascribes all his merit. Parallel instances occur in every 
 
 20 other art, science, or profession. 
 
 Fourthly, men who excel others in trifling instances, fre- 
 quently cast a supercilious eye on their superiors in the highest. 
 Thus the least pretensions to pre-eminence in title, birth, riches, 
 equipage, dress, ^c. constantly overlook the most noble endow- 
 
 25 ments of virtue, honour, wisdom, sense, wit, and every other 
 quality which can truly dignify and adorn a man. 
 
 Lastly, the lowest and meanest of our species are the most 
 strongly addicted to this vice. Men who are a scandal to their 
 sex, and women who disgrace human nature : for the basest 
 
 30 mechanic is so far from being exempt, that he is generally the 
 most guilty of it. It visits ale-houses and gin-shops, and whis- 
 tles in the empty heads of fidlers, mountebanks, and dancing- 
 masters. 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 143 
 
 To conclude a character, on which we have already dwelt 
 longer than is consistent with the intended measure of this 
 essay : this contempt of others is the truest symptom of a base 
 and a bad heart. While it suggests itself to the mean and the 
 vile, and tickles their little fancy on every occasion, it never 5 
 enters the great and good mind, but on the strongest motives ; 
 nor is it then a welcome guest, affording only an uneasy sensa- 
 tion, and brings always with it a mixture of concern and com- 
 passion. 
 
 We will now proceed to inferior criminals in society. Theo- 10 
 retus conceiving that the assembly is only met to see and admire 
 him, is uneasy unless he engrosses the eyes of the whole com- 
 pany. The giant doth not take more pains to be view'd ; and 
 as he is unfortunately not so tall, he carefully deposits himself 
 in the most conspicuous place: nor will that suffice, he must 15 
 walk about the room, though to the great disturbance of the 
 company; and if he can purchase general observation, at no 
 less rate will condescend to be ridiculous ; for he prefers being 
 laughed at, to being taken little notice of. 
 
 On the other side, Dusopiiis is so bashful, that he hides 20 
 himself in a corner ; he hardly bears being looked at, and never 
 quits the first chair he lights upon, lest he should expose himself 
 to public view. He trembles when you bowe to him at a dis- 
 tance ; is shocked at hearing his own voice, and would almost 
 swoon at the repetition of his name. 25 
 
 The audacious A?iedes, who is extremely amorous in his incli- 
 nations, never likes a woman, but his eyes ask her the question ; 
 without considering the confusion he often occasions to the 
 object : he ogles and languishes at every pretty woman in the 
 room. As there is no law of morality which he would not break 30 
 to satisfy his desires, so there is no form of civility which he 
 doth not violate to communicate them. When he gets posses- 
 sion of a woman's hand, which those of stricter decency never 
 
144 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 give him but with reluctance, he considers himself as its master. 
 Indeed there is scarce a familiarity which he will abstain from, 
 on the slightest acquaintance, and in the most publick place. 
 Seraphina herself can make no impression on the rough tem- 
 5 per of Agroicus ; neither her quality, nor her beauty, can exact 
 the least complacence from him ; and he would let her lovely 
 limbs ach, rather than offer her his chair : while the gentle 
 Lyperus tumbles over benches, and overthrows tea-tables, to 
 take up a fan or a glove : he forces you as a good parent doth 
 
 10 his child, for your own good : he is absolute master of a lady's 
 will, nor will allow her the election of standing or sitting in his 
 company. In short, the impertinent civility of Lyperus is as 
 troublesome, tho' perhaps not so offensive as the brutish rude- 
 ness of Agroicus. 
 
 15 Thus we have hinted at most of the common enormities 
 committed in publick assemblies, to our equals ; for it would 
 be tedious and difficult to enumerate all : nor is it needful ; 
 since from this sketch we may trace all others, most of which, 
 I believe, will be found to branch out from some of the par- 
 
 20 ticulars here specified. 
 
 I am now, in the last place, to consider our behaviour to our 
 inferiors : in which condescension can never be too strongly 
 recommended : for as a deviation on this side is much more 
 innocent than on the other, so the pride of man renders us 
 
 25 much less liable to it. For besides that we are apt to over-rate 
 our own perfections, and undervalue the qualifications of our 
 neighbours, we likewise set too high an esteem on the things 
 themselves, and consider them as constituting a more essential 
 difference between us than they really do. The qualities of 
 
 30 the mind do, in reality, establish the truest superiority over one 
 another ; yet should not these so far elevate our pride, as to 
 inflate us with contempt, and make us look down on our fellow- 
 creatures, as on the animals of an inferior order : but that the 
 
 I 
 
I 
 
 AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 145 
 
 fortuitous accident of birth, the acquisition of wealth, with some 
 outward ornaments of dress, should inspire men with an inso- 
 lence capable of treating the rest of mankind with disdain, is 
 so preposterous, that nothing less than daily experience could 
 give it credit. 5 
 
 If men were to be rightly estimated, and divided into sub- 
 ordinate classes, according to the superior excellence of their 
 several natures, perhaps the lowest class of either sex would be 
 properly assigned to those two disgracers of the human species, 
 common [ly] called a beau and a fine lady : for if we rate men 10 
 by the faculties of the mind, in what degree must these stand? 
 Nay, admitting the qualities of the body were to give the pre- 
 eminence, how many of those whom fortune hath placed in 
 the lowest station, must be ranked above them? If dress is 
 their only title, sure even the monkey, if as well dressed, is on 15 
 as high a footing as the beau. — But perhaps I shall be told, 
 they challenge their dignity from birth : that is a poor and 
 mean pretence to honour, when supported with no other. 
 Persons who have no better claim to superiority, should be 
 ashamed of this ; they are really a disgrace to those very 20 
 ancestors from whom they would derive their pride, and are 
 chiefly happy in this, that they want the very moderate por- 
 tion of understanding which would enable them to despise 
 themselves. 
 
 And yet, who so prone to a contemptuous carriage as these 1 25 
 I have myself seen a little female thing which they have called 
 My Lady, of no greater dignity in the order of beings than a 
 cat, and of no more use in society than a butterfly ; whose 
 mien would not give even the idea of a gentlewoman, and 
 whose face would cool the loosest libertine ; with a mind as 30 
 empty of ideas as an opera, and a body fuller of diseases than an 
 hospital. I have seen this thing express contempt to a woman 
 who was an honour to her sex, and an ornament to the creation. 
 
146 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 To confess the truth, there is little danger of the possessor's 
 ever undervaluing this titular excellence. Not that I would 
 withdraw from it that deference which the policy of govern- 
 ment hath assigned it. On the contrary, I have laid down the 
 5 most exact compliance with this respect, as a fundamental in 
 good-breeding ; nay, I insist only that we may be admitted to 
 pay it ; and not treated with a disdain even beyond what the 
 eastern monarchs shew to their slaves. Surely it is too high 
 an elevation, when instead of treating the lowest human crea- 
 
 10 ture, in a Christian sense, as our brethren ; we look down on 
 
 such as are but one rank, in the civil order, removed from 
 
 us, as unworthy to breathe even the same air, and regard the 
 
 , most distant communication with them as an indignity and 
 
 disgrace offered to ourselves. This is considering the differ- 
 
 15 ence not in the individual, but in the very species; a height 
 of insolence impious in a Christian society, and most absurd 
 and ridiculous in a trading nation. 
 
 I have now done with my first head, in which I have treated 
 of good-breeding, as it regards our actions. I shall, in the 
 
 20 next place, consider it with respect to our words ; and shall 
 endeavour to lay down some rules, by observing which our 
 well-bred man may, in his discourse as well as actions, contrib- 
 ute to the happiness and well-being of society. 
 
 Certain it is, that the highest pleasure which we are capa- 
 
 25 ble of enjoying in conversation, is to be met with only in the 
 society of persons whose understanding is pretty near on an 
 equality with our own : nor is this equality only necessary to 
 enable men of exalted genius, and extensive knowledge, to 
 taste the sublimer pleasures of communicating their refined 
 
 30 ideas to each other ; but it is likewise necessary to the infe- 
 rior happiness of every subordinate degree of society, down to 
 the very lowest. For instance ; we will suppose a conversation 
 between Socrates, Plato^ Aristotle, and three dancing-masters. 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 147 
 
 It will be acknowledged, I believe, that the heel sophists 
 would be as little pleased with the company of the philosophers, 
 as the philosophers with theirs. 
 
 It would be greatly therefore for the improvement and hap- 
 piness of conversation, if society could be formed on this 5 
 equality : but as men are not ranked in this world by the dif- 
 ferent degrees of their understanding, but by other methods, 
 and consequently all degrees of understanding often meet in 
 the same class, and must ex necessitate frequently converse 
 together, the impossibility of accomplishing any such Utopian 10 
 scheme very plainly appears. Here therefore is a visible but 
 unavoidable imperfection in society itself. 
 
 But as we have laid it down as a fundamental, that the essence 
 of good-breeding is to contribute as much as possible to the ease 
 and happiness of mankind, so will it be the business of our well- 15 
 bred man to endeavour to lessen this imperfection to his utmost, 
 and to bring society as near to a level at least as he is able. 
 
 Now there are but two ways to compass this, viz. by raising 
 the lower, and by lowering what is higher. 
 
 Let us suppose then, that very unequal company I have 20 
 before mentioned met : the former of these is apparently 
 impracticable. Let Socrates, for instance, institute a discourse 
 on the nature of the soul, or Plato reason on the native beauty 
 of virtue, and Aristotle on his occult qualities. — What must 
 become of our dancing-masters ? Would they not stare at one 25 
 another with surprize? and, most probably, at our philosophers 
 with contempt? Would they have any pleasure in such soci- 
 ety ? or would they not rather wish themselves in a dancing- 
 school, or a green-room at the play-house? What therefore 
 have our philosophers to do, but to lower themselves to those 30 
 who cannot rise to them? 
 
 And surely there are subjects on which both can converse. 
 Hath not Socrates heard of harmony? Hath not Plato, who 
 
148 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 draws virtue in the person of a fine woman, any idea of the 
 gracefulness of attitude ? and hath not Aristotle himself written 
 a book on motion? In short, to be a littTe serious, there are 
 many topics on which they can at least be intelligible to each 
 5 other. 
 
 How absurd then must appear the conduct of Cenodoxits, 
 who having had the advantage of a liberal education, and hav- 
 ing made a pretty good progress in literature, is constantly 
 advancing learned subjects in common conversation? He 
 
 10 talks of the classics before the ladies ; and of Greek criticisms 
 among fine gentlemen. What is this less than an insult on the 
 company, over whom he thus affects a superiority, and whose 
 time he sacrifices to his vanity? 
 
 Wisely different is the amiable conduct of Sophronus ; who, 
 
 15 though he exceeds the former in knowledge, can submit to 
 discourse on the most trivial matters, rather than introduce 
 such as his company are utter strangers to. He can talk of 
 fashions and diversions among the ladies ; nay, can even con- 
 descend to horses and dogs with country gentlemen. This gen- 
 
 20 tleman, who is equal to dispute on the highest and abstrusest 
 points, can likewise talk on a fan, or a horse-race ; nor had ever 
 any one, who was not himself a man of learning, the least rea- 
 son to conceive the vast knowledge of Sophronus, unless from 
 the report of others. 
 
 25 Let us compare these together. Cenodoxus proposes the 
 satisfaction of his own pride from the admiration of others ; 
 Sophronus thinks of nothing but their amusement. In the 
 company of Cenodoxus^ every one is rendered uneasy, laments 
 his own want of knowledge, and longs for the end of the dull 
 
 30 assembly : with Sophronus all are pleased, and contented with 
 themselves in their knowledge of matters which they find 
 worthy the consideration of a man of sense. Admiration is 
 involuntarily paid the former ; to the latter it is given joyfully. 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 149 
 
 The former receives it with envy and hatred ; the latter enjoys 
 it as the sweet fruit of good-will. The former is shunned, the 
 latter courted by all. 
 
 This behaviour in Cenodoxus may, in some measure, account 
 for an observation we must have frequent occasion to make : 5 
 that the conversation of men of very moderate capacities is 
 often preferred to that of men of superior talents : in which 
 the world act more wisely than at first they may seem ; for 
 besides that backwardness in mankind to give their admiration, 
 what can be duller, or more void of pleasure than discourses 10 
 on subjects above our comprehension ! It is like listning to 
 an unknown language ; and if such company is ever desired 
 by us, it is a sacrifice to our vanity, which imposes on us to 
 believe that we may by these means raise the general opinion 
 of our own parts and knowledge, and not from that cheerful 15 
 delight which is the natural result of an agreeable conversation. 
 
 There is another very common fault, equally destructive of 
 this delight, by much the same means ; though it is far from 
 owing its original to any real superiority of parts and knowl- 
 edge : this is discoursing on the mysteries of a particular pro- 20 
 fession, to which all the rest of the company, except one or 
 two, are utter strangers. Lawyers are generally guilty of this 
 fault, as they are more confined to the conversation of one 
 another ; and I have known a very agreeable company spoilt, 
 where there have been two of these gentlemen present, who 25 
 have seemed rather to think themselves in a court of justice, 
 than in a mixed assembly of persons, met only for the enter- 
 tainment of each other. 
 
 But it is not sufficient that the whole company understand 
 the topic of their conversation ; they should be likewise equally 30 
 interested in every subject not tending to their general infor- 
 mation or amusement ; for these are not to be postponed to 
 the relation of private affairs, much less of the particular 
 
I50 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 grievance or misfortune of a single person. To bear a share 
 in the afflictions of another is a degree of friendship not to be 
 expected in a common acquaintance ; nor hath any man a 
 right to indulge the satisfaction of a weak and mean mind by 
 5 the comfort of pity, at the expence of the whole company's 
 diversion. The inferior and unsuccessful members of the sev- 
 eral professions are generally guilty of this fault ; for as they 
 fail of the reward due to their great merit, they can seldom 
 refrain from reviling their superiors, and complaining of their 
 
 10 own hard and unjust fate. 
 
 Farther ; as a man is not to make himself the subject of 
 the conversation, so neither is he to engross the whole to him- 
 self. As every man had rather please others by what he says 
 than be himself pleased by what they say ; or, in other words, 
 
 15 as every man is best pleased with the consciousness of pleas- 
 ing ; so should all have an equal opportunity of aiming at it. 
 This is a right which we are so offended at being deprived of, 
 that though I remember to have known a man reputed a good 
 companion, who seldom opened his mouth in company, unless 
 
 20 to swallow his liquor ; yet I have scarce ever heard that appel- 
 lation given to a very talkative person, even when he hath 
 been capable of entertaining, unless he hath done this with 
 buffoon'ry, and made the rest amends, by partaking of their 
 scorn, together with their admiration and applause. 
 
 25 A well-bred man therefore will not take more of the dis- 
 course than falls to his share : nor in this will he shew any 
 violent impetuosity of temper, or exert any loudness of voice, 
 even in arguing : for the information of the company, and the 
 conviction of his antagonist, are to be his apparent motives ; 
 
 30 not the indulgence of his own pride, or an ambitious desire of 
 victory ; which latter if a wise man should entertain, he will 
 be sure to conceal with his utmost endeavour : since he must 
 know, that to lay open his vanity in public, is no less absurd 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 15 1 
 
 than to lay open his bosom to an enemy, whose drawn sword 
 is pointed against it : for every man hath a dagger in his hand, 
 ready to stab the vanity of another, wherever he perceives it. 
 
 Having now shewn, that the pleasure of conversation must 
 arise from the discourse being on subjects levelled to the 5 
 capacity of the whole company ; from being on such in which 
 every person is equally interested ; from every one's being 
 admitted to his share in the discourse ; and lastly, from care- 
 fully avoiding all noise, violence, and impetuosity; it might 
 seem proper to lay down some particular rules for the choice 10 
 of those subjects which are most likely to conduce to the 
 cheerful delights proposed from this social communication : 
 but as such an attempt might appear absurd, from the infinite 
 variety, and perhaps too dictatorial in its nature, I shall con- 
 fine myself to rejecting those topics only which seem most for- 15 
 eign to this delight, and which are most likely to be attended 
 with consequences rather tending to make society an evil, 
 than to procure us any good from it. 
 
 And first, I shall mention that which I have hitherto only 
 endeavoured to restrain within certain bounds, namely, argu- 20 
 ments : but which if they were entirely banished out of com- 
 pany, especially from mixed assemblies, and where ladies 
 make part of the society, it would, I believe, promote their 
 happiness : they have been sometimes attended with blood- 
 shed, generally with hatred from the conquered party towards 25 
 his victor ; and scarce ever with conviction. Here I except 
 jocose arguments, which often produce much mirth ; and seri- 
 ous disputes between men of learning (when none but such 
 are present) which tend to the propagation of knowledge, and 
 the edification of the company. 30 
 
 Secondly, slander ; which, however frequently used, or how- 
 ever savory to the palate of ill-nature, is extremely pernicious. 
 As it is often unjust, and highly injurious to the person 
 
152 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 slandered ; and always dangerous, especially in large and mixed 
 companies ; where sometimes an undesigned offence is given 
 to an innocent relation or friend of such person, who is thus 
 exposed to shame and confusion, without having any right to 
 5 resent the affront. Of this there have been very tragical 
 instances ; and I have myself seen some very ridiculous ones, 
 but which have given great pain, as well to the person 
 offended, as to him who hath been the innocent occasion of 
 giving the offence. 
 
 10 Thirdly ; all general reflections on countries, religions, and 
 professions, which are always unjust. If these are ever toler- 
 able, they are only from the persons who with some pleasantry 
 ridicule their own country. It is very common among us to 
 cast sarcasms on a neighbouring nation, to which we have no 
 
 15 other reason to bear an antipathy, than what is more usual 
 than justifiable, because we have injured it : but sure such 
 general satire is not founded on truth *: for I have known gen- 
 tlemen of that nation possessed with every good quality which 
 are to be wished in a man, or required in a friend. I remem- 
 
 20 ber a repartee made by a gentleman of this country, which 
 though it was full of the severest wit, the person to whom it 
 was directed, could not resent, as he so plainly deserved it. 
 He had with great bitterness inveighed against this whole 
 people ; upon which, one of them who was present, very 
 
 25 cooly answered, / 'dofi^t know^ sir, whether I have not more 
 reasoft to be pleased with the compliment you pay 7?iy country, 
 tha?i to be angry with ivhat you say against it ; since by your 
 abusing us all so heavily, you have plainly implied you are not 
 of it. This exposed the other to so much laughter, especially 
 
 30 as he was not unexceptionable in his character, that I believe 
 he was sufficiently punished for his ill-manner'd satire. 
 
 Fourthly ; blasphemy, and irreverent mention of religion. 
 I will not here debate what compliment a man pays to his 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 153 
 
 own understanding, by the profession of infidelity ; it is suffi- 
 cient to my purpose, that he runs a risque of giving the cru- 
 ellest offence to persons of a different temper : for if a loyalist 
 would be greatly affronted by hearing any indecencies offered 
 to the person of a temporal prince, how much more bitterly 5 
 must a man, who sincerely believes in such a being as the 
 Almighty, feel any irreverence, or insult shewn to His name, 
 His honour, or His institution? And notwithstanding the 
 impious character of the present age, and especially of many 
 among those whose more immediate business it is to lead 10 
 men, as well by example as precept, into the ways of piety, 
 there are still sufficient numbers left, who pay so honest and 
 sincere a reverence to religion, as may give us a reasonable 
 expectation of finding one at least of this stamp in every large 
 company. 15 
 
 A fifth particular to be avoided is indecency. We are not 
 only to forbear the repeating such words as would give an 
 immediate affront to a lady of reputation ; but the raising any 
 loose ideas tending to the offence of that modesty, which if a 
 young woman hath not something more than the affectation 20 
 of, she is not worthy the regard even of a man of pleasure, 
 provided he hath any delicacy in his constitution. How 
 inconsistent with good-breeding it is to give pain and confu- 
 sion to such, is sufficiently apparent ; all double-entendres, and 
 obscene jests, are therefore carefully to be avoided before 25 
 them. But suppose no ladies present, nothing can be meaner, 
 lower, and less productive of rational mirth, than this loose 
 conversation. For my own part, I cannot conceive how the 
 idea of jest or pleasantry came ever to be annexed to one of 
 our highest and most serious pleasures. Nor can I help observ- 30 
 ing, to the discredit of such merriment, that it is commonly the 
 last resource of impotent wit, the weak strainings of the lowest, 
 silliest, and dullest fellows in the world. 
 
154 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Sixthly ; you are to avoid knowingly mentioning any thing 
 which may revive in any person the remembrance of some 
 past accident ; or raise an uneasy reflection on a present mis- 
 fortune, or corporeal blemish. To maintain this rule nicely, 
 5 perhaps requires great delicacy ; but it is absolutely necessary 
 to a well-bred man. I have observed numberless breaches of 
 it; many, I believe, proceeding from negligence and inadvert- 
 ency; yet I am afraid some may be too justly imputed to a 
 malicious desire of triumphing in our own superior happiness 
 
 lo and perfections : now when it proceeds from this motive, it is 
 not easy to imagine any thing more criminal. 
 
 Under this head I shall caution my well-bred reader against 
 a common fault, much of the same nature ; which is mention- 
 ing any particular quality as absolutely essential to either man 
 
 15 or woman, and exploding all those who want it. This renders 
 every one uneasy, who is in the least self-conscious of the 
 defect. I have heard a boor of fashion declare in the presence 
 of women remarkably plain, that beauty was the chief perfec- 
 tion of that sex ; and an essential, without which no woman 
 
 20 was worth regarding. A certain method of putting all those 
 in the room, who are but suspicious of their defect that way, 
 out of countenance. 
 
 I shall mention one fault more, which is, not paying a 
 proper regard to the present temper of the company, or the 
 
 25 occasion of their meeting, in introducing a topic of conversa- 
 tion, by which as great an absurdity is sometimes committed, 
 as it would be to sing a dirge at a wedding, or an epithalamium 
 at a funeral. 
 
 Thus I have, I think, enumerated most of the principal 
 
 30 errors which we are apt to fall into in conversation ; and 
 though perhaps some particulars worthy of remark may have 
 escaped me, yet an attention to what I have here said, 
 may enable the reader to discover them. At least I am 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 155 
 
 persuaded, that if the rules I have now laid down were strictly 
 observed, our conversation would be more perfect, and the 
 pleasure resulting from it purer, and more unsullied, than at 
 present it is. 
 
 But I must not dismiss this subject without some animad- 5 
 versions on a particular species of pleasantry, which though 
 I am far from being desirous of banishing from conversation, 
 requires, most certainly, some reins. to govern, and some rule 
 to direct it. The reader may perhaps guess, I mean raillery ; 
 to which I may apply the fable of the Lap- Dog and the Ass : 10 
 for while in some hands it diverts and dehghts us with its 
 dexterity and gentleness ; in others, it paws, dawbs, offends, 
 and hurts. 
 
 The end of conversation being the happiness of mankind, 
 and the chief means to procure their delight and pleasure; it 15 
 follows, I think, that nothing can conduce to this end, which 
 tends to make a man uneasy and dissatisfied with himself, or 
 which exposes him to the scorn and contempt of others. I 
 here except that kind of raillery therefore, which is concerned 
 in tossing men out of their chairs, tumbling them into water, 20 
 or any of those handicraft jokes which are exercised on those ' 
 notable persons, commonly known by the name of buffoons. 
 This I pass by, as well as all remarks on the genius of the 
 great men themselves, who are (to fetch a phrase from school, 
 a phrase not improperly mentioned on this occasion) great 25 
 DABS at this kind of facetiousness. 
 
 But leaving all such persons to expose human nature among 
 themselves, I shall recommend to my well-bred man, who aims 
 at raillery, the excellent character given of Horace by Persius. 
 
 Omne vafer vitiu77t ridenti Flaccus amico 30 
 
 Tangit^ et adniissus circiifn prcscordia ludit^ 
 Callidus exaisso popiihun suspendere naso. 
 
156 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Thus excellently rendered by the late ingenious translator of 
 that obscure author. 
 
 Yet cou'd shrewd Horace, with disportive Wit, 
 Rally his Friend^ and tickle while he bit : 
 5 Winning Access, he play'' d around the Heart, 
 
 And gently touching, prick'' d the tainted Part. 
 The Crowd he sneer'' dj but sneer'' d with such a Grace, 
 It passed for downright Innocence of Face. 
 
 The raillery which is consistent with good-breeding, is a 
 
 10 gentle animadversion on some foible ; which while it raises a 
 laugh in the rest of the company, doth not put the person ralhed 
 out of countenance, or expose him to shame and contempt. On 
 the contrary, the jest should be so delicate, that the object of 
 it should be capable of joining in the mirth it occasions. 
 
 15 All great vices therefore, misfortunes, and notorious blem- 
 ishes of mind or body, are improper subjects of raillery. 
 Indeed, a hint at such is an abuse and affront [which] is sure 
 to give the person (unless he be one shameless and abandoned) 
 pain and uneasiness, and should be received with contempt, 
 
 20 instead of applause, by all the rest of the company. 
 
 Again ; the nature and quality of the person are to be con- 
 sidered. As to the first, some men will not bear any raillery 
 at all. I remember a gentleman who declared, He never 7?iade 
 a Jest, nor would ever take one. I do not indeed greatly 
 
 25 recommend such a person for a companion; but at the same 
 time, a well-bred man, who is to consult the pleasure and 
 happiness of the whole, is not at liberty to make any one 
 present uneasy. By the quality, I mean the sex, degree, pro- 
 fession, and circumstances ; on which head I need not be 
 
 30 very particular. With regard to the two former, all raillery 
 on ladies and superiors should be extremely fine and gentle; 
 and with respect to the latter, any of the rules I have above 
 
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION 157 
 
 laid down, most of which are to be applied to it, will afford 
 sufificient caution. 
 
 Lastly. A consideration is to be had of the persons before 
 whom we rally. A man will be justly uneasy at being reminded 
 of those railleries in one company, which he would very 5 
 patiently bear the imputation of in another. Instances on this 
 head are so obvious, that they need not be mentioned. In 
 short, the whole doctrine of raillery is comprized in this 
 famous line. 
 
 QUID de QUOQUE viro^ et cui dicas^ scepe caveto. 10 
 
 Be cautious what j^« say^ OF whom audio whom. 
 
 And now methinks I hear some one cry out, that such 
 restrictions are, in effect, to exclude all raillery from conver- 
 sation : and, to confess the truth, it is a weapon from which 
 many persons will do wisely in totally abstaining; for it is 15 
 a weapon which doth the more mischief, by how much the 
 blunter it is. The sharpest wit therefore is only to be indulged 
 the free use of it ; for no more than a very slight touch is to 
 be allowed ; no hacking, nor bruising, as if they were to hew 
 a Carcase for Hounds^ as Shakespear phrases it. 20 
 
 Nor is it sufficient that it be sharp, it must be used likewise 
 with the utmost tenderness and good-nature : and as the 
 nicest dexterity of a gladiator is shewn in being able to hit 
 without cutting deep, so is this of our rallier, who is rather to 
 tickle than wound. 25 
 
 True raillery indeed consists either in playing on pecca- 
 dillo's, which, however they may be censured by some, are 
 not esteemed as really blemishes in a character in a company 
 where they are made the subject of mirth ; as too much free- 
 dom with the bottle, or too much indulgence with women, b^c. 30 
 
 Or, secondly, in pleasantly representing real good qualities 
 in a false light of shame, and bantering them as ill ones. So 
 
158 ■ SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 generosity may be treated as prodigality ; oeconomy as avarice ; 
 true courage as fool-hardiness ; and so of the rest. 
 
 Lastly ; in ridiculing men for vices and faults which they 
 
 are known to be free from. Thus the cowardice of A — le, the 
 
 5 dulness of Ch^d, the unpoliteness of £> — ton, may be attacked 
 
 without danger of o^ence; and thus Z^y/ — n may.be censured 
 
 for whatever vice or folly you please to impute to him. 
 
 And however limited these bounds may appear to some, 
 yet, in skilful and witty hands, I have known raillery, thus 
 
 10 confined, afford a very diverting, as well as inoffensive enter- 
 tainment to the whole company. 
 
 I shall conclude this essay with these two observations, 
 which I think may be clearly deduced from what hath been 
 said. 
 
 15 First, that every person who indulges his ill-nature or vanity, 
 at the expence of others ; and in introducing uneasiness, vex- 
 ation, and confusion into society, however exalted or high- 
 titled he may be, is thoroughly ill-bred. 
 
 Secondly, that whoever, from the goodness of his disposition 
 
 20 or understanding, endeavours to his utmost to cultivate the 
 good-humour and happiness of others, and to contribute to 
 the ease and comfort of all his acquaintance, however low in 
 rank fortune may have placed him, or however clumsy he may 
 be in his figure or demeanour, hath, in the truest sense of the 
 
 25 word, a claim to good-breeding. 
 
AN ESSAY ON NOTHING 159 
 
 XXXI 
 
 AN ESSAY ON NOTHING 
 
 The Introduction 
 
 It is surprizing, that while such trifling matters employ the 
 masterly pens of the present age, the great and noble subject 
 of this essay should have passed totally neglected ; and the 
 rather, as it is a subject to which the genius of many of those 
 writers who have unsuccessfully applied themselves to politics, 5 
 religion, &^c. is most peculiarly adapted. 
 
 Perhaps their unwillingness to handle what is of such impor- 
 tance, may not improperly be ascribed to their modesty; 
 though they may not be remarkably addicted to this vice on 
 every occasion. Indeed I have heard it predicated of some, 10 
 whose assurance in treating other subjects hath been suffi- 
 ciently notable, that they have blushed at this. For such is 
 the awe with which this Nothing inspires mankind, that I 
 beheve it is generally apprehended of many persons of very 
 high character among us, that were title, power, or riches to 15 
 allure them, they would stick at it. 
 
 But whatever be the reason, certain it is, that except a hardy 
 wit in the reign of Chm-les II. none ever hath dared to write on 
 this subject. I mean openly and avowedly ; for it must be con- 
 fessed, that most of our modern authors, however foreign the 20 
 matter which they endeavour to treat may seem at their first 
 setting out, they generally bring their work to this in the end. 
 
 I hope, however, this attempt will not be imputed to me as 
 an act of immodesty ; since I am convinced there are many 
 persons in this kingdom, who are persuaded of my fitness for 25 
 what I have undertaken. But as talking of a man's self is gen- 
 erally suspected to arise from vanity, I shall, without any more 
 excuse or preface, proceed to my essay. 
 
l6o SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Sect. I. 
 
 Of the Antiquity ^Nothing. 
 
 There is nothing falser than that old proverb, which (like 
 many other falsehoods) is in every one's mouth ; 
 
 Ex Nihilo nihil Fit. 
 
 Thus translated by Shakespeare, in Lear. 
 
 5 Nothing can coine of Nothing. 
 
 Whereas in fact, from Nothing proceeds every thing. And 
 this is a truth confessed by the philosophers of all sects : the 
 only point in controversy between them being, whether Some- 
 thing made the world out of Nothing, or Nothing out of 
 
 lo Something. A matter not much worth debating at present, 
 since either will equally serve our turn. Indeed the wits of 
 all ages seem to have ranged themselves on each side of this 
 question, as their genius tended more or less to the spiritual 
 or material substance. For those of the more spiritual species 
 
 15 have inclined to the former, and those whose genius hath par- 
 taken more of the chief properties of matter, such as soHdity, 
 thickness, &^c. have embraced the latter. 
 
 But whether Nothing was the artifex or materies only, it is 
 plain in either case, it will have a right to claim to itself the 
 
 20 origination of all things. 
 
 And farther, the great antiquity of Nothing is apparent from 
 its being so visible in the accounts we have of the beginning 
 of every nation. This is very plainly to be discovered in the 
 first pages, and sometimes books of all general historians ; and 
 
 25 indeed, the study of this important subject fills up the whole 
 life of an antiquary, it being always at the bottom of his 
 enquiry, and is commonly at last discovered by him with infi- 
 nite labour and pains. 
 
AN ESSAY ON NOTHING l6l 
 
 Sect. II. 
 Of the Nature of Nothing. 
 
 Another falsehood which we must detect in the pursuit of 
 this essay, is an assertion, That no otie can have an Idea of 
 Nothing : But men who thus confidently deny us this idea, 
 either grossly deceive themselves, or would impose a down- 
 right cheat on the world : for so far from having none, I 5 
 believe there are few who have not many ideas of it ; though 
 they may mistake them for the idea of something. 
 
 For instance; is there any one who has not an idea of* 
 immaterial substance ? — Now what is immaterial substance, 
 more than JVothing ? But here we are artfully deceived by the 10 
 use of words : for were we to ask another what idea he had of 
 immaterial matter, or unsubstantial substance, the absurdity of 
 affirming it to be Something, would shock him, and he would 
 immediately reply, it was Nothing. 
 
 Some persons perhaps will say then, we have no idea of it : 15 
 but as I can support the contrary by such undoubted author- 
 ity, I shall, instead of trying to confute such idle opinions, 
 proceed to shew, first, what Nothing is ; secondly, I shall dis- 
 close the various kinds of Nothing ; and lastly, shall prove its 
 great dignity, and that it is the end of every thing. 20 
 
 It is extremely hard to define Nothing in positive terms, I 
 shall therefore do it in negative. Nothing then is not Some- 
 thing. And here I must object to a third error concerning it, 
 which is, that it is in no place ; which is an indirect way of 
 
 * The author would not be here . understood to speak against the 
 doctrine of immateriahty, to which he is a hearty well-wisher ; but to 
 point at the stupidity of those, who instead of immaterial essence, which 
 would convey a rational meaning, have substituted immaterial substance^ 
 which is a contradiction in terms. 
 
l62 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 depriving it of its existence ; whereas it possesses the greatest 
 and noblest place on this earth, viz. the human brain. But 
 indeed this mistake hath been sufficiently refuted by many 
 very wise men; who having spent their whole lives in the 
 5 contemplation and pursuit of Nothing, have at last gravely 
 concluded — That there is Nothing in this world. 
 
 Farther ; as Nothing is not Something, so every thing which 
 is not Something, is Nothing ; and wherever Something is not, 
 Nothing is : a very large allowance in its favour, as must 
 lo appear to persons well skilled in human affairs. 
 
 For instance ; when a bladder is full of wind, it is full of 
 Something; but when that is let out, we aptly say, there is 
 Nothing in it. 
 
 The same may be as justly asserted of a man as of a blad- 
 15 der. However well he may be bedawbed with lace, or with 
 title, yet if he have not Something in him, we may predicate 
 the same of him as of an empty bladder. 
 
 But if we cannot reach an adequate knowledge of the true 
 essence of Nothing, no more than we can of matter, let us, in 
 20 imitation of the experimental philosophers, examine some of 
 its properties or accidents. 
 
 And here we shall see the infinite advantages which Nothing 
 hath over Something : for while the latter is confined to one 
 sense, or two perhaps at the most, Nothing is the object of 
 25 them all. 
 
 For first ; Nothing may be seen, as is plain from the rela- 
 tion of persons who have recovered from high fevers ; and 
 perhaps may be suspected from some (at least) of those who 
 have seen apparitions, both on earth, and in the clouds. Nay, 
 30 I have often heard it confessed by men, when asked what they 
 saw at such a place and time, that they saw Nothing. Admit- 
 ting then that there are two sights, viz. a first and second sight, 
 according to the firm belief of some, Nothing must be allowed 
 
AN ESSAY ON NOTHING 163 
 
 to have a very large share of the first ; and as to the second, 
 it hath it all entirely to itself. 
 
 Secondly ; Nothing may be heard : of which the same 
 proofs may be given, as of the foregoing. The Argive, men- 
 tioned by Horace, is a strong instance of this. 5 
 
 — Fuit haud ignobilis Argis 
 Qui se credebat tniros audire Tragcedos 
 In vacuo latos sessor, Plausorque Theatre. 
 
 That Nothing may be tasted and smelt, is not only known 
 to persons of delicate palates and nostrils. How commonly 10 
 do we hear, that such a thing smells or tastes of Nothing? 
 The latter I have heard asserted of a dish compounded of five 
 or six savory ingredients. And as to the former, I remember 
 an elderly gentlewoman who had a great antipathy to the smell 
 of apples ; who upon discovering that an idle boy had fastened 15 
 some mellow apple to her tail, contracted a habit of smelling 
 them, whenever that boy came within her sight, though there 
 were then none within a mile of her. 
 
 Lastly, feeling ; and sure if any sense seems more particu- 
 larly the object of matter only, which must be allowed to be 20 
 Something, this doth. Nay, I have heard it asserted (and 
 with a colour of truth) of several persons, that they can feel 
 nothing but a cudgel. Notwithstanding which, some have felt 
 the motions of the spirit; and others have felt very bitterly 
 the misfortunes of their friends, without endeavouring to relieve 25 
 them. Now these seem two plain instances, that Nothing is 
 an object of this sense. Nay, I have heard a surgeon declare, 
 while he was cutting off a patient's leg, that he was sure he 
 felt nothing. 
 
 Nothing is as well the object of our passions as our senses. 30 
 Thus there are many who love Nothing, some who hate Noth- 
 ing, and some who fear Nothing, d^c. 
 
l64 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 We have already mentioned three of the properties of a noun, 
 to belong to Nothing ; we shall find the fourth likewise to be 
 as justly claim'd by it : and that Nothing is as often the object 
 of the understanding, as of the senses. 
 5 Indeed some have imagined, that knowledge, with the adjec- 
 tive human placed before it, is another word for Nothing. And 
 one of the wisest men in the world declared, he knew nothing. 
 But without carrying it so far, this I believe may be allowed, 
 that it is at least possible for a man to know Nothing. And who- 
 
 10 ever hath read over many works of our ingenious moderns, with 
 proper attention and emolument, will, I believe, confess, that 
 if he understands them right, he understands Nothing. 
 
 This is a secret not known to all readers ; and want of this 
 knowledge hath occasioned much puzzling ; for where a book, 
 
 15 or chapter, or paragraph, hath seemed to the reader to contain 
 Nothing, his modesty hath sometimes persuaded him, that the 
 true meaning of the author hath escaped him, instead of con- 
 cluding, as in reality the fact was, that the author, in the said 
 book, ^c. did truly, and bond fide ^ mean nothing. I remember 
 
 20 once, at the table of a person of great eminence, and one no 
 less distinguished by superiority of wit than fortune, when a 
 very dark passage was read out of a poet, famous for being 
 so sublime, that he is often out of the sight of his reader, some 
 persons present declared they did not understand the meaning. 
 
 25 The gentleman himself, casting his eyes over the performance, 
 testified a surprize at the dulness of his company ; seeing Noth- 
 ing could, he said, possibly be plainer than the meaning of 
 the passage which thej stuck at. This set all of us to puzzling 
 again ; but with like success ; we frankly owned we could not 
 
 30 find it out, and desired he would explain it. — Explain it ! said 
 the gentleman, why he means nothing. 
 
 In fact, this mistake arises from a too vulgar error among 
 persons unacquainted with the mystery of writing, who imagine 
 
AN ESSAY ON NOTHING 165 
 
 it impossible that a man should sit down to write without any 
 meaning at all ; whereas in reality, nothing is more common : 
 for, not to instance in myself, who have confessedly sat down 
 to write this essay, with Nothing in my head, or, which is much 
 the same thing, to write about Nothing ; it may be incontest- 5 
 ably proved, ab effechc^ that Nothing is commoner among the 
 moderns. The inimitable author of a preface to the Posthu- 
 mous Eclogues of a late ingenious young gentleman, says, — 
 There are men who sit down to write what they think, and 
 others to think what they shall write. But indeed there is a 10 
 third, and a much more numerous sort, who never think either 
 before they sit down, or afterwards ; and who when they pro- 
 duce on paper what was before in their heads, are sure to 
 produce Nothing. 
 
 Thus we have endeavoured to demonstrate the nature of 15 
 Nothing, by shewing first, definitively, what it is not ; and 
 secondly, by describing what it is. The next thing therefore 
 proposed, is to shew its various kinds. 
 
 Now some imagine these several kinds differ in name only. 
 But without endeavouring to confute so absurd an opinion, 20 
 especially as these different kinds of Nothing occur frequently 
 in the best authors, I shall content myself with setting them 
 down, and leave it to the determination of the distinguishing 
 reader, whether it is probable, or indeed possible, that they 
 should all convey one and the same meaning. 25 
 
 These are. Nothing per se Nothing ; Nothing at all ; Nothing 
 in the least ; Nothing in nature ; Nothing in the world ; Nothing 
 in the whole world ; Nothing in the whole universal world. And 
 perhaps many others, of which we say — Nothing, 
 
l66 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Sect. III. 
 
 Of the Dignity of nothing ; mid a?i Endea%)Our to prove, that 
 it is the End as well as Beginning of all Things, 
 
 Nothing contains so much dignity as nothing. Ask an infa- 
 mous worthless nobleman (if any such be) in what his dignity 
 consists? It may not be perhaps consistent with dignity to 
 give you an answer ; but suppose he should be willing to con- 
 5 descend so far, what could he in effect say ? Should he say he 
 had it of his ancestors, I apprehend a lawyer would oblige him 
 to prove, that the virtues to which this dignity was annexed, 
 descended to him. If he claims it as inherent in the title, 
 might he not be told, that a title originally implied dignity, as 
 10 it implied the presence of those virtues to which dignity is 
 inseparably annexed ; but that no implication will fly in the 
 face of downright positive proof to the contrary. In short, 
 to examine no farther, since his endeavour to derive it from any 
 other fountain would be equally impotent, his dignity arises from 
 1 5 Nothing, and in reahty is Nothing. Yet, that this dignity really 
 exists ; that it glares in the eyes of men, and produces much 
 good to the person who wears it, is, I believe, incontestable. 
 Perhaps this may appear in the following syllogism. 
 The respect paid to men on account of their titles, is paid 
 20 at least to the supposal of their superior virtues and abihties, 
 or it is paid to Nothing. 
 
 But when a man is a notorious knave or fool, it is impossi- 
 ble there should be any such supposal. 
 The conclusion is apparent. 
 25 Now that no man is ashamed of either paying or receiving 
 this respect, I wonder not, since the great importance of Noth- 
 ing seems, I think, to be pretty apparent : but that they should 
 deny the deity worshipped, and endeavour to represent Noth- 
 ing as Something, is more worthy reprehension. This is a 
 
AN ESSAY ON NOTHING 167 
 
 fallacy extremely common. I have seen a fellow, whom all the 
 world knew to have Nothing in him, not only pretend to Some- 
 thing himself; but supported in that pretension by others who 
 have been less liable to be deceived. Now whence can this 
 proceed, but from their being ashamed of Nothing? A mod- 5 
 esty very peculiar to this age. 
 
 But notwithstanding all such disguise and deceit, a man 
 must have very little discernment, who can live long in courts, 
 or populous cities, without being convinced of the great dignity 
 of Nothing ; and though he should, through corruption or neces- 10 
 sity, comply with the vulgar worship and adulation, he will know 
 to what it is paid, namely, to Nothing. 
 
 The most astonishing instance of this respect, so frequently 
 paid to Nothing, is when it is paid (if I may so express myself) 
 to Something less than Nothing ; when the person who receives 15 
 it is not only void of the quality for which he is respected, but 
 is in reality notoriously guilty of vices directly opposite to 
 the virtues, whose applause he receives. This is, indeed, the 
 highest degree of Nothing, or, (if I may be allowed the word) 
 the Nothingest of all Nothings. 20 
 
 Here it is to be known, that respect may be aimed at Some- 
 thing, and really light on Nothing. For instance ; when mistak- 
 ing certain things called gravity, canting, blustring, ostentation, 
 pomp, and such like, for wisdom, piety, magnanimity, charity, 
 true greatness, &'c. we give to the former the honour and rever- 25 
 ence due to the latter. Not that I would be understood so 
 far to discredit my subject, as to insinuate that gravity, cant- 
 ing, 6^^. are really Nothing ; on the contrary, there is much 
 more reason to suspect, (if we judge from the practice of the 
 world) that wisdom, piety, and other virtues, have a good title 30 
 to that name. But we do not, in fact, pay our respect to the 
 former, but to the latter : in other words, we pay it to that 
 which is not, and consequently pay it to Nothing. 
 
I68 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 So far then for the dignity of the subject on which I am 
 treating. I am now to shew, that Nothing is the end as well 
 as beginning of all things. 
 
 That every thing is resolvable, and will be resolved into its 
 
 5 first principles, will be, I believe, readily acknowledged by 
 all philosophers. As therefore we have sufficiently proved the 
 world came from Nothing, it follows, that it will likewise end 
 in the same : but as I am writing to a nation of Christians, 1 
 have no need to be prolix on this head ; since every one of 
 
 lo my readers, by his faith, acknowledges that the world is to 
 have an end, i.e. is to come to Nothing. 
 
 And as Nothing is the end of the world, so is it of every 
 thing in the world. Ambition, the greatest, highest, noblest, 
 finest, most heroic and godlike of all passions, what doth it 
 
 15 end in? — Nothing. What did Alexander^ Ccesar, and all the 
 rest of that heroic band, who have plundered, and massacred 
 so many millions, obtain by all their care, labour, pain, fatigue, 
 and danger ? — Could they speak for themselves, must they 
 not own, that the end of all their pursuit was Nothing? Nor is 
 
 20 this the end of private ambition only. What is become of that 
 proud mistress of the world, — the Caput triumphati Orbis ? 
 that Rome, of which her own flatterers so liberally prophesied 
 the immortality, in what hath all her glory ended? surely in 
 Nothing. 
 
 25 Again, what is the end of avarice? Not power, or pleasure, 
 as some think, for the miser will part with a shilling for neither : 
 not ease or happiness; for the more he attains of what he 
 desires, the more uneasy and miserable he is. If every good 
 in this world was put to him, he could not say he pursued one. 
 
 30 Shall we say then, he pursues misery only? that surely would 
 be contradictory to the first principles of human nature. May 
 we not therefore, nay, must we not confess, that he aims at 
 Nothing? especially if he be himself unable to tell us what is 
 
AN ESSAY ON NOTHING 169 
 
 the end of all this bustle and hurry, this watching and toiling, 
 this self-denial, and self-constraint ! 
 
 It will not, I apprehend, be sufficient for him to plead, that 
 his design is to amass a large fortune, which he never can nor 
 will use himself, nor would willingly quit to any other person ; 5 
 unless he can shew us some substantial good which this fortune 
 is to produce, we shall certainly be justified in concluding, that 
 his end is the same with that of ambition. 
 
 The great Mr. Hobbes so plainly saw this, that as he was an 
 enemy to that notable immaterial substance which we have 10 
 here handled, and therefore unwilHng to allow it the large 
 province we have contended for, he advanced a very strange 
 doctrine, and asserted truly, — That in all these grand pursuits, 
 the means themselves were the end proposed, inz. to ambition, 
 plotting, fighting, danger, difficulty, and such like : — to ava- 15 
 rice, cheating, starving, watching, and the numberless painful 
 arts by which the passion proceeds. 
 
 However easy it may be to demonstrate the absurdity of this 
 opinion, it will be needless to my purpose, since if we are 
 driven to confess that the means are the only end attained, — 20 
 I think we must likewise confess, that the end proposed is 
 absolutely Nothing. 
 
 As I have here shewn the end of our two greatest and 
 noblest pursuits, one or other of which engages almost every 
 individual of the busy part of mankind, I shall not tire the 25 
 reader with carrying him through all the rest, since I believe 
 the same conclusion may be easily drawn from them all. 
 
 I shall therefore finish this essay with an inference, which 
 aptly enough suggests itself from what hath been said : seeing 
 that such is its dignity and importance, and that it is really 30 
 the end of all those things which are supported with so much 
 pomp and solemnity, and looked on with such respect and 
 esteem, surely it becomes a wise man to regard Nothing with 
 
I/O SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 the utmost awe and adoration; to pursue it with all his parts 
 and pains ; and to sacrifice to it his ease, his innocence, and 
 his present happiness. To which noble pursuit we have this 
 great incitement, that we may assure ourselves of never being 
 
 5 cheated or deceived in the end proposed. The virtuous, wise, 
 and learned may then be unconcerned at all the changes of 
 ministries and of government ; since they may be well satis- 
 fied, that while ministers of state are rogues themselves, and 
 have inferior knavish tools to bribe and reward ; true virtue, 
 
 lo wisdom, learning, wit, and integrity, will most certainly bring 
 their own possessors — Nothing. 
 
 XXXII 
 
 A FAREWELL TO THE READER 
 
 We are now, reader, arrived at the last stage of our long 
 journey. As we have therefore travelled together through so 
 many pages, let us behave to one another like fellow-travellers 
 
 1 5 in a stage-coach, who have passed several days in the company 
 of each other ; and who, notwithstanding any bickerings or 
 little animosities which may have occurred on the road, gener- 
 ally make all up at last, and mount, for the last time, into their 
 vehicle with chearfulness and good-humour ; since, after this 
 
 20 one stage, it may possibly happen to us, as it commonly hap- 
 pens to them, never to meet more. 
 
 As I have here taken up this simile, give me leave to carry 
 it a little farther. I intend then in this last book to imitate 
 the good company I have mentioned in their last journey. 
 
 25 Now it is well known, that all jokes and raillery are at this 
 time laid aside ; whatever characters any of the passengers 
 have, for the jest-sake personated on the road, are now thrown 
 off, and the conversation is usually plain and serious. 
 
A FAREWELL TO THE READER 171 
 
 In the same manner, if I have now and then, in the course 
 of this work, indulged any pleasantry for thy entertainment, I 
 shall here lay it down. The variety of matter, indeed, which 
 I shall be obliged to cram into this book, will afford no room 
 for any of those ludicrous observations which I have elsewhere 5 
 made, and which may sometimes, perhaps, have prevented 
 thee from taking a nap when it was beginning to steal upon 
 thee. In this last book thou wilt find nothing (or at most very 
 little) of that nature. AH will be plain narrative only; and, 
 indeed, when thou hast perused the many great events which 10 
 this book will produce, thou wilt think the number of pages 
 contained in it, scarce sufficient to tell the story. 
 
 And now, my friend, I take this opportunity (as I shall have 
 no other) of heartily wishing thee well. If I have been an 
 entertaining companion to thee, I promise thee it is what I 15 
 have desired. If in any thing I have offended, it was really 
 without any intention. Some things perhaps here said, may 
 have hit thee or thy friends ; but I do most solemnly declare 
 they were not pointed at them. I question not but thou hast 
 been told, among other stories of me, that thou wast to travel 20 
 with a very scurrilous fellow : but whoever told thee so, did 
 me an injury. No man detests and despises scurrility more 
 than myself; nor hath any man more reason; for none has 
 ever been treated with more : and what is a very severe fate, 
 I have had some of the abusive writings of those very men 25 
 fathered upon me, who in other of their works have abused 
 me themselves with the utmost virulence. 
 
 All these works, however, I am well convinced, will be dead 
 long before this page shall offer itself to thy perusal : for how- 
 ever short the period may be of my own performances, they 30 
 will most probably outlive their own infirm author, and the 
 weekly productions of his abusive contemporaries. 
 
NOTES 
 
 1 1 No. I is taken from Tom Jones, Book xvi, chap, i, 
 
 1 10 In contrast with the prologues of the Elizabethan and Jacobean 
 periods, those of the Restoration stage and after had, as Fielding says, 
 no essential connection with the plays to which they were prefixed. 
 They were often written in a style of the most brazen effrontery. Not 
 infrequently they were supplied by friends of the author or by writers 
 of assured celebrity who thus patronized their younger fellow-craftsmen 
 either from good nature or for a monetary consideration. Dryden was 
 famous for his prologues and epilogues, which brought him consider- 
 able money. He raised the price paid for them from two to three 
 guineas, according to Johnson, though the sums are variously stated. 
 Pope salutes Southeme, 
 
 whom Heaven sent down to raise 
 The price of prologues and of plays. 
 
 To Mr. Thomas Southeme, on his Birthday, IJ42. 
 
 Fielding's introductory chapters were copied by Richard Cumberland 
 in his novel Henry (1795), but not to advantage. A warning to imita- 
 tors is to be found on p. 28 of this volume. 
 
 2 4 Emolument : more often used in the general sense of benefit, 
 comfort, in the eighteenth century than at present. So Swift, Tale of 
 a Tub : " That wind still continues of great emolument in certain 
 mysteries." 
 
 2 32 Swift : For an appreciation by Fielding, see Nos. XVII and XI X, 
 
 2 32 Cervantes : Cervantes was loved early and well by Fielding. 
 Not only did he base a play on Don Quixote (see Introduction, xvi), 
 but he was largely influenced by the same masterpiece when writing 
 foseph Andretvs, as is proved not only by the sub-title, " written in imi- 
 tation of the manner of Cervantes," but also by several incidents in the 
 story itself. See No. XIX for his estimate of his great predecessor. 
 
 3 6 No. II is taken from Tom Jojies, Book xiii, chap. i. 
 
 3 9 Mnesis : a form found in the classical authors only in the com- 
 pound dvdfjLvrja-Ls, recollection. Stephanus, Thesatirits Lingtcae Graecae 
 
 173 
 
174 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 (ed. Hase and Dindorf, 1829) glosses it " Recordatio." It was used 
 thus as equivalent to Mvrnxr] (Memory), who was represented as the 
 mother of the Muses, and it was doubtless so understood by Fielding. 
 
 3 10 Hebrus : the chief river in Thrace, modem Maritza. On its 
 banks Orpheus was torn in pieces by Thracian women. Often con- 
 nected with worship of Dionysus. 
 
 3 11 Maeonia: the earlier name for Lydia, used by Homer. 
 
 3 11 Mantua: the birthplace of Virgil. 
 
 3 18 Charlotte : refers to Charlotte Cradock, Fielding's first wife. 
 See Introduction, xvi. 
 
 3 28 Trachtchugt : is for the Dutch trekschuit, canal boat. 
 
 3 29 Ufrow gelt : The first of these words is for juffrouw, madam ; 
 the second may be for geld, money. The expression is, however, some- 
 what obscure. 
 
 4 1 Grubstreet-school : Grub Street, now Milton Street, was even 
 more closely associated with hack writing in the eighteenth century 
 than now, when poor authors have long since abandoned the neighbor- 
 hood of Moorfields as a place of residence. 
 
 4 3 Poetry to tickle not the fancy, etc. : an allusion to the practice of 
 literary patronage. 
 
 5 11 Aristophanes, etc. : all favorite authors of Fielding's at one 
 time or other. See Nos. XVII and XIX of this volume. 
 
 5 18 Allen and Lyttleton: Ralph Allen and George Lyttelton were 
 the author's two most constant friends. The former was born in Corn- 
 wall of poor parentage, in 1694. By his business capacity he became 
 postmaster and chief citizen of Bath at an early age. He devised and 
 farmed out a postal system between England and Wales, and also 
 owned large quarries near Bath. At Prior Park, where he built a mag- 
 nificent house, he received most of the literary and political celebrities 
 of the time, with many of whom he was on the most friendly terms. 
 The benevolence of " The Man of Bath," as he was called, expressed 
 itself in countless ways and apparently with tact and discrimination. 
 His relations with Fielding were especially intimate. Not only did he 
 lodge the novelist at his home and assist him generously during his life- 
 time, but after his death educated his children and provided for them in 
 his will. He was repaid by Fielding's manly and grateful regard, which 
 finds expression m. Joseph Andre7vs (see No. XXIV) and in the dedica- 
 tion to Amelia.. He died in 1764. Lyttleton (or Lyttelton) was bom in 
 1709, the son of Sir Thomas Lyttelton, Bart. He was educated at Eton, 
 where Fielding was a schoolfellow, and at Christ Church, Oxford. After 
 
r 
 
 NOTES 175 
 
 making the '* grand tour " he entered Parliament, where he played a very 
 prominent role for over twenty years, not because he had any great 
 capacity for political life but because of his family connection. He was 
 a member of several ministries and, though manifestly unfitted for prac- 
 tical affairs, chancellor of the exchequer. In 1756 he was created Baron 
 Lyttelton and never again held office, though he continued to be active 
 in politics till his death in 1773. In his time he was scarcely less promi- 
 nent as a literary than as a political figure. He wrote poems, essays, 
 dialogues, epistles, and a large History of the Revolutions of England 
 (1767). Of the last, Walpole {Letters, V, 58) said, " How dull one may 
 be, if one will but take pains for six or seven and twenty years together." 
 All his works are now equally forgotten. He was a man of fair talents 
 and great industry, but he had no originahty in letters and no practical 
 knowledge of affairs. Fielding's praise of his friend in the dedication 
 of Tom Jones is thus justified in only one particular, — Lyttelton's per- 
 sonal character, though it had no charm for most, was above all sus- 
 picion of taint. He was a thoroughly good and generous man, whose 
 treatment of his old friend did him the utmost credit. 
 
 5 30 Birchen altar : A picture of this instrument is given in H. C. M. 
 Lyte's History of Eton College (1889). 
 
 65 Warburton: William Warburton (1698-1779), the celebrated 
 scholar and bishop of Gloucester. He was a man of wide but not well- 
 ordered learning, whose industry brought him fame and his social rela- 
 tions money. He is now perhaps best remembered for his edition of 
 Shakespeare and his numerous literary quarrels. 
 
 6 9 Spunging-house : The bailiff's house, where debtors were tempo- 
 rarily confined in order to give them a chance to pay their obligations 
 and avoid imprisonment, was so called. 
 
 6 11 Manners of mankind: an allusion to Horace, Ars Foefica, 142, 
 which Fielding took as the motto of Tojn Jones. 
 
 6 18 No. Ill is taken from Tom Jones, Book i, chap. i. 
 
 6 20 Public ordinary : here the table d'hote provided at an inn. It is 
 sometimes applied to the inn or tavern itself and was formerly used of 
 the company that frequented such a table. 
 
 7 23 Calibash and calipee : variously spelled. Calipash or calibash is 
 the part of the turtle next to the upper shell, calipee the part next to 
 the lower shell. The New Eng. Diet, conjectures that the words may 
 be of West Indian origin. 
 
 8 8 True wit, etc.: from An Essay on Criticism, Part ii (vv. 298, 
 299 of the whole poem). 
 
1/6 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 8 24 Heliogabalus (or better Elagabalus) : the name assumed by 
 Varius, who ruled as Roman emperor 218-222 A.D. under the style 
 of M. Aurelius Antoninus. His career was one of the most besotted 
 known even in degenerate Rome. 
 
 9 9 No. IV is the Author'' s Preface of Joseph Andrews. In con- 
 nection with this essay read Addison, On Ridicule^ Spectator^ No. 
 249. 
 
 9 19 Aristotle tells us : In the Poetics, iv, 9, Aristotle remarks that 
 Homer's Margites bore the same analogy to comedy that his Iliad and 
 Odyssey did to tragedy. As Fielding says, it is lost ; but our knowledge 
 of it is sufficient to show that it was something like a burlesque of the 
 Homeric poems. 
 
 10 6 Telemachus: the Telemaqtie by Fran9ois de Salagnac de 
 Lamotte-Fenelon (1651-1715), archbishop of Cambrai. Fielding's 
 characterization of the work proceeded from the conventional esteem 
 in which it was, and to some extent still is, held rather than from a 
 critical examination of its worth. Undeniably great, it is a mixture 
 of pagan antiquity and Christian aspiration. Lanson, Hist, de la Hit. 
 franf., p. 608, calls it with much justice "a pedagogical romance." 
 
 10 12 Clelia {Clelie) by Madeleine de Scudery (1607-1701) ; Cleopatra 
 {Cleopdtre) by Gautier de Coste, seigneur de La Calprenede (1609-1663) ; 
 Astraea {PAstree) by Honore d'Urfe (i 568-1625) ; Cassandra [Cassandre) 
 by La Calprenede ; the Grand Cyrus {Artamene ou le grand Cyrtis) by 
 Mile, de Scudery. All of these works were famous representatives of 
 the artificial romance of the seventeenth century. Astree is of the pas- 
 toral type which developed under Spanish influence, the others of the 
 heroic type as formed by La Calprenede. The literary impulse which 
 produced them centered in the French court, was extraordinarily vigor- 
 ous, but did not long survive. The romances in question were utterly 
 lacking in verisimilitude and sense of proportion, but they had the merits 
 of wit and tenderness. They were all prodigiously long, Cleopdtre, for 
 example, extending to four thousand one hundred and fifty-three pages ; 
 but in spite of this fact they were exceedingly popular in France and 
 were devoured with similar eagerness in their English translations. See 
 Petit de Julleville, Hist, de la langue et de la litt. fran^aise., tome IV, 
 and Dunlop-Liebrecht, Prosadichtungen, chaps, xi and xii, for accounts 
 of the movement. 
 
 1 1 28 Lord Shaftesbury's opinion, etc. : In Shaftesbury's Character- 
 isticks, I, 73 (London, 1733), the statement is more guarded: '"T is 
 for this reason, I verily believe, that the Antients discover so little of this 
 
NOTES 177 
 
 spirit, and that there is hardly such a thing found as mere Burlesque in 
 any Authors of the poUter Ages." 
 
 12 12 Caricatura : This form of the word, taken from the Italian, was 
 gradually superseded by caricature in the course of the eighteenth century. 
 
 12 31 Hogarth: William Hogarth, the painter and engraver, was 
 bom in 1697 and died in 1764. Little is know^n of his personal rela- 
 tions with Fielding, save that they were constant friends. The novel- 
 ist's frequent and enthusiastic expressions of admiration were not 
 unmerited Ijy the work of the great artist and must have had some 
 effect in establishing his vogue. 
 
 13 22 Proper to comedy: See Aristotle, Poetics, iv, 9, — the passage 
 mentioned above (note to 9 19) concerning Homer. The statement is 
 very indirect and says that Homer "first laid down the main lines of 
 Comedy, by dramatising the ludicrous instead of writing personal satire " 
 (trans, by Butcher). 
 
 13 25 The Abb6 Bellegarde : Jean-Baptiste Morvan de Bellegarde, a 
 member of the brotherhood of St. Francis of Sales, published in 1695 
 his Reflexions sur f elegance et la politesse du style. Though this was 
 his most famous work. Fielding refers to his Reflexions sur le ridicule, 
 which made part of a collection published in four volumes in 1723. 
 A translation of the work in two volumes was published in 1727. 
 
 14 28 Ben Johnson: Fielding commonly used this form of the name. 
 In the brilliant series of comedies from Every Man in his Humour 
 (1598) to The Devil is aft Ass (1616), Jonson certainly used the "hypo- 
 critical affectation " with much success, though not so universally as 
 Fielding's words imply. 
 
 1 5 22 None ard for being, etc. : I do not know the source of this 
 quotation. 
 
 16 7 No. V is from Tom /ones. Book ii, chap. i. 
 
 1 7 1 Ad confligendum, etc. : from Lucretius, De rerum natura, iii, 
 833-837. The text does not altogether agree with that accepted 
 to-day, notably in the third and fourth verses. The translation was 
 that of Thomas Creech, published in 1682 and very famous in its day. 
 
 17 23 Drawn at Guild-Hall : It is scarcely necessary to remind the 
 reader that lotteries were used in the eighteenth century to raise money 
 for all kinds of worthy purposes, and that the government was not 
 above operating them. 
 
 18 18 No. VI is taken ixom. Joseph Andrews, Book iii, chap. i. The 
 latter part of the chapter discusses various characters of the novel. It 
 is omitted here as being uninteresting apart from the context. 
 
178 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 19 4 Lord Clarendon and Mr. Whitlock : Lord Clarendon's History of 
 the Rebellion^ which was first pubhshed in 1 702-1 704, is now regarded as 
 the best contemporary account of the Civil Wars. To it was opposed 
 by the Whigs of the eighteenth century the Memorials of the English 
 Affairs from the beginning of the Reign of Charles I to the happy 
 Restoration of King Charles II, by Bulstrode Whitelocke, published in 
 1682. Whitelocke was a Commonwealth man turned Royalist, whose 
 work was for long overrated, though of little real worth. Naturally his 
 history differs from Clarendon's. 
 
 19 5 Echard and Rapin : Laurence Echard published his History of 
 England vcv 1707 and 17 18. It brought him considerable fame, though 
 not of much merit, until superseded by the similar work by Paul de 
 Rapin (in French, 1723-1725; trans, by Tindal, 1726-1731) which held 
 the field till Hume's work appeared. 
 
 19 19 Chrysostonv a scholar who turned shepherd. See Don Quixote, 
 Ormsby's trans., Part i, chaps, xii, xiii. 
 
 1 9 23 Cardenio and Ferdinand : a reference to the story in Don 
 Quixote, Part i, chaps, xxiii-xxv, which tells how Ferdinand treach- 
 erously tried to deprive Cardenio of his lady love and how Cardenio 
 went mad. 
 
 19 24 Anselmo, Camilla, and Lothario: the chief characters in the 
 story The I II- Advised Curiosity inserted in Don Quixote, Part i, chaps, 
 xxxiii, xxxiv. Anselmo engages his friend Lothario to test the fidelity 
 of his w^ife Camilla. The attempt succeeds too well and Anselmo dies 
 of grief. 
 
 19 30 Dr. Sangrado : a well-known character in the romance of Gil 
 Bias by Le Sage. Like many of his fellows in the book he has but 
 one idea, that indicated in the text. Le Sage lived 1668-1747 and was 
 thus a contemporary of Fielding. 
 
 20 5 Scarron: Paul Scarron (1610-1660), the author of the Roman 
 cofnique, in which he parodied the works of La Calprenede and his 
 school and produced a book of far more interest than any of theirs. 
 
 20 5 Marianne and Le Paisan Parvenu : romances by Marivaux 
 (1688-1763). 
 
 20 10 Atalantis writers : a reference to the series of scandal mongers 
 who continued the A^ew Atalantis (1709-17 10, 4 vols.) by Mrs. Mary 
 Manley. Her work was immensely popular, impudently full of slander, 
 and very typical of the worst sort of memoirs masquerading as fiction. 
 Mrs. Manley wrote in the Tory interest and was the author of many 
 plays as well as novels. 
 
NOTES 179 
 
 20 18 Balzac: Jean-Louis Guez de Balzac (1597-1654), author of 
 many Lettres, Le Prince^ and Socrate chretien. He was a polished 
 writer who was fond of sententious commonplaces like the one quoted 
 in the text. 
 
 20 22 Those stilts, etc. : Voltaire, Letters on England., Letter XVIII, 
 On Tragedy (Cassell's National Libr., ed. Henry Morley, p. 146). 
 These letters, which were the fruits of Voltaire's sojourn in England 
 from 1727 to 1729, were first published in London in an English trans- 
 lation made f 10m Voltaire's manuscript under the direction of his friend 
 Thieriot. This was in 1733. In 1734 appeared two separate and some- 
 what different editions of the French text, — one in London, the other 
 in Rouen and Paris. The Lettres sur les anglais are often known as 
 Lettres philosophiqties. Fielding evidently quoted from memory the 
 English text, which reads : " But then it must be also confessed that 
 the stilts of the figurative style, on which the English tongue is lifted 
 up, raises the genius at the same time very far aloft, though with an 
 irregular pace." 
 
 20 26 Beyond the realm, etc. : Milton's Paradise Lost, i, 543. The 
 quotation is not exact. The passage reads (ed. Masson) : 
 
 At which the universal host sent up 
 
 A shout that tore Hell's concave, and beyond 
 
 Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. 
 
 20 32 Mariana's : again a reference to Marivaux's romance. 
 
 21 11 Lawyer in the stage-coach, etc. : See Book i, chap, xii, of 
 Joseph Andrews. 
 
 22 11 No. VII is taken ixova Joseph Andrezus, Book i, chap. i. 
 
 23 10 John the Great : needs scarcely be glossed as our nursery 
 friend Jack the Giant-Killer. , 
 
 i 23 12 Earl of Warwick: Guy of Warwick was one of the most cele- 
 brated heroes of Middle-English romance. His story took its rise in 
 the tenth and eleventh centuries and was written down in Anglo- 
 Norman verse late in the twelfth or early in the thirteenth century. 
 About a hundred years later it was worked over into English verse. 
 The latter version became the basis for several later adaptations of the 
 fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, none of which has much literary 
 merit. John Lydgate's poem (fifteenth century) tells only a portion of 
 the story, and that was taken from a Latin version. Two epics of por- 
 tentous length and unexceptionable dullness, dealing with Guy, were 
 produced in the seventeenth century, the one by John Lane with an 
 
l8o SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 introductory sonnet by the poet Milton's father, the other by Samuel 
 Rowlands. The evidence which these ostensibly literary versions bear 
 to the popularity of the story is strengthened by the fact that three 
 so-called ballads on the same topic exist, though only one of them 
 has any claim to the title (see Hales and Furnivall, Percy's Folio 
 MS., Vol. II). The tale was, indeed, so popular for many centuries 
 that the hero assumed an historical character, though he was originally 
 only the embodiment of patriotic feeling engendered by the fights 
 between the Scandinavians and the English. About this as a centre 
 was grouped a variety of adventures taken, whether consciously or not, 
 from other romances. The tale, thus formed, possessed unusual vigor 
 of life and is even now not altogether forgotten. Thus Guy's Cliff, 
 the supposed hermitage of the hero's last days, is still shown near 
 Warwick. 
 
 23 14 Argalus and Parthenia : the lovers whose woes form a moving 
 episode in Sir Philip Sidney's Cotmtess of Pembroke's Arcadia (1590). 
 
 23 15 Champions of Christendom: Richard Johnson (i 573-1659?) was 
 the author of this romance. He was a literary hack with a touch of 
 poetical skill, who published industriously. He is best known, how- 
 ever, for his Famous Historie of the Seaven Champions of Chi'istendom : 
 St. George of England, St. Denis of France, St. fames of Spaine, St. 
 A7itho7iy of Italy, St. Ajidrew of Scotland, St. Patricke of Ireland, and 
 St. David of Wales, which was entered at Stationers' Hall in 1596. 
 The prose of the narrative is interspersed with verse, some of which is 
 adapted from Shakespeare. See Seccombe's article in Diet. Nat. Biog. 
 
 23 27 CoUey Cibber: The famous actor, theatrical manager, play- 
 wright, and poet laureate published in 1740 A71 Apology for the Life 
 of Mr. Colley Cibber ... written by himself. The best edition of it is 
 that by Robert W. Lowe, London, 1889. Cibber's Apology is one of 
 the most famous of theatrical memoirs and deserves its fame, despite 
 his indifference to accurate statement and his odd style. It must be 
 remembered that the Apology was known to every one when Fielding 
 printed this gibe in foseph Andreivs (1742), and it must be admitted 
 that the sprightly playwright was fair game. For further discussion of 
 the subject, see Introduction, xxxix ff., and for Cibber's attack on 
 Fielding chap, viii of the Apology. 
 
 23 27 Pamela Andrews : Richardson's first and very famous novel was 
 published in November, 1740. See Introduction, xix. 
 
 24 16 No. VIII is taken from Tom fones. Book iv, chap. i. One 
 sentence is omitted at the end of this selection. 
 
NOTES l8l 
 
 24 25 While — history with her comrade ale : I do not know the 
 source of this quotation. 
 
 24 28 Opinion of Butler : Hudibras, Part i, canto i, vy. 645-664 : 
 
 Thou that with ale, or viler liquors, 
 Didst inspire Withers, Pryn, and Vickars, 
 And force them, though it were in spite 
 Of Nature, and their stars, to write ; etc. 
 
 25 4 Hurlothrumbo : a comic opera by Samuel Johnson, dancing 
 master and dramatist (1691-1773), which set London by the ears in 
 1729. It was arrant nonsense but had a certain success on that very 
 account. Johnson himself was an eccentric individual, apparently half 
 mad, who succeeded in attracting attention to himself by his impudence 
 rather than by any merit. 
 
 25 19 Homer hath ascribed : Iliad^ the beginning of the second book, 
 for example. 
 
 26 3 Mr. Lock's blind man : See Locke, Essay concerning Human 
 Under stajiding, Book ii, chap. 9, § 8, "Of Perception." Locke argues 
 that if a blind man, who had learned to distinguish objects by touch, 
 should be restored to sight, he "would not be able with cer- 
 tainty to say which was the globe, which the cube, whilst he only 
 saw them." 
 
 26 17 King Pyrrhus was at dinner, etc. : This anecdote must refer to 
 Barton Booth (i 681 -1733), who made a great success with the part of 
 Pyrrhus in Philips' Distressed Mother in 171 2. As he had joined Wilks, 
 Doggett, and Gibber in the management of Drury Lane the previous 
 year, the circumstances of the story would all be accommodated. The 
 impetuous temper of Wilks is well known. See Biographica Dramatica 
 and Gibber's Apology. 
 
 26 31 The several pageants, etc. : The " Lord Mayor's Show " was 
 until a few years ago embellished with these same movable pageants 
 supported by the city gilds. Formerly the monstrous images of Gog and 
 Magog, now preserved in the Guildhall, were carried in the procession. 
 The inauguration of the lord mayor has recently become something like 
 a military review, though still attended with much pomp. 
 
 28 1 No. IX is taken from To7?i Jones, Book ix, chap. i. 
 
 28 17 Greek and Latin mottos : The Spectator (founded in 171 1) set 
 the fashion of prefixing extracts from the classics to journals. Field- 
 ing himseK followed the custom, as see Nos. XVIII, XIX, XXVII, 
 XXVIII, XXIX. 
 
l82 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 29 6 As Rowe was of Shakspear: Nicholas Rowe (1674-1718), poet 
 laureate and dramatist. It is difficult for the modern reader to dis- 
 cover any imitation of Shakespeare in his frigid tragedies. 
 
 29 7 As Horace hints, etc. : ■ an allusion to the Epistles^ i, xix, 
 
 12-14: 
 
 Quid, si quis vultu torvo ferus at pede nudo 
 
 Exiguaeque togae simulet textore Catonem, 
 
 Virtutemne repraesentet moresque Catonis ? 
 
 The Cato referred to is probably Cato the Elder, the stock representa- 
 tive of early Roman simplicity. 
 
 29 17 Scribimus indocti, etc. : apparently a paraphrase of Horace, 
 Ars Poetica, 474. Philip Francis, father of the reputed author of the 
 Letters of Jtt7iius^ issued a translation of Horace in 1747, part of it 
 having appeared five years earlier. 
 
 30 5 Doomsday Book : an allusion to the Domesday Book, or register 
 of taxable real property, which William the Conqueror had compiled 
 in order to make his exactions more complete and regular. He began 
 it in 1085. 
 
 30 9 Pruritus : the itch. 
 
 30 28 No study, says Horace, etc. : a reference to the Ars Foetica, 
 
 409, 410: 
 
 ego nee studium sine divite vena, 
 
 Nee rude quid possit video ingenium, 
 
 32 5 Characters of men : See Fielding's essay On the Knoivledge of 
 the Characters of Men, printed in the Miscellanies of 1743, and Pope's 
 Of the Knowledge and Characters of Men, Moral Essays, i (to Lord 
 Cobham). 
 
 32 15 The ingenious Mr. Miller : Philip Miller, the celebrated gardener 
 in charge of the Chelsea Botanical Garden, not only discovered many 
 rare plants but wrote several works on his art. Among them were The 
 Gardener's and Florisfs Dictionary (1724) and the Gardener'' s Calen- 
 dar (1732). Fielding owned a copy of the latter. 
 
 32 17 Shakespear, or a Johnson : Fielding's favorite orthography for 
 these names. 
 
 32 18 Wycherly: William Wycherley (1640?-! 7 15), the author of four 
 comedies, of which the most famous is The Plain Dealer. His work is 
 characterized by bold satire and rich humor, but it is marred by the 
 coarseness which he shared with all the Restoration comedy writers. 
 
 32 18 Otway : Thomas Otway (1652-1685) was one of the most un- 
 fortunate but most gifted dramatists of the Restoration period. He 
 
NOTES 183 
 
 was weak in comedy, but his tragedies show a mastery of dramatic con- 
 struction and characterization which places him not far below the great 
 Elizabethans. The best of them are The Orphan (1680) and Venice 
 Preserved (1681), of which the latter is properly regarded as his master- 
 piece. 
 
 32 20 Garrick: Garrick (1717-1779) was in the first flush of his fame 
 at the time when Fielding wrote (1749). He made his first hit on the 
 London stage in 174 1. 
 
 32 20 Gibber : not, of course, Colley Gibber, but his daughter-in-law, 
 "the great Mrs. Gibber" (17 14-1766). She was well known before her 
 marriage with Theophilus Gibber, and after her separation from him won 
 still higher renown both as singer and as actress, chiefly in tragedy. 
 
 32 20 Clive : Mrs. Gatherine Glive (1711-1785), the famous Irish 
 actress, best known for her work in comedy. 
 
 33 22 The author who will make me weep, etc. : Horace, Ars Poetica, 
 
 ' ^ ' si vis me flere, dolendum est 
 
 Primum ipsi tibi. 
 
 34 1 No. X is taken from Tom Jones^ Book v, chap. i. 
 
 34 7 This kind of writing : For Fielding's delightful announcement or 
 proclamation, see No. V. 
 
 34 ]3 That nice unity of time or place: Dryden had accepted the 
 unities in the same general way as Gorneille, whom he quotes with 
 approval in his Essay of Dramatic Poesy (1668). In the Preface to 
 Troilus and Cressida (1679) he had fallen more under the influence of 
 Rapin and Bossu. His critical opinions had much to do with the estab- 
 lishment of the classical tradition of which Fielding speaks. See Essays 
 0/ fohn Dryden, ed. W. P. Ker, I, 228, and the note to the same on 
 p. 319, for the current opinion as to the reason for the unities. 
 
 34 26 Cuicunq; in arte, etc. : " Whoever is skilled in his profession 
 must be believed." A maxim of the law of evidence to the effect that 
 an expert may testify not only as to facts but as to his opinion upon 
 facts. It is generally quoted in the form : " Guilibet in sua arte perito 
 est credendum." See Broom, Legal Maxiins (6th ed., 1884), p. 885. 
 Fielding apparently quoted from Goke on Lyttleton, 125 a. 
 
 36 31 Bath : then of course the great watering place of England. It 
 will be remembered that the town must have been almost as familiar to 
 Fielding as London itself. 
 
 37 9 Inventas, etc. : Virgil, ALneid, vi, 663 : 
 
 Inventas aut qui vitam excoluere per artes. 
 
l84 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 37 12 English, pantomime : See Gibber's Apology^ ed. Lowe, II, 180, 
 181, for a lively picture of the origin of English pantomime. He was 
 one of the managers of Drury Lane at the time (1717 or thereabouts), 
 but disclaims any active part in its invention. Pope, in The Dunciad, 
 ill, 264, says : 
 
 On grinning Dragons Gibber mounts the wind. 
 
 For Gibber's reply, see Apology, II, 182, note i. 
 
 37 20 Harlequin: The characterization of this personage was appar- 
 ently quite just. He was "not at all related to the French family," but 
 charmed the crowd with childish wonders. See the reference in The 
 Dunciad, iii, 225-248, where there is an allusion to the pantomime of 
 Harleqtiin Sorcerer, in which Harlequin was hatched from a monstrous 
 egg on the stage. 
 
 38 5 Indignor, etc.: Horace, Ars Poetica, 359, 360. The second verse 
 
 should read : 
 
 Varum operi longo fas est obrepere somnum. 
 
 38 12 Oldmixon : John Oldmixon (1673-1742), an industrious Whig 
 historian and pamphleteer, still remembered for his quarrel with Pope, 
 by which he earned the unenviable reputation of being duller than he 
 really was. He was attacked by Pope in The Dunciad, ii, 283-290, and 
 in The Art of Sinking in Poetry, chap. vi. The line quoted by Field- 
 ing does not refer to Oldmixon, but occurs in The Dunciad, i, 94. It 
 
 should read : 
 
 Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep. 
 
 39 1 No. XI is taken from Tom Jones, Book x, chap. i. 
 
 40 9 Sir Epicure Mammon : the rich dupe in Ben Jonson's Alchemist 
 (1610). 
 
 40 9 Sir Fopling Flutter : the chief character in The Man of Mode, by 
 Sir George Etherege, which was produced in 1676. 
 
 40 11 Sir Courtly Nice : the title, as well as the name of the leading 
 personage, of John Crowne's best-known play (1685). 
 
 40 31 Nulla virtute, etc. : Juvenal, iv, 2, 3. 
 
 41 16 Quas humana, etc. : a paraphrase of Horace, Ars Poetica, 
 353, which is quoted in No. XII. 
 
 42 1 No. XII is taken from Tom Jones, Book xi, chap. i. 
 
 42 8 This word critic : " An adaptation of Latin critic-us sb., adapted 
 from Greek kpltlkos a critical person, a critic, subst. use of the adj., 
 perhaps immediately after French critique.''^ — IVew Eng. Diet. 
 
NOTES 
 
 185 
 
 42 17 Westminster-hall : See Spectator^ No. 21, Choice of a Profession, 
 by Addison. 
 
 44 2 Who steals, etc. : Othello, III, iii, 161 ff. Apparently quoted 
 from memory. Cash should, of course, read ptwse. A comparison with 
 a standard text will illustrate Fielding's laxness in quotation. 
 
 44 17 The tender exclamation of Macduff: See Macbeth, IV, iii, 216. 
 Macduff replies to Malcolm : 
 
 He has no children. All my pretty ones ? 
 
 Fielding's parody shows that he understood the exclamation as referring 
 to Malcolm, a bit of opinion on this much-discussed passage that seems 
 to have escaped notice. 
 
 45 25 Aristotle, Horace, Longinus : Aristotle's Poetics, Horace's Ars 
 Poetica, and Longinus On the Sublime. The last-named work is proba- 
 bly not by the Greek rhetorician of the third century a.d. but by some 
 unknown writer who lived about the beginning of our era. 
 
 45 26 Dacier : Andre Dacier (1651-1722), an erudite scholar and 
 French Academician, who was well known as a translator and com- 
 mentator, most notably of Horace. His fame now rests on the fact that 
 he was the husband of Mme. Dacier. See p. 64, 1. 2, and note. 
 
 45 26 Bossu : Le Pere Bossu, whom Dryden {Preface to Troilus and 
 Cressida) called " the best of modem ciitics," wrote a treatise Du poeme 
 epique (1675). It was translated in 1695, and Pope gave a summary of 
 it as an introduction to his Odyssey. 
 
 46 7 No critic who is not Right Honourable : perhaps a reference to 
 some attack made on Fielding's own work by a member of the govern- 
 ment. I cannot identify the critic, however. 
 
 46 16 Verum ubi, etc. : Horace, Ars Poetica, 351-354. Offendor in 
 the second verse should read offendar. For the translation by Francis, 
 see No. IX, note to p. 29, 1. 17. 
 
 46 23 For as Martial says : Epigrammata i, xvii, Ad Avittcm. Avite 
 is, of course, a proper name, though Fielding does not capitalize it. 
 
 47 12 No. XIII is taken from Tom Jones, Book viii, chap. i. 
 
 47 21 With M. Dacier: Preface sur les satires d^ Horace (1687). 
 
 48 13 As Mr. Pope would have it : Near the end of A General View 
 of the Epic Poem, and of the Iliad and Odyssey : extracted from Bossu, 
 published with his translation of Homer, Pope says : " Thus the epi- 
 sodes of Circe, the Syrens, Polyphemus, etc., are necessary to the 
 action of the Odyssey, and yet not humanly probable : yet Homer 
 has artificially reduced them to human probability, by the simplicity 
 
l86 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 and ignorance of the Phaeacians, before whom he causes those recitals 
 to be made." 
 
 48 18 Polypheme : Polyphemus, Odyssey^ Book ix. 
 
 48 21 Circe : Odyssey, Book x. 
 
 48 23 Homer could have known the rule prescribed by Horace : Ars 
 Poetica, 191, 192. 
 
 49 6 Lord Shaftesbury observes : Characteristicks, I, p. 5 (London, 
 
 1733)- 
 
 49 9 Invoke a ballad : See No. XVI, note to p. 64, 1. 5. A reference 
 
 to Bentley's theory of Homeric origins. 
 
 49 10 With the author of Hudibras : Part i, canto i, 645-664, already 
 
 quoted, No. VIII, note to p. 24, 1. 28. 
 
 49 12 Hippocrene : a fountain near Mount Helicon. 
 
 50 12 Described by Herodotus : Books vii and viii. 
 
 50 13 Related by Arrian : in his Anabasis of Alexandei-. Arrian 
 lived in the latter part of the first and the first half of the second 
 century A.D. 
 
 60 14 Agincourt: The battle was fought in 141 5. 
 
 50 15 Narva : Charles XII of Sweden defeated Peter the Great at 
 Narva in 1700. 
 
 50 25 The ghost of George Villiers : Clarendon in his History of the 
 Rebellion tells how the ghost of Sir George Villiers, father of the first 
 Duke of Buckingham, appeared at Windsor to an old officer of the 
 King's Wardrobe about six months before the duke's assassination by 
 Felton (1628). The ghost told the man to go to Buckingham and to 
 urge him to court popular favor, else he would soon die. The man at 
 first thought the appearance a dream, but when thrice warned, informed 
 the duke, giving as credentials certain secrets which he had learned 
 from the ghost. Buckingham was greatly disturbed and conferred 
 about the matter with his mother, who subsequently manifested no sur- 
 prise at her son's death. Clarendon Press ed., 1849, I' PP- 57~62. 
 
 50 27 Dr. Drelincourt : Charles Drelincourt, a minister of the reformed 
 church in France, wrote a treatise entitled Les consolations de Vanie 
 contre les frayeiirs de la mort (1669), which w^as translated into English 
 by Marius D'Assigny as the Christiajt's Defence against the Fear of 
 Death (1675). ^o the fourth edition of the translation (1706) Defoe 
 prefixed his Apparition of Mrs. Vcale, the second narrative which he 
 published. Dr. Drelincourt thus had nothing to do with "the ghost of 
 Mrs. Veale,^'' as Fielding implies. 
 
 51 3 That incredulous hatred mentioned by Horace : Ars Poetica, 188. 
 
NOTES 187 
 
 51 13 Trajan: Roman emperor, 98-1 17 a.d. ; Antoninus, 138-161 a.d.; 
 Nero, 54-68 A.D. ; Caligula, 37-41 a.d. 
 
 51 31 Scrutoire : a form of escritoire not uncommon in the eighteenth 
 century, though hardly justifiable. 
 
 52 15 Even Nero himself: See Suetonius, A'ero, 34. A very free para- 
 phrase, evidently from memory. 
 
 52 20 That I had known a man, etc. : a reference to Ralph Allen. 
 See No. II, note to p. 5, 1. 18. 
 
 53 14 Quis credit? etc.: a quotation, with variations, of Persius, i, 
 
 < Quis leget haec ? ' min tu istud ais .? Nemo hercule. ' Nemo ? ' 
 Vel duo, vel nemo. 
 
 53 20 Rarae aves : The term 7'ara avis is found in Horace, Satires, 
 ii, ii, 26, and Juvenal, vi, 165. 
 
 54 1 It is admirably remarked, etc. : I have not been able to trace 
 the reference. 
 
 54 13 Our modern authors of comedy, etc. : This criticism of Fielding's 
 is eminently just. Not one of the school of dramatists which found 
 its greatest representative in Congreve was free from the fault. 
 
 54 24 Tyburn : Tyburn Hill, near the site of the present Marble 
 Arch, was the ordinary place of execution in eighteenth-century London. 
 
 55 1 The Bathos : In the Miscellanies by Swift, Pope, Gay, and 
 Arbuthnot, III (March, 1 727-1 728), Pope published his Yiepl ^ddov with 
 the sub-title T/ie Art of Sinking in Poetry. In it he attacked in vigorous 
 prose the absurdities of his literary contemporaries, adding some of his 
 own invention. The treatise is reprinted in vol. X of the Elwin and 
 Courthope edition. Arbuthnot had some share in its composition. 
 
 55 15 The character of a young lady of quality: perhaps a reference 
 to The Universal Gallant, a comedy of Fielding's which was tried 
 unsuccessfully in 1735. In his Advertisement he complained of ill 
 treatment at the hands of the young men of the town. Who made " a 
 Jest of damning Plays." His Enrydice (1737) met an even worse fate. 
 
 55 22 No. XIV is taken from Tom Jones, Book xii, chap. i. 
 
 56 2 Abbe Bannier: The reference is to Mythologie et les fables expli- 
 qtiees par Phistoire (i 738-1 740) by the Abbe Antoine Banier, in which 
 the Greek mythological stories are systematically resolved into history. 
 As we know from the catalogue of his library issued at the time when 
 his books were sold by his heirs, Fielding possessed this work in 
 translation (4 vols., 1739-1740). See A. Dobson, Eighteenth Century 
 Vignettes, 3d series, p. 173. The quotation here is from this edition, 
 
l88 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 I, p. viii. Aside from some changes of punctuation, the only difference 
 between the quotation and its source is in the last word, which should 
 read transcribing instead of translating. 
 
 57 33 Spittal: more commonly spital or spittle, a hospital; properly 
 a hospital for lepers. 
 
 58 16 Mr. Moore: In Book ii of The Dtcnciad, Pope devotes twenty- 
 six stinging lines to this person, among them these : 
 
 Never was dash'd out, at one lucky hit, 
 A fool so just a copy of a wit ; 
 So like, that critics said, and courtiers swore, 
 A wit it was, and call'd the phantom More. 
 
 He was James Moore Smythe, a well-known fop, whose comedy The 
 Rival Modes was produced in 1727. The circumstances were just 
 about as Fielding narrates them. See notes in the Elwin and Court- 
 hope edition of Pope, III, 112; IV, 132. 
 
 59 1 No. XV is taken from Tom Jones, Book xiv, chap. i. 
 
 69 26 As Cicero perswades us : Though Cicero speaks of the ideal 
 orator in many places, he treats the necessity of his good equipment 
 particularly in the Orator, xxxii-xxxiv. 
 
 60 3 Bysse's Art of Poetry : Edward Bysshe w^as a hack writer of 
 the early eighteenth century, of whose life nothing is known (see article 
 in Diet. Nat. Biog.). In 1702 he published his least-forgotten work. 
 The Art of English Poetry, which contained a dictionary of rhymes 
 and quotations as well as a treatise on prosody. The book was very 
 popular, going into its eighth edition in 1737. Part of it was reprinted 
 in 1877 by Thomas Hood the younger as an appendix to his Practical 
 Guide to English Versification. Fielding's reference implies a certain 
 contempt for the work, though it was not bad in its way. 
 
 60 8 Quam quisque norit, etc. : " Whatever craft any one has, let him 
 employ himself in that." See Cicero, Tusculan Disputations, i, 18, 41, 
 where it appears as a quotation from the Greek. 
 
 60 17 Mr. Essex : John Essex was a London dancing master of much 
 contemporary fame. The work to which Fielding refers is The Young 
 Ladies' Conduct: or, rules for education, published in 1722. He had 
 earlier (17 10) published another book. For the firther Improvement of 
 Dancing, a Treatise of Chorography, or A?-t of dancing Coujitry Dances. 
 
 60 19 Mr. Broughton : John Broughton (1705-1789), the most cele- 
 brated pugilist of his day and usually considered the father of the art 
 in England. In Book xiii, chapu v. Fielding speaks of " the muffled 
 
NOTES 189 
 
 graduates of Mr. Broughton's school," and in a note appends a curious 
 "advertisement which was published Feb. i, 1747," announcing that 
 " Mr. Broughton proposes " to open a school of boxing at his house in 
 the Haymarket in which "muffles are provided, that w^ill effectually 
 secure them [his pupils] from the inconveniency of black eyes, broken 
 jaws, and bloody noses." 
 
 61 4 Van Brugh and Congreve copied nature: Sir John Van Brugh 
 was bom in London about 1666, of Dutch parents. He was succes- 
 sively a soldier, a dramatist, and an architect, and, unlike most of his 
 poetical contemporaries, a practical man. His work as an architect can 
 still be judged in Blenheim Palace, his most notable building. His best 
 comedies are The Relapse (1696) and The Confederacy (1705), which 
 excel in characterization and repartee, though weak in plot and unedify- 
 ing in content. He died in 1726. William Congreve (1670-17 29) was 
 the wittiest and the greatest of the school of comic dramatists which 
 flourished at the end of the seventeenth century. All his comedies 
 were written in one decade, but he lived on for a quarter of a century, 
 an idle gentleman who despised the literary reputation on which he 
 lived. His more important works are The Dotcble- Dealer (1694), Love 
 for Love (1695), The Mourning Bride (1697), — his only tragedy, — and 
 The Way of the World (1700). The last is his masterpiece, a wonder- 
 ful comedy, polished, sparkling, delicately satirical in characterization, 
 and well molded in plot. It may be doubted whether Van Brugh and 
 Congreve " copied nature " any more than did Etherege, Wycherley, 
 and Farquahar, but they certainly created interesting dramatic types. 
 Their imitators failed in that, as is well illustrated by Fielding's own 
 early efforts in comedy. 
 
 • 61 6 A rout or a drum : evening parties of fashionable folk held at a 
 private house. The two terms were used interchangeably. 
 
 62 1 What Mr. Pope says of women : Moral Essays, Epistle ii, To a 
 Lady. Of the Characters of Women. The epistle is addressed to 
 Martha Blount and begins : 
 
 Nothing so true as what you once let fall, 
 ' Most women have no characters at all. ' 
 
 62 19 Lady Bellaston : Sophia's hostess in London, whom Mr. Dob- 
 son (p. 123) calls a "fashionable demi-rep." 
 
 62 23 Thwackum : Tom Jones' tutor. 
 
 62 24 Ensign Northerton : the soldier whom Jones met in the seventh 
 book, when he thought of enlisting. 
 
190 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 63 9 No. XVI is taken from A Journey from this World to the 
 Next, Book i, chap. viii. 
 
 63 21 A celebrated poet of our nation: Richard Glover (17 12-1785) 
 was believed by his friends to be a great poet, though posterity has 
 refused to read his ponderous works. His Leonidas (1737), an epic in 
 nine books, was praised by Fielding in the Chai?ipion and mentioned 
 by Swift in a letter to Pope as having "great vogue." Glover appears 
 to have been an excellent man of business. 
 
 63 26 Signior Piantanida : evidently some well-known musician of the 
 period, though I have not been able to identify him. 
 
 64 1 Consort : an erroneous form for concert, by which it was gradu- 
 ally replaced in the course of the eighteenth century. See New E?ig. 
 Diet. 
 
 64 2 Madam Dacier : Anne Lefevre Dacier, the wife of Andre Dacier, 
 was a distinguished translator and editor of the classics. Her best 
 works were the translations of the Iliad (1711) and the Odyssey (1716), 
 which still find appreciative readers because of the sound scholarship 
 and excellent style that they display. 
 
 64 2 Mr. Pope: Pope's Iliad v^as published in 171 5-1720. 
 
 64 5 I had the curiosity to enquire, etc. : Richard Bentley (1662- 
 1742), the English scholar, advanced the theory that the Homeric poems 
 were written by Homer in the form of lays or ballads, thus indorsing 
 the tradition that they were put together in the age of Pisistratus. See 
 Remarks on a late Discozcrse of Free-thinking (17 13). Volkmann, 
 Geschichte tind Kritik der Wolfschen Prolegomena, p. 8, says that this 
 theory was " entirely unnoticed " ; but Fielding's reference shows that 
 such was hot altogether the case. 
 
 64 18 Dr. Trapp's : Joseph Trapp (1679-1747), a distinguished clergy- 
 man, pamphleteer, and poetaster, published in 1 718— 1720 his translation 
 of the j^iieid in blank verse. The work had no particular merit save 
 as a literal rendering. Trapp was one of the Tory hangers-on whom 
 Swift befriended. 
 
 64 19 The discovery made by Mr. Warburton : Bishop Warburton 
 devoted one chapter of his Divine Legation of Moses to a theory that 
 the sixth book of the jEneid should be regarded as an account of Vir- 
 gil's initiation to the Eleusinian mysteries. Such was the weight of 
 Warburton's authority that the interpretation was accepted as fact until 
 1770, when Gibbon exploded the theoi-y with his anonymous Critical 
 Observations on the Sixth Book of the jEneid. See Gibbon, Autobio- 
 graphic Memoirs, for an interesting account of the matter. 
 
NOTES 191 
 
 65 1 Betterton : Thomas Betterton, the great actor, theatrical man- 
 ager, and playwright, was bom in 1635 and died in 17 10. There can be 
 no doubt that he was one of the greatest interpreters of Shakespearean 
 characters that ever lived, though he played in mangled versions. He 
 had a prosperous career and was greatly esteemed as a man. See the 
 life by R. W. Lowe (London, 1891). 
 
 65 2 Booth : See No. VIII, note to p. 26, 1. 17. 
 
 65 8 Put out the Light, etc. : Othello^ V, ii, 7. Most of the readings 
 offered by Fielding have been warmly recommended at one time or 
 another. For a summary of the controversy, see the Varioj-um Shake- 
 speare^ ed. H. H. Furness, Othello. 
 
 663 Mr. Theobald: Lewis Theobald (1688-1744) was an industri- 
 ous and clear-sighted scholar, though he made many enemies in his 
 own time. As a poet he did not attain even temporary success. His 
 Shakespeare restored, or a Specimen of the many Errors as well com- 
 mitted as nna?nended by Mr. Pope in his late Edition of this Poet 
 (1726) caused Pope to make him the hero of The Dunciad. He is 
 now best remembered for his edition of Shakespeare, which was pub- 
 lished in 1734. 
 
 66 20 This selection (No. XVII) is taken from the middle of the fifth 
 chapter, Book viii, of Amelia. 
 
 66 27 The common Greek proverb : " Ofttimes the pupil goes beyond 
 his master," — an epigram by Lucillius. 
 
 67 2 Mr. Pope compliments him: Dunciad i, 19 ff. The quotation 
 was made from memory apparently. In the first line thy ear should 
 read thine ear ; in the third, yott take should be thoti choose ; and in the 
 foujth, Rabelais'' was written RabUais\ 
 
 67 10 Condescended to imitate Rabelais : The likeness between Swift 
 and Frangois Rabelais, if present at all, is exceedingly superficial. 
 Fielding is quite right in dissenting from Pope, for the misanthropy 
 and mordant satire of Swift differ altogether in quality from the gentle 
 wisdom of Cervantes or the jovial humanity of Rabelais. 
 
 67 14 Lucian : born in Syria about 120 a.d. At first a professional 
 rhetorician, he devoted the latter part of his life to travel and author- 
 ship. No writer either of Greek or of any other tongue has surpassed 
 him in his own field of satirical dialogue. His Dialogues of the Dead 
 are the most widely known of all his works. 
 
 67 18 Mr, Moyle: Walter Moyle (1672-1721). The Works of Walter 
 Moyle, no7te of zvhich were ever before ptiblished, were edited by Thomas 
 Sergeant in 1726. The Dissertation on the age of Philopatris, a 
 
192 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 dialogtie commonly ascribed to Ltician, is to be found in the first of 
 the two volumes. 
 
 6723 Cock: Lucian's dialogue "Oi/eipos ?) dXeKrptJcov, usually known as 
 Galhis in Latin and The Cock in English. 
 
 67 24 Cock and a Bull : The origin of the term is obscure. It is 
 impossible to say more than does the N'ew Eng. Diet. : " In its origin 
 apparently referring to some story or fable." 
 
 67 32 Lucan : Lucan (a.d. 39-65) was bom in Spain but lived most of 
 his brief life at Rome, where he fell under the displeasure of Nero. His 
 only extant work is the Fharsalia, an epic in ten books, which displays 
 vigorous imagination and diction but is excessively extravagant and 
 bombastic. Nicholas Rowe (1674-17 18), the dramatist and poet lau- 
 reate, made a translation of the Fharsalia which was published imme- 
 diately after his death. It had great vogue during the eighteenth 
 century and was regarded by Warton as superior to the original. 
 
 68 6 A wretched one published by Mr. Dryden : This is not strictly 
 true. A translation by Moyle, Sir Henry Shere, Charles Blount, and 
 others was projected in 1696, when Dryden wrote a Life of Lucian. 
 The work did not appear, however, till 17 11, so that Dryden can hardly 
 be held responsible for the translaT:ion, as he died in 1700. 
 
 68 27 As Mr. Pope was for his Homer : " The result was, therefore, a 
 total profit at least approaching 9000 1." — Leslie Stephen, Alexafider 
 Pope, p. 63. 
 
 69 2 He gives his reason : Pope translates the verse : 
 
 Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove ! 
 
 As a matter of fact, the particle in this case seems to possess no strong 
 adversative force. 
 
 69 11 Madam Dacier : See No. XVI, note to p. 64, 1. 2. 
 
 69 11 Monsieur Eustathius: Eustathius was an archbishop of Thes- 
 salonica who flourished in the twelfth century and wrote a valuable 
 commentary on Homer. 
 
 69 18 Venerisque huic maximus, etc. : See Fharsalia, ii, 387, 388. 
 Rowe renders the passage : 
 
 He sought no end of marriage, but increase, 
 Nor wish'd a pleasure, but his country's peace : 
 That took up all the tenderest parts of life 
 His country was his children and his wife. 
 
 70 23 Statins {ca. 6i-ca. 96 a.d.): Statius is best known for his 
 Thebdis, an heroic poem which was especially esteemed in the Middle 
 
NOTES 193 
 
 Ages. His miscellaneous poems, mostly in hexameters, are called the 
 Silvae. 
 
 70 24 Silius Italicus (ca. 2^-ca. 100 a.d.) : Silius Italicus held impor- 
 tant offices in the Roman government and wrote an heroic poem Piinica 
 in slavish imitation of Virgil. He is also now supposed to be the author 
 of the metrical abridgment of the Iliad, which is called the Homerus 
 Latiiius. 
 
 70 27 Ovid (43 B.C.-17 or 18 a.d.) and Claudian (late fourth and early 
 fifth centuries) : These authors have left us no finished epics, though 
 the latter at his death was engaged upon one, which is preserved in its 
 uncompleted form. 
 
 71 11 A speech on the side of the opposition : See Introduction, p. xxxix, 
 for a similar scene from The Author'' s Farce. References to the custom 
 of preparing speeches supposed to have been delivered in Parliament 
 are very common in the literature of the time. 
 
 71 32 The pen and ink, etc. : Fielding later developed this idea in the 
 Covent-Garden Joiirnal iox June 27, 1752. 
 
 72 16 No. XVIII is taken from Covent-Gardejt Jozirnal, March 21, 
 1752, No. 23. 
 
 72 16 The motto here is from the Iliad, Book ii, 204-206 (206 proba- 
 bly spurious). In Murphy's edition (1762), from which this selection is 
 taken; there are several deviations from the normal orthography of 
 these verses. Since they are correctly rendered in the Dublin reprint 
 of 1752, as I am informed, it is clear that Murphy or the printers may 
 be held responsible for the peculiarities. 
 
 73 19 Laws to restrain them: An act against blasphemy was passed 
 in the time of William III (9 & 10 Will. Ill, c. 32), which is doubtless 
 the one to which Fielding refers. It originated (1698) in an address to 
 the king, calling upon him to " suppress pernicious books and pamphlets, 
 which contain in them impious doctrines against the Holy Trinity," etc. 
 The statute soon became a dead letter. See Stephen, Hist, of the Crim. 
 Law of England, II, 468, 469. " Libels against the government " and 
 slander were punishable in common law at the time when Fielding wrote, 
 but the confusion which followed the expiration of the Licensing Act in 
 1694 and continued till the enactment of Fox's Libel Act finds expres- 
 sion in his words. It is interesting to note that in the year when this 
 was published (1752) a jury acquitted one Owen of libel against the 
 House of Commons, the first case, according to Stephen (II, 323), in 
 which a jury " exercised their undoubted power to return a general 
 verdict of not guilty in a case of libel." 
 
194 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 73 24 As Horace tells us : See Satires, ii, i, 8o ff. 
 
 74 5 Breaking poor Priscian's head : violating the rules of grammar. 
 A reference to the celebrated Latin grammarian, who lived about 
 500 A.D. 
 
 75 11 Reading a single verse in the Testament : For the history of 
 benefit of clergy see Pollock and Maitland, History of English Laiv, 
 I, 424 ff. It arose from the claim of the church that criminal causes 
 against priests should be remitted to the bishop of the diocese before 
 condemnation. Gradually this was extended until all persons, whether 
 in orders or not, who could read the so-called " neck-verse," might 
 claim benefit of clergy. The verse was Psalm li. i. Till 1487 a person 
 who could read might commit murder as often as he chose with no 
 other result than that of making his purgation. Until 1547 he was 
 simply branded on the thumb with an M. Benefit of clergy was not 
 abolished till 1827 for commoners, while for peers it continued till 
 1841. 
 
 75 19 Paveant illi, etc. : As far as I can discover, St. Peter is nowhere 
 reported to have used any such expression, though the joke is doubt- 
 less of considerable antiquity, of French origin one would say. A 
 similar contrast is found in Matt. xxvi. ^3^ but the verb used in the 
 Vulgate is scandalizo. 
 
 75 25 In an old act of parliament: i Edw. VI, c. 12, s. 14, which was 
 passed in 1547. See Stephen, Hist, of the Crim. Law of England, I, 462. 
 
 75 31 Judge Rolls : a mistake for Judge Rolle. Henry Rolle (1589?- 
 1656) was an eminent member of the English bar, for some years a 
 member of Parliament, and became lord chief justice of England under 
 the Commonwealth. His Abridgment des plusienrs Cases et Resolutions 
 del Com7/iun Ley was published in 1668, two volumes, folio. 
 
 76 8 Who was himself a writer, etc. : Henry VIII wrote a book 
 against Luther, the Assertio Septe?n Sacranientorwn (1521), which drew 
 an angry reply from the reformer. lu 1543 he wrote a preface for 
 A necessary Doctrine and Erudition for any Christian Man, which was 
 known as "the king's book." Gairdner {Henry VLLL in Diet. N^at. 
 Biog.) also states that his hand can be recognized in many of the letters 
 and manifestoes, both in Latin and English, which were issued under 
 his royal authority. 
 
 76 31 Shakespeare : The dates of the four dramatists, in the order 
 named, are 1564-1616, i573?-i637, 1579-1625, 1584-1616. 
 
 77 1 Machiavel's advice : The reference is to Machiavelli's Prince, 
 chap, xxvi, apparently, where he says (ed. Morley, p. 161): "Nothing 
 
NOTES 195 
 
 makes so much to the honour of a new prince as new laws and new 
 orders invented by him," etc. 
 
 77 4 The last of this quadrumvirate : the last to die, that is. During 
 the latter part of his life Jonson enjoyed an undisputed and unique 
 authority over his younger contemporaries. Herrick's Ode for Ben 
 Jonson in Hesperides and his own Leges Conviviales give us vivid pic- 
 tures of the gatherings of the " tribe of Ben." 
 
 77 10 John Dryden to be their king: Dryden (1631-1700) was as 
 autocratic a literary dictator as England has ever known. Though not 
 a man who acted on mature reflection, he set and changed fashions both 
 by precept and example. Thus he popularized the heroic play and 
 later caused it to be abandoned. Nevertheless, he did not attain or retain 
 his position without question. An account of his controversies with 
 Howard, Buckingham, Settle, Rochester, and others would be a biog- 
 raphy. The dastardly attack upon him in 1679, when he was set upon 
 at night by hired bravoes, probably the tools of Rochester, shows the 
 acrimony which characterized some of these quarrels. 
 
 77 17 Pride, folly, malice, etc.: Pope, An Essay on Criticism^ 458, 
 459. The second and third words in the first line are misplaced. 
 The particular "parson" referred to was Jeremy Collier, whose Short 
 Viezv of the Iinmorality and Profaneness of the English Stage (1698) 
 involved him in a quarrel with Dryden. The "critics" and "beaus" 
 were Buckingham, who had a share in The Rehearsal (167 1), which 
 ridiculed Dryden, and Rochester, who was alternately his patron and 
 his dearest foe. 
 
 77 22 King Alexander, surnamed Pope: It would be impossible in a 
 brief note to discuss Pope's relations to his contemporaries. Fielding's 
 description is but little exaggerated. See Leslie Stephen, Alexander 
 Pope, and Pope's Works, ed. Elwin and Courthope. The Dunciad first 
 appeared in 17 12, was enlarged in 1729, and acknowledged in 1735. 
 
 785 The ingenious Dr. Young: Edward Young (1683-1765), the 
 author of several tragedies, The Cofnplamt ; or Night Thoughts on 
 Life, Death, ,and Lmmortality, and the series of satires called The 
 Universal Passion. 
 
 78 5 Dr. Arbuthnot: John Arbuthnot (1667-1735), wit, physician, 
 friend of Swift and Pope, was a member of the so-called " Scriblerus 
 Club" and contributed to the Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus. 
 
 78 6 Mr. Gay: John Gay (1685-1732) had a varied career and was 
 on good terms with most of the literary men of his time, including 
 Pope. He was, indeed, the chartered satirist of the age, and was 
 
196 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 doubtless given the more freedom because of his happy and careless 
 nature. 
 
 78 15 No. XIX is taken from Covent-Garden Journal^ February 4, 
 1752, No. 10. 
 
 78 15 The motto here is from Horace, A7's Foetica, 270-272. Nostri 
 should read vestri. 
 
 78 19 Tom D'Urfey : Thomas D'Urfey (1653-1723), a poet and dram- 
 atist better loved as a man than regarded as a literary figure, even in 
 his own day. His work is now forgotten save for certain songs said 
 by his biographers in the Did. Nat. Biog. still to be heard in Scotland. 
 His dramas are worthless, but he was a fluent song writer and a genu- 
 ine w^it. 
 
 78 19 Tom Brown: Thomas Brown (1663-1704), satirist, was worse 
 tempered than D'Urfey and not so versatile. He attacked most of his 
 literary contemporaries, including Dryden and D'Urfey. 
 
 78 27 Jack-puddings : buffoons or clowns, especially such as attend 
 on mountebanks. 
 
 79 5 As Horace says : Satires., i, i, 24, 25. 
 
 79 13 As the ingenious author of Clarissa says : In the Preface to 
 Clarissa Harlowe Richardson says : " It will probably be thought tedi- 
 ous to all such as dip into it, expecting a light novel or transitory 
 romance ; and look upon the story in it (interesting as that is generally 
 allowed to be) as its sole end., rather than as a vehicle to the instruc- 
 tion." See Introduction., pp. xix, xx, xlv-xlvii, for an account of Fielding's 
 relations to Richardson. 
 
 80 8 Rabelais, and Aristophanes : Fielding's views must have changed 
 very radically from the time when he was writing Tom Jones. See 
 No. II. His estimate is, from any point of view, decidedly unjust. 
 
 80 27 Quid verum, etc.: Horace, Epistles, i, i, 11, 12 — to Maecenas, 
 replying to regrets that he had ceased to wTite. 
 
 81 11 I mention these [Seneca and Plutarch] rather than Plato and 
 Aristotle, etc. : Fielding's statement is very true. Before the time 
 when Fielding wrote (1752) there was no translation of Plato's com- 
 plete works in English save that taken from the French of Dacier; and 
 Aristotle had still to wait more than fifty years for his Taylor, though 
 he was represented by translations of individual works. On the other 
 hand, both Seneca and Plutarch had often been translated, the former 
 by Wyttynton (1546), by Golding (1578), by Thomas Lodge (1614), by 
 Freeman (1635), by Sir Roger L'Estrange (1678), etc.; the Lives of 
 the latter by North (1579), whose work was often reprinted, and "by 
 
NOTES 197 
 
 several hands" with a Life by Dryden (1683-1686), while the Morals 
 were equally well known to English readers. 
 
 82 6 Longinus : See No. XII, note to p. 45, 1. 25. 
 
 82 14 Pons Asinorum : The name is frequently applied to the fifth 
 proposition of the first book of Euclid, — the first difficult theorem and 
 accordingly a stumbling-block to dullards. This was probably what 
 Fielding had in mind. The term is wrongly applied to the Pythagorean 
 proposition (I, 47), where it has no special meaning. The origin of the 
 term is very doubtful. It occurs in its French form, pont aux dues, as 
 early as the fifteenth century. 
 
 82 25 " All men " says Cicero : I have not been able to discover any 
 passage in Cicero of which this is an exact translation, though it some- 
 what resembles one in the Archias, viii. 
 
 83 9 Quotation of St. Paul: i Corinthians xv. 33. Found in the 
 comic poet Menander's Thais, as see Fragmenta, ed. Meineke, p. 75. 
 It is probable that Paul recognized the epigram simply as a Greek 
 saying. 
 
 83 12 No. XX is taken from Jonathan Wild, Book i, chap. i. This 
 selection and the following, both from Jonathan Wild, have a curious 
 resemblance to the account of the character and death of Charles I 
 given by Clarendon in the eleventh book of his History of the Rebellion. 
 A comparison between the two, with further reference to other parts 
 of Jonathan Wild, leads me to believe that Fielding had Clarendon 
 in mind and half mockingly copied his style while composing the history 
 of the '* great man " who died at Tyburn. 
 
 The paragraph beginning " Of this kind " reads very differently in 
 the edition of Murphy, which is presumably taken from the revised 
 edition of 1754 and is therefore usually followed. "Of this kind was 
 the illustrious person whose history we now undertake ; to whom, tho' 
 nature had given the greatest and most shining endowments, she had 
 not given them absolutely pure and without allay. Tho' he had much 
 of the admirable in his character, as much perhaps as is usually to be 
 found in a hero, I will not yet venture to affirm that he was entirely free 
 from all defects, or that the sharp eyes of censure could not spy out 
 some little blemishes lurking amongst his many great perfections." 
 
 In the paragraph beginning " But before we enter," the sentence 
 " Now, tho' the writer," etc., as far as " great perfection," reads in 
 Murphy: "It seems therefore very unlikely that the same person 
 should possess them both ; and yet nothing is more usual with writers, 
 who find many instances of greatness in their favourite hero, than to 
 
198 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 make him a compliment of goodness into the bargain ; and this, with- 
 out considering that by such means they destroy the . . .," etc. 
 
 There is an unusual number of other changes in the text of this 
 selection, though most of them are of little consequence. Only the 
 first part of the chapter as it appears in Jonathan Wild is here reprinted. 
 
 84 9 An Aristides or a Brutus, a Lysander or a Nero : One would expect 
 two contrasting pairs, but it is difficult to work out any such arrange- 
 ment. Aristides, " the Just," the Athenian statesman and soldier of the 
 fifth century B.C., is a type of glorious integrity. Brutus may refer 
 either to Lucius Junius Brutus of Roman legend, the destroyer of the 
 Tarquins, or to Marcus Junius Brutus, the conspirator against Caesar. 
 In the former case he must be regarded as a type of virtue, and in the 
 latter he cannot be regarded as a complete villain. Lysander, again, is 
 on the side of goodness. He was the Spartan general of the fifth and 
 fourth centuries B.C. who broke the power of Athens. As to Nero, 
 there is unfortunately no question of his status in the minds of every 
 one. 
 
 85 17 As an example of his benevolence : a reference to Plutarch's 
 account of the magnanimity of Alexander towards the mother, wife, 
 and daughters of Darius after the defeat and flight of that king in 
 
 85 22 As an evidence of his generosity: a reference to Caesar's treat- 
 ment of such followers as Mamurra. 
 
 86 13 No. XXI is taken ixoxa Jonathan Wild, Book iv, chap. xvi. 
 
 87 1 Honesty : Fielding's etymology, as usual, is somewhat fanciful. 
 Honesty is derived from OF. (Ji)oneste, which comes in turn from Lat. 
 honestas, from honestus, "honest," or perhaps hoTios, "honor." It 
 naturally has nothing to do with the Greek 6vo%, " an ass," as Fielding 
 must have known. 
 
 87 15 Prigs : In thieves' slang prig is the name for a thief. 
 
 89 7 In that of King Charles the first: This must be a reference to the 
 Eikon Basilike, a little book published just after the execution of 
 Charles. It purported to be the work of his hand and the revelation 
 of his inmost thoughts, though it was in reality written by Dr. John 
 Gauden. It nowhere lays down twelve rules, but does devote one 
 chapter of moral instruction to the young prince, Charles. 
 
 89 25 A Privilege to kill, etc. : I do not know whence this is taken. 
 
 89 29 Laetius est, etc. : I have not discovered the source of this verse. 
 
 90 12 No. XXII is taken from Amelia, Book xi, chap. ii. Only the 
 latter part of the chapter is reprinted. 
 
NOTES 199 
 
 90 22 This is all mere Utopia : that is, an impracticable dream. The 
 name comes from Sir Thomas More's political romance, published in 
 Latin in 15 16, De Optimo Reipublicae Statu^ deqite Nova Insula Utopia. 
 It was translated into English by Ralph Robynson in 1551, by Gilbert 
 Burnet in 1684, and by Arthur Cayley in 1808. It is usually called 
 Utopia simply, from the island of " Nowhere " on which More fixed his 
 ideal state. 
 
 92 30 As Livy tells us: See Book xxvi of his history. 
 
 93 9 Oliver Cromwell carried, etc.: The contrasting views of modern 
 historians as to the success of Cromwell's policy are well illustrated by 
 the following statements from two most excellent biographies. " Yet 
 the great position in Europe which Cromwell's energy had gained for 
 England impressed the imagination of his contemporaries. . . . Crom- 
 well's foreign policy was in part a failure, but only in part. He pro- 
 moted the material welfare of his country and saved her from foreign 
 interference in her domestic affairs. Where he sought purely national 
 interests he succeeded, but it was impossible for him not to look beyond 
 England." — Charles Firth, Oliver Cromwell (\c)o6), pp. 387 and 389. 
 " It has sometimes been said that Oliver made England respected in 
 Europe. It would be more in accordance with truth to say that he 
 made her feared." — S. R. Gardiner, Oliver Cromwell (1901), p. 318. 
 
 93 18 One worthless Man, etc. : I have not been able to trace this 
 quotation to its source. 
 
 94 7 Things ill begun, etc. : Macbeth^ III, ii, 55. Macbeth says : 
 
 Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. 
 
 94 19 Put himself on his country: that is, appeal to the country in a 
 general election. 
 
 95 9 As Augeas did : a reference to the labor of Hercules. 
 
 96 1 No. XXIII is taken from Tom Jones, Book vii, chap, i. 
 
 96 1 The world hath been often compared to the theatre : A bibliog- 
 raphy of this metaphor would lead one far afield. Aside from Jacques' 
 famous speech in As You Like It, II, vii, references to it are common 
 in Greek, Latin, and English before Shakespeare's time, so that it had 
 become proverbial. For example, the saying is attributed to Pythagoras 
 and occurs in a Greek epigram. Petronius Arbiter has " totus mundus 
 exerceat, histrionam," and The Legend of Orpheus and Etirydice (1597) 
 expresses the same thought. " Totus mundus agit histrionem " was the 
 motto of the Globe Theatre. See Furness, As You Like It (Variorum ed.), 
 for further references. 
 
200 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 96 4 Thespis : the reputed father of Greek tragedy. He is said to 
 have been the first to introduce an actor on the stage and so to have 
 changed the choral recitation into crude drama. Horace in his Ars 
 Poetica, 276, says that he went about in a v^agon as a strolUng player. 
 
 96 14 St. James's is more likely, etc. : that is, the fashionable quarter 
 of the town than the chief playhouse, the Theatre Royal in Drury 
 Lane. 
 
 96 18 As Aristotle calls it, an imitation: in the Poetics, passim. 
 
 97 6 The Greeks called them both, etc. : The Greek word for " ex- 
 pounder," as of dreams, viroKpiTi^s, was also used of players and in a 
 metaphorical sense of dissemblers, whence our " hypocrite." 
 
 97 10 Life's a poor player : Macbeth, V, v, 24-26. Macbeth speaks : 
 
 Life 's but a walking shadow, a poor player 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage 
 Arid then is heard no more. 
 
 97 15 The Deity : This is a reference to the Deity, a Poem, [by Sam- 
 uel Boyse], published in 1739. The author (1708-1749) was the son of 
 a dissenting minister and was educated at the University of Glasgow. 
 In spite of excellent introductions to the world of letters he had 
 neither steadiness nor application, and he lived a life of misery in Lon- 
 don. The Deity, his best known poem, was inspired by Pope's Essay 
 on Man. Fielding's praise of it may well have been prompted by his 
 knowledge of Boyse's poverty. 
 
 98 9 After the paragraph ending "at the Theatre Royal" five short 
 paragraphs are omitted. 
 
 98 19 Garrick: See No. IX, note to p. 32, 1. 20. According to the 
 best accounts Garrick was no less excellent in comedy than in tragedy. 
 Mrs. Clive, the actress, is said to have exclaimed in an angry mood, 
 "D — n him, he could act a gridiron." Compare Partridge's sneer, Tom 
 Jones, Book xvi, chap. v. 
 
 98 22 Scipio the Great and Laelius the Wise: P. Cornelius Scipio 
 ^milianus Africanus Minor was the adopted son of the great con- 
 queror's elder son. He was both a learned man and a successful gen- 
 eral. His friendship with Gaius Laelius Sapiens, a statesman and 
 patron of literature, was celebrated by Cicero in Laelitcs (de Amicitia). 
 Horace couples their names in Satires, ii, i, 65-74. 
 
 99 5 The famous nil admirari: Horace, Epistles, i, vi, i. 
 
 99 14 Mr. William Mills ( .? -1750): the son of John Mills, the 
 great actor who died in 1736, whence he was known as "the younger 
 
I 
 
 NOTES 20 1 
 
 Mills." He does not seem to have inherited his father's talent, though 
 his Julius Caesar is praised by Davies, Dramatic Miscellanies. 
 
 99 24 No. XXIV is taken ixom. Joseph Andrews, Book iii, chap. vi. 
 After parting with Mr. Wilson, Parson Adams, Fanny, and Joseph 
 Andrews are taking their midday meal in a " kind of natural amphi- 
 theatre " where " the soil was spread with a verdure which no paint 
 could imitate." There Joseph launches on the discourse that forms the 
 subject of this selection. The first part of the chapter only is here 
 reprinted. 
 
 100 15 Laceman : one who manufactures or deals in lace. 
 
 100 22 Ammyconni: Jacopo Amigoni or Amiconi (167 5-1752) was a 
 painter of superficial brilliancy who had great vogue in England about 
 this time. He was born at Venice but lived much of his life in Ger- 
 many, England, and Spain. He died at Madrid as court painter, but he 
 has been long forgotten. 
 
 100 22 Paul Varnish : Paolo Veronese (1528-1588) was born at Verona 
 but lived most of his life at Venice, where his work can best be seen. 
 
 100 23 Hannibal Scratchi : Annibale Carracci (i 560-1609) was born 
 at Bologna, where with his brother and cousin he founded a school of 
 painting which had a lasting but not altogether good influence on Italian 
 art. He died in Rome. 
 
 100 23 Hogarthi : William Hogarth. See No. IV, note to p. 12, 1. 31. 
 
 101 16 A man that lived at a place called Ross : John Kyrle (1637- 
 1724) was educated at Oxford and entered at the Middle Temple, but 
 after leaving the university retired to his estates at Ross, on the Wye, 
 where he lived all his days a severely simple and very useful life. His 
 philanthropic deeds on a comparatively small income brought him more 
 than local fame, which was greatly increased by Pope, who celebrated 
 him in his Moral Essays, Epistle iii. To Allen, Lord Bathtirst, as "the 
 Man of Ross." From that time (1732) his real name was well-nigh for- 
 gotten. Pope's lines (249-274 in Elwin-Courthope ed.) begin : 
 
 But all our praises why should Lords engross .-• 
 Rise, honest Muse ! and sing the Man of Ross. 
 
 101 17 Another at the Bath : Ralph Allen. See No. II, note to p. 5, 
 1. 18. The " stately house" was Prior Park, near Bath. 
 
 102 1 This extract (No. XXV) includes only part of Book ii, chap, 
 xiii oi Joseph Andrews, from which it is taken. 
 
 102 14 Person of fashion : Fielding has put the cart before the horse. 
 See N'ew Eng. Diet., "fashion sb. 12. (Man, woman) of fashion." It is 
 
202 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 shown that the phrase meant first " of high quality or breeding " and 
 gradually merged into the current use : " That moves in upper-class 
 society, and conforms to its rules with regard to dress," etc, 
 
 102 20 Correspondence: intercourse, communication; now' obsolete 
 in this sense, except of communication by letters, but common in the 
 seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. 
 
 102 25 His Majesty's Bear-garden. The bear garden at Hockley 
 Hole was a popular place of resort in the eighteenth century, though 
 neither the entertainment (bull baiting as well as bear baiting, etc.) nor 
 the company was very worshipful. See Spectator^ No. 141, where Steele 
 refers to the devotees of such sport as showing "no characteristic of 
 the human species but risibility." 
 
 102 29 Exalt themselves at church: either a reference to the choir 
 stalls, where those of high rank had seats, as in St. James's Church, or 
 to structures of a different type with galleries. 
 
 103 9 Mrs. Slipslop : Lady Booby's maid m. Joseph Aiidrezus. 
 
 104 5 No. XXVI is taken from Journal oj a Voyage to Lisbon, 
 July 21, 1754. 
 
 105 ] Every man who hath three hundred pounds per annum: This 
 statement scarcely conforms to English usage at any time. Before the 
 Norman conquest, to be sure, every freeman w^as required to attend the 
 folk moot but not the witenagemot. The property qualification of 
 _^300 per annum did not appear till 17 10, when that sum was fixed as 
 the income necessary for the representative of a borough or town. It 
 did not imply, however, that a reluctant citizen could be forced to rep- 
 resent a constituency. See Medley, Eng. Const. Hist., p. 181. 
 
 105 15 Sheriff in particular : The office of hereditary sheriff was not 
 abolished till 1784. 
 
 106 1 Last vagrant act : a reference to the act of 1744 (17 Geo. II, 
 c. 5), w^hich dealt, among other offenders, with " all persons who, not 
 having wherewith to maintain themselves, live idly without employ- 
 ment and refuse to work for the usual and common wages given to 
 other labourers on the like work, in the parishes or places where they 
 then are." The poor laws of England, based on modifications of the 
 vicious act of 1601, were not effectually bettered till 1834. Fielding, 
 it will be remembered, had printed in 1753 Proposals for Making an 
 Effectual Provision for the Poor. 
 
 106 11 Spunges and raps : gets by mean sycophancy or stealing. 
 Spunges is Fielding's usual orthography for sponges, while rap in this 
 sense is now obsolete. 
 
NOTES 203 
 
 107 ] No. XXVII is taken from Covent-Garden Journal^ June 20, 
 1752, No. 49. The motto here is from the beginning of iii, i, of 
 Horace's Odes. 
 
 107 3 In a former paper: Covent-Garden Joiirnal, No. 47, June 13, 
 1752, a week before the present essay appeared. 
 
 107 9 The people or mob in old Rome : This reference implies a con- 
 fusion in Fielding's mind between the veto power exercised by the 
 tribune of the plebs over decrees of the senate and the right of making 
 leges held by the assembly of the people. 
 
 107 12 In the case of the gin-act: In 1736 an act was passed to cur- 
 tail the sale of spirituous liquors, especially gin, by the imposition of 
 heavy taxes. Riots followed. See the excellent account in Lecky, 
 England in the Eighteenth Centnry, I, 517 ff. 
 
 107 27 Laesae mobilitatis: a play on laesae 7?iajestatis, lese majeste. 
 
 108 16 Cardinal de Retz : Jean Francois Paul de Gondi, Cardinal de 
 Retz (161 3-1 679), was a distinguished clerical statesman, opponent of 
 Mazarin, and archbishop of Paris. After a stormy career he settled 
 down in Lorraine and wrote his Memoir es, to which Fielding here 
 refers. 
 
 1 08 24 Assert an exclusive right to the river of Thames : In the Specta- 
 tor, No. 383, Addison describes Sir Roger's trip on the Thames and gives 
 some instances of river manners. Fielding tells of the watermen and 
 their exactions in the Voyage to Lisbon. 
 
 109 4 The second exclusive right : There is plenty of other evidence 
 that streets of eighteenth-century London were turbulent. 
 
 110 9 That a very new: Between that and a the word the is 
 omitted. 
 
 110 11 Out of St. James's-Park on a Sunday evening: St. James's 
 Park had long been the fashionable promenade, nor did it lose its 
 popularity on account of the occurrences to which Fielding alludes. 
 See Goldsmith's Aliscellaneoiis Essays (1759). 
 
 110 24 That act of parliament which was made at the latter end of 
 Queen Elizabeth's reign: By an act passed in 1601 the poor rates, estab- 
 lished by the statutes of 1572 and 1598, were extended and strength- 
 ened. The system thus introduced was never radically changed till 
 1834. The essential feature of it was taxation for the benefit of the 
 poor and disabled, but in practice these alms became a nuisance. 
 See Prothero, Statutes and Constitntional Documents., p. 104. 
 
 Ills Hang sorrow, cast away care : I have been unable to find any 
 such song in the collections at my disposal. 
 
204 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 112 1 No. XXVIII is taken from Covent-Garden Jotcrnal, July i8, 
 1752, No. 55. The motto is from Lucretius, De rerum naUira, i, 927, 
 928. 
 
 112 5 It hath been observed, etc.: by Congreve in his essay on 
 humor ; referred to below, Letters tipoii Several Occasions, p. 95. 
 
 113 7 By Aristotle in his treatise on comedy: Aristotle treated 
 comedy in the Poetics, as is known from the reference in chap, vi, § i, 
 where he says that he will come to it later on. That part of the 
 Poetics is, however, in Fielding's phrase, " unhappily lost." There was 
 not a separate treatise on comedy, as Fielding's words might imply. 
 A work by a late Greek writer, Ilepl Kcj/ncpdias (ed. G. Kaibel, Abhand- 
 lungen der konigl. Gesellschaft der Wissensch. ztc Gottingen, 1898), 
 is unquestionably based on Aristotle, but it is exceedingly doubtful 
 whether it correctly represents Aristotle's doctrine. 
 
 113 11 Mr. Congreve, in a letter to Mr. Dennis: In Letters upon Sev- 
 eral Occasions, published by John Dennis in 1696, there is an essay 
 Concerning Humour in Comedy, sent by William Congreve to Dennis on 
 July 10, 1695. Fielding here quotes from this work, the only critical 
 treatise of any consequence written by the master of the school of 
 comedy which flourished at the end of the seventeenth century and 
 lived on till the time of Goldsmith and Sheridan. The sentences here 
 printed as one extract really come from three different places, pp. 81, 
 82, and 90, respectively. It is needless to say that Fielding does not 
 quote verbatim, though in this case no serious alterations appear. 
 
 114 1 Ben Johnson : Fielding's customary orthography. The passage 
 quoted is taken from the Induction of Evety Man out of his Humour 
 (1599), where it is spoken by Asper, who probably represents Jonson 
 himself. The use of the terms of mediaeval medicine and philosophy 
 is not uncommon in Jonson's works. He follows here the ordinary 
 line of reasoning. Ens is a philosophical term meaning an existence, 
 entity, or being. It was formed from esse after the analogy of absens, 
 etc. Continent, of course, means holding fast to one place, inseparable. 
 Effects is usually printed affects and means affections or states of body 
 and mind. A rook, a simpleton or gull. Cable hatband, "a twisted cord 
 of gold, silver, or silk worn round the hat " (Halliwell, Dictionary of 
 Arch, and Prov. Words). Three piled, three-tiered. I cannot understand 
 why quotation marks inclose six lines, as they do in the text. 
 
 115 1 Will amount to this: Fielding's explanation, though "let 
 loose from that stiff boddice " of which he complains in Jonson, is not 
 altogether clear unless one understands the underlying idea of humor 
 
NOTES 
 
 205 
 
 which it presupposes. In ancient and mediaeval physiology a, humor 
 was one of the four chief fluids of the body, — blood, phlegm, choler, 
 and melancholy. Disease, it was believed, was the result of the undue 
 excess of some one of these " cardinal humors," and by the proportion 
 of them was determined a man's natural temperament. The idea 
 rested on the belief that the " elements," out of which everything was 
 made, were earth, air, fire, and water. Earth was said to be cold and 
 dry, air hot and moist, etc. From the body, as Fielding says, these 
 notions were applied to the mind, so that Jonson's notion of humor 
 implied the habitual mood or mental disposition natural to one's 
 temperament. 
 
 115 15 As Mr. Congreve observes: in the essay previously cited, 
 p. 81. This is a free paraphrase of the passage. 
 
 115 ]7 Quot homines, tot sententiae : Terence, Phormio, II, iv, 14. 
 *' Many men, many minds." Cicero also uses the phrase, De Finibtis, 
 i, 15. 
 
 115 26 Excess, says Horace: Satires, i, ii, which is summed up in 
 the twenty-fourth verse : 
 
 Dum vitant stulti vitia, in contraria currunt. 
 
 115 29 Says the judicious Abbe Bellegarde : See No. IV, note to 
 p. 13, 1. 25. The observation to which Fielding refers is at the very 
 beginning of the work Reflexions siir le ridicule. 
 
 116 3 It is the same ambition, etc. : a happy reference to the ambi- 
 tious plot of Stephano and Trinculo with Caliban to kill Prospero, 
 whereby Stephano is to become "king and queen, — save our graces !" 
 Tempest, especially Act III, sc. ii. 
 
 116 5 The same avarice, etc.: George Lillo (1693-1739) produced 
 his Fatal Curiosity in 1736. In this bombastic tragedy young Wilmot, 
 who has returned to England after a long absence in India, intrusts a 
 casket of jewels to his mother. Not suspecting his identity, the mother 
 persuades old Wilmot to kill his son for the sake of the treasure. With 
 reference to Moliere's VAvare, it must be recalled that Fielding had 
 translated it as The Miser in 1733. 
 
 116 7 The same jealousy: again a comparison of small things with 
 great. The Suspicious Husband was a comedy by Dr. Benjamin 
 Hoadly, son of Bishop Hoadly, which Garrick produced in 1747. It 
 turned on the absurd jealousy of a somewhat conventional husband 
 and had considerable success at the time, though it had little real 
 worth as a play.' 
 
2o6 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 116 9 Nero had the art of making vanity, etc.: The reference to 
 Nero indicates the oft-repeated tale that he set fire to Rome that he 
 might have a proper setting for his recitation of the Homeric hymns, 
 Rome replacing Troy. Domitian " made cruelty ridiculous " when, in 
 default of greater victims, he was found torturing flies. 
 
 116 14 The two great masters: that is, Jonson and Congreve, as 
 above. 
 
 117 6 No. XXIX is taken from Covent-Garden Journal., July 25, 
 1752, No. 56. The motto here is from Horace's Odes, iii, vi, 19. 
 
 117 8 At the conclusion of my last paper : No. XXVIII. 
 
 118 6 The ingenious Abbe : Abbe Bellegarde. See notes to p. 13, 1. 25, 
 and p. 115, 1. 29. The quotation is found at the beginning of the first 
 treatise in Reflexions S74r le ridicule. Fielding quotes from the original, 
 not the translation. 
 
 119 2 Party: that is, politics. 
 
 120 10 The excellent lessons on the ridiculous : again a reference to 
 Bellegarde. 
 
 121 18 Of modern times, the whist master: The first description of 
 whist is said to be in The Compleat Gamester by Cotton (1674). It did 
 not become a fashionable game, however, till towards the middle of 
 the following century. Hoyle published his Short Treatise in 1743, and 
 in the same year Fielding {Jonathan Wild, Book i, chap, iv) spoke of 
 " whisk and swabbers " as the game then in vogue. 
 
 122 18 No. XXX was first printed in vol. I of Miscellanies (1743). 
 Compare with this essay Lord Shaftesbury's Sensus Communis : An 
 Essay 071 the Freedom oj Wit and Humour in Characteristicks, Treatise ii. 
 Fielding was evidently familiar with that work, as he shows by numer- 
 ous references scattered through his books. He did not, of course, 
 copy it in any sense. 
 
 123 28 The primitive and literal sense of this word: This interpreta- 
 tion is more trustworthy than is usual with Fielding's linguistic obser- 
 vations. The word converse as such never meant " turn round together," 
 but the Latin verb conversari had that primitive meaning, though used 
 in other ways most commonly. Fielding employs conversation in its 
 old and broader sense of " social intercourse." It is so used by 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 125 16 An Enquiry into Happiness: The only published work of 
 which I know that would at all correspond to this reference is A71 
 Inquiry concerjiing Virtue and Happiness. In a Letter to a Friend, 
 by P. Glover, ed. C. Plumptre, 1751. A copy of this work is in the 
 
NOTES 207 
 
 British Museum, though I can find nothing of its author and have not 
 access to the vokime itself. 
 
 1269 Give us our Wildness and our Woods: from The Tragedy of 
 Jtilitis CcEsar, altered : with a Prologue and Chorus, by John Sheffield, 
 Duke of Buckingham (1648-1721). The quotation, here printed as 
 two lines, is really the last line of the third stanza of the chorus which 
 was designed to be sung between the first and second acts. The altered 
 play is one of the most curious of Shakespearean adaptations. 
 
 127 13 Do unto all men, etc. : Matthew vii. 12. Commonly misquoted 
 as here. 
 
 128 13 Insani sapiens nomen ferat, etc. : Epistles, i, vi, 15, 16. 
 
 128 23 Florus . . . says: Epitomae de Tito Livo, i, i, 7. The pas- 
 sage describes Tarquin the Proud, and runs : " Set ipse in senatum 
 caedibus, in plebem verberibus, in omnis superbia, quae crudelitate 
 gravior est bonis, grassatus, cum saevitiam domi fatigasset, tandem in 
 hostes conversus est." 
 
 129 29 See the Earl of C : Philip Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield, 
 
 is undoubtedly meant. See p. 158, 1. 5. 
 
 130 5 Lord Shaftsbury hath a pretty observation: Characteristicks, 
 A Letter concerning Enthicsiasm, ed. 1733, I, 35, 36. 
 
 131 2 Mandarines: the form now universally accepted is mandarin. 
 13131 Improper: ill-clad or untidy. 
 
 132 2 Dishabille : This word, once thoroughly domesticated, has now 
 reverted to its French form when used by educated persons. The use 
 of it by Fielding in this form indicates the fashion of his day, though 
 we should employ en deshabille if we used the phrase at all. 
 
 133 24 At a gaming table : One clause is here omitted. 
 
 133 29 P W : This seems to be a reference to Paul White- 
 head (1710-1774), a somewhat disreputable satirist, who was later 
 placed in comfortable circumstances by his intimacy with Sir Francis 
 Dashwood and other politicians. At the time when this was written he 
 had not become a government hanger-on and was still in poverty, though 
 no longer an inhabitant of Fleet Prison, as he had been yet earlier. 
 
 137 29 A third at ombre, or a fourth at whisk and quadrille : Ombre was 
 a popular game of cards played without the eights, nines, and tens, and 
 usually by three persons. Whisk was the earlier orthography of whist. 
 Quadrille was similar to ombre but was played by four persons. 
 
 138 30 The universal passion: apparently a reference to The Univer- 
 sal Passion, by Edward Young (see No. XVIII, note to p. 78, 1. 5), a 
 series of satires begun in 1725 and collected in 1728. Though its subject 
 
2o8 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 is rather " love of fame " than pride, there is a considerable passage in 
 Satire i, beginning " What is not proud ? " 
 
 138 31 The foible of great minds: This suggests Milton's reference 
 to ambition in Lycidas : 
 
 Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 
 
 (That last infirmity of noble mind) 
 
 To scorn delights, and live laborious days. 
 
 140 6 Pope or Young : It need occasion no surprise that Young's 
 name is thus coupled with Pope's, since at that day he vyras held in 
 scarcely less esteem. For his dates and w^orks, see No. XVIII, note on 
 p. 78, 1. 5- 
 
 140 8 Quin or Garrick: James Quin (1693-1766), an Irish actor, first 
 became know^n in 17 16 in London. He was the rival of Garrick at the 
 maturity of his powers but never was his equal in tragedy. For Gar- 
 rick, see note to p. 32, 1. 20. 
 
 140 21 Oblations: offerings made to the church. 
 
 142 12 That noble person : Chesterfield again. 
 
 147 22 Let Socrates, for instance, etc. : as in Plato's Phaedo. 
 
 147 23 Plato reason on the native beauty of virtue: as in the Meno, 
 Phaedrtis, and Republic. 
 
 147 24 Aristotle on his occult qualities: as in the Categories and 
 Metaphysics, where Aristotle elaborates his theory of the nature of 
 being. Occult is to be understood in a very general sense. 
 
 147 33 Hath not Socrates heard of harmony : Socrates speaks of 
 harmony very frequently in the works of Plato. See, for example. 
 Republic, iii, 401, 402. 
 
 147 33 Plato, who draws virtue in the person of a fine woman: This 
 seems to be a confused recollection by Fielding of the -story about 
 Hercules which Xenophon tells in Memorabilia, ii, i, 21 ff. The hero 
 while a youth was said to have met two women. Pleasure and Virtue, 
 who in turn urged him to follow them. Both women are described 
 with some detail. In Plato I can find nothing similar. 
 
 148 2 Hath not Aristotle himself written a book on motion : his 
 Physics. 
 
 155 10 The fable of the Lap-Dog and the Ass : The ass tried to emu- 
 late the lap-dog by caressing its master, but was beaten for its pains 
 instead of being received graciously. The fable is a widespread one. 
 It was known very early in Asia and is found in yEsop, 212. La Fontaine, 
 Fables, iv, v, Vane et le petit chien, gives a pleasant version of it. 
 
NOTES 209 
 
 155 22 Name of buffoons : A clause is omitted after these words. 
 
 155 30 Omne vafer vitium, etc. : Persius, Satires^ i, 116-118. Coving- 
 ton rendered the passage (ed. Nettleship, 2d ed. revised, 1874) : 
 " Horace, the rogue, manages to probe every fault while making his 
 friend laugh ; he gains his entrance, and plays about the innermost 
 feelings, with a sly talent for tossing up his nose and catching the 
 public on it." 
 
 156 1 The late ingenious translator of that obscure author: Thomas 
 Brewster, who was born in 1705 and was educated at St. John's College, 
 Oxford. In 1733, while yet at Oxford, he published a translation of the 
 Second Satire of Persms in English verse and followed it up with the 
 other satires in succeeding years. According to Lowndes's Manual, 
 the first edition (presumably complete) was published in 1741, but 
 A. Goodwin in Diet. Nat. Biog. says that the third and fourth together 
 and the fifth separately did not appear till 1742. The date of Brewster's 
 death is unknown. 
 
 157 10 Quid de quoque viro, etc.: Horace, Epistles., i, xviii, 68. The 
 last word in the verse should be videto instead of caveto. 
 
 157 19 Hew a Carcase for Hounds : Julius Ccesar, II, i, 4 : 
 
 Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds. 
 
 158 4 The cowardice of A — le : John Campbell, second Duke of 
 Argyle or Argyll and Duke of Greenwich (1678-1743), was a prominent 
 figure in several wars and also played an important part in politics. 
 He was an important factor in bringing about the Scottish union and 
 put down Mar's insurrection in 171 5. He died on October 4, 1743, 
 only a few months after Fielding published the Miscellanies. 
 
 158 5 The dulness of Ch — d: Philip Dormer Stanhope, fourth Earl 
 of Chesterfield (1694-1773), the famous wit and statesman, is here 
 referred to. His reputation in literature is sustained by his Letters to 
 his natural son and to his godson, which were published posthumously. 
 He was a man of sagacity and real worth in spite of his worldliness 
 and low ethical standards. He opposed the Licensing Act of 1737 in 
 the House of Lords, thereby doing Fielding a good turn. 
 
 158 5 The unpoliteness of D — ^ton : This must refer to George Bubb 
 Dodington, Lord Melcombe (1691-1762), a famous but not particularly 
 able statesman of the time. He was in several ministries and in 1743 
 was allied with Argyll, though his political vacillations were notorious. 
 As a man of great wealth and some scholarship, he was fond of posing 
 as a patron of literature. Fielding's epistle Of True Greatness., in the 
 
2IO SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Miscellanies^ was addressed to him, as poems by Young and Thomson 
 had been earlier. He was made a peer in 1761. 
 
 158 6 And thus Lyt — n: George Lyttelton. See No. II, note to p. 
 5, 1. 18. 
 
 159 1 No. XXXI was first printed in vol. I of Miscellanies (1743). 
 
 159 17 A hardy wit in the reign of Charles II. : John Wilmot, Earl of 
 Rochester (1647-1680), wrote the short and not particularly amusing 
 poem Upon Nothings to which Fielding refers. George Farquahar 
 ( 1 678-1 707) wrote a Song on a Trifle, appended to The Stage-Coach, 
 which is far better turned and in the same vein. 
 
 160 3 Ex Nihilo nihil Fit : The Latin adage is usually referred to 
 Lucretius, De rerum natura, i, 205 : 
 
 Nil igitur fieri de nilo posse fatendumst. 
 
 160 4 By Shakespeare, in Lear : I, iv, 131 : 
 
 Lear. Why, no, boy ; nothing can be made out of nothing. 
 
 163 4 The Argive, mentioned by Horace: Epistles, ii, ii, 1 28-131. 
 Laetos in the text should read laettis. 
 
 164 22 A poet, famous for being so sublime : apparently Milton. 
 
 165 7 Posthumous Eclogues of a late ingenious young gentleman : I 
 regret that I have been unable to identify these eclogues. 
 
 168 21 Caput triumphati Orbis: Ovid, Ai7iores, ii, xv, 26: 
 
 Roma, triumphati dum caput orbis eris. 
 
 169 7 Is to produce : Between to ^lW^ pro dice e, be is omitted. 
 
 169 9 The great Mr. Hobbes : Thomas Hobbes (i 588-1679) of Malmes- 
 bury, the great political philosopher. The Leviathan (1651) is per- 
 haps his best-known work, though most of his writings, both in Latin 
 and in English, show the same clearness of exposition as that book. 
 He was a thorough nominalist but was little influenced by Bacon's 
 conception of the importance of systematic experiment, though for a 
 time Bacon's amanuensis. That he was fond of paradox is shown in 
 the somewhat confused exposition of his theory of the place of passions 
 in " conceptions and apparitions,^'' which Fielding here gives. We may 
 paraphrase the latter part of the paragraph thus : " In the pursuit of 
 ends agreeable to oneself, the means themselves cannot be separated 
 from the ends in view. Thus in following ambition, a man virtually 
 follows plotting, fighting, danger, difficulty, etc. ; in following avarice, 
 he pursues starving, cheating, watching, and numberless painful things 
 
NOTES 211 
 
 which are concomitant with the passion of avarice." This is, of course, 
 no adequate treatment of Hobbes's doctrine, but it seems to be fair 
 enough as far as it goes. For a rather full treatment of the theory, 
 see his Human Nature (circulated in manuscript in 1640, published in 
 1650), chap, vii (ed. Molesworth, 1740, IV, 31 ff.). 
 
 170 12 No. XXXII is taken from Tom Jones ^ Book xviii, chap, i. 
 
 171 22 No man detests and despises scurrility more than myself: For 
 the truth of this statement, see Introdtiction, Ixxiii-lxxvi. Fielding is 
 quite within the limits of fact in saying that no man " has ever been 
 treated with more " coarse abuse. Even granting that his work had 
 not been free from coarseness, it could not have been pleasant for 
 him to be called a ruffian. Moreover, he had had " abusive writings " 
 fathered on him to a disagreeable extent, for example, The Golden 
 Rump and the Caiisidicade. 
 
 171 32 The weekly productions of his abusive contemporaries: in the 
 journals of the time. 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF THE ESSAYS SELECTED, 
 WITH REFERENCE TO THE WORKS FROM WHICH 
 THEY HAVE BEEN TAKEN 
 
 From " Joseph Andrews " (1742) ^ 
 
 No. Page 
 
 IV. \The Cofnic Epic in Prose\. Author's Preface .... 9 
 VII. Of writing Lives in General, a7id particularly of Pamela ; 
 with a Word by the bye of Colley Gibber attd Others. 
 
 Book I, chap, i 22 
 
 XXV. [^High People and Low People^. A Dissertation concerning 
 High People a7id Low People, etc. Book II, chap, xiii 
 
 (in part) 102 
 
 VI. Matter Prefatory in Praise of Biography. Book III, 
 
 chap, i (in part) 18 
 
 XXIV. Moral Reflections by foseph Andrews, etc. Book III, 
 
 chap, vi (in part) 99 
 
 From " Miscellanies " (1743) ^ 
 
 XXX. An Essay on Gonversation. Vol. I 122 
 
 XXXI. Aft Essay on Nothifig. Vol.1 159 
 
 XVI. \^A Literary Gonversation in Elysium\ The Adventures 
 which the Author fnet on his First Entrance into 
 Elysium. Vol. II, being Book I, chap, viii, of A Journey 
 
 from this World to the Next 63 
 
 XX. Shewing the Wholesome Uses drawn from recording the 
 Achievements of those Wonderful Productions of Nature 
 called Great Men. Vol. Ill, being Book I, chap, i, of 
 
 Jonathan Wild 83 
 
 XXI. \^The Gharacter of a Great Thief \ The Gharacter of our 
 Hero, and the Gonclusion of this History. Vol. Ill, being 
 Book IV, chap, xvi, oi fonathan Wild (in part) ... 86 
 
 1 Extracts are taken from the second edition, London, 1742. 
 
 2 Extracts are taken from the first edition, London, 1 743. 
 
 211 
 
214 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 From " Tom Jones " (1749) ^ 
 
 No. Page 
 
 III. yThe Bill of Fare to the Feast\ The Introdtiction to the 
 
 Work, or Bill of B\ire to the Feast. Book I, chap, i . 6 
 V. Shewing what Kind of a History this is ; what it is like, 
 
 and what it is not like . Book II, chap, i 16 
 
 VIII. Containing Five Pages of Paper. Book IV, chap, i . . 24 
 X. Of the Serious in Writing ; and for what Purpose it is 
 
 introduced. Book V, chap, i 34 
 
 XXIII. A Comparison between the World and the Stage. Book VII, 
 
 chap, i 96 
 
 XIII. \_A Wondefful Long Chapter concerning the Marvellotis~\ ; 
 
 being ?mich the Lotigest of all our Introductory Chapters. 
 
 Book VIII, chap, i 47 
 
 IX. Of those who lawfully may, and of those who may not 
 
 write such Histories as this. Book IX, chap, i ... 28 
 XI. Containing Instructions very Necessary to be perused by 
 
 Modern Critics. Book X, chap, i 39 
 
 XII. A Crust for the Critics. Book XI, chap, i 42 
 
 XIV. Shewing what is to be deemed Plagiarism in a Modern 
 
 Author and what is to be considered as Lawful Prize. 
 
 Book XII, chap, i 55 
 
 II. An Invocation. Book XIII, chap, i 3 
 
 XV. An Essay to prove that an Author will write better, for 
 having Some Knowledge of the Subject on which he 
 
 writes. Book XIV, chap, i 59 
 
 I. Of Prologues. Book XVI, chap, i I 
 
 XXXII. A Farewell to the Reader. Book XVIII, chap, i . . . 170 
 
 From "Amelia" (1751) ^ 
 
 XVII. Comments upon Authors. Book VIII, chap, v (m part) . 66 
 XXII, Matters Political. Book XI, chap, ii (in part) .... 90 
 
 1 Extracts are taken from the first edition, London, 1749. 
 
 2 Extracts are taken from the first edition, London, 1752 (1751). 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL LIST 21 5 
 
 From the " Co vent-Garden Journal " (1752) 1 
 
 No. Page 
 
 XVIII. \_The Literajy Republic\. Saturday, March 21, No. 23 . 72 
 
 XIX. \^The Purpose of Letters]. Tuesday, February 4, No. 10 78 
 
 XXVII. \^Tke Power of the Mob]. Saturday, June 20, No. 49 . . 107 
 
 XXVIII. \f)n Hicmorous Characters]. Saturday, July 18, No. 55 . 112 
 
 XXIX. {^Contemporary Education]. Saturday, July 25, No. 56 . 117 
 
 From the " Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon " (1755) ^ 
 XXVI. [6>w Liberty]. Tuesday, July 21, 1754 104 
 
 1 Extracts are taken from Works, ed. Murphy, London, 1762. 
 
 2 Extract is taken from Works, ed. Murphy, London, 1762. 
 
INDEX 
 
 A Full Vindication of the Dzichess 
 
 Dowager of Marlborough, xx 
 A four ney from this World to the 
 
 Next, xxi, 1, li 
 Addison, Joseph, Ixiv, Ixxix, 28, 
 
 64 
 Album Studiosorum Academiae 
 
 Lugduno Batavae, xi 
 Alexander the Great, 50, 85, 168 
 Allen, Ralph, xxiii, 5, 53, 10 1 
 Amelia, xvi, xvii, xxiv, xxv, xxvi, 
 
 Iviii-lxii, Ixvi, Ixx, Ixxiv, Ixxvi, 
 
 Ixxviii 
 "Amelia," Iviii-lx 
 Amigoni, Jacopo, 100 
 An Enqiciry into the Causes of the 
 
 late Increase of Robbers, xxvi 
 An Essay on Conversation, xxi, 
 
 Ixvii-lxix, 122-158 
 A71 Essay on Nothing, Ixvii, Ixix, 
 
 159-170 
 Antoninus, 51, 54 
 Appearance of Fielding, xxxii 
 Arabian Nights, 20 
 Arbuthnot, Dr. John, 78 
 A(rgy)le (Duke of), 158 
 Aristides, 84 
 Aristophanes, 5, 80 
 Aristotle, 9, 13, 20, 45, 50, 60, 81, 
 
 96, 113, 146, 147, 148 
 Arrian, 50 
 
 Atalantis writers, 20 
 Augeas, 95 
 Author^s Will, xv 
 
 Balzac, Jean-Louis Guez de, 20 
 
 Banier, Abbe, 56 
 
 Bath, 36, 137 
 
 Beaumont, Francis, 76 
 
 Bellegarde, Abbe, 13, 11 5, "118 
 
 Berkeley's Siris, xxix 
 
 Betterton, Thomas, 65 
 
 " Black George," Ixxviii 
 
 " Blifil," Ivi, Ixxviii 
 
 " Bookweight " and his authors, 
 
 xl-xlii 
 Booth, Barton, 65 
 Bossu, 45 
 Brewster, Thomas, translator of 
 
 Persius, 156 
 Broughton, John, pugilist, 60 
 Brown, Thomas, 78, 81 
 Brutus, 84 
 Buckingham, George Villiers, Duke 
 
 of, ix, 126 
 Butler, Samuel, 24, 49 
 Bysshe, Edward, 60 
 
 Caesar, Julius, 85, 168 
 
 Caligula, 51 
 
 Canning, Elizabeth, xxvii 
 
 " Captain Booth," xvi, xvii, xxxiii, 
 
 lix, Ix, 66-72 
 Capua, 92 
 
 Carracci, Annibale, 100 
 Cato the Elder, 29, 69 
 Causidicade, xxii 
 Cervantes and Do?t Quixote, xlii, 
 
 xliii, xlvii, 2, 5, 19, 20, 67, 79 
 
 217 
 
2l8 
 
 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Champion^ xviii, xxxii, Ixv, Ixvi 
 
 Charles I, 89 
 
 Charles II, 77, 159 
 
 Charles XII of Sweden, 50 
 
 Chaucer, Ixxvii 
 
 Chesterfield, Earl of, 129, 158 
 
 Children of Fielding, xx, xxi, xxiii, 
 
 xxix 
 Cibber, Colley, xxxiv, xxxix, 22, 
 
 23» 24 
 Cibber, Mrs. Theophilus, 32 
 Cicero, 57, 59, 60, 82, 98, 122 
 Clarendon, Lord, 19, 50 
 Clarissa Harlowe, xxiv, Ixxvi, 79 
 Claudian, 70 
 
 Clive, Mrs. Catherine, xxxviii, 32 
 Cock and Bull, 67 
 Coleridge, S. T., Ixxvi 
 "Colonel Bath," Ix 
 " Colonel James," Ix 
 Congreve, William, xxxiv, 61, 113, 
 
 "5 
 Covent Garden, 120 
 
 Covent-Garden Journal, xxv, xxvi, 
 
 xxvii, Ixvi, Ixxvii 
 Cradock, Charlotte, Fielding's first 
 
 wife, xvi, xxi, 3 
 Creech, Thomas, translator of 
 
 Lucretius, 17 
 Cromwell, Oliver, 93 
 Crowne, John, 40 
 
 Dacier, Andre, 45, 47 
 Dacier, Mme., 64, 69 
 Daniel, Mary, Fielding's second 
 
 wife, xxii, xxix 
 David Simple, by Sarah Fielding, 
 
 X, xxii 
 Defoe's Apparition of Mrs. Veale, 
 
 50 
 
 Deity, a Poetn, hy Samuel Boyse, 97 
 
 Demosthenes, 59 
 
 Denbigh, Earls of, ix 
 
 Dennis, John, 113 
 
 Dobson, Austin, x, xi, xv, xix, 
 
 xxii, xxiv, xxvi, xxix, xxxi, xxxii, 
 
 xliii, xlviii, Ixx 
 " Doctor Harrison," Ix, Ixi, 90-95 
 D(oding)ton (John Bubb), 158 
 Domesday Book, 30 
 Domitian, 116 
 Do7i Qtiixote in England, xvi, 
 
 xxxiii, xlii, xliii 
 Drelincourt, Charles, 50 
 Dryden, John, xxxv, xxxvi, Ixiv, 
 
 68,77 
 D'Urfey, Thomas, 78, 81 
 
 East Stour, xvi 
 Echard, Laurence, 19 
 Edward VI, 76 
 Elizabeth, Queen, 76, no 
 Enquiry into Happiness, by P. 
 
 Glover (?), 125, 126 
 Essex, John, dancing master, 60 
 Etherege, Sir George, 40 
 Eton College, x, 5 
 Eustathius, 69 
 Examples of the Interposition of 
 
 Providence, xxvii 
 
 " Fanny," sweetheart of '* Joseph 
 
 Andrews," loi 
 Fielding, Robert, xvii 
 Fielding, Edmund, the author's 
 
 father, ix, x 
 Fielding, George, ix 
 Fielding, Sarah, x, xxii 
 Fielding, Mrs. Sarah, the author's 
 
 mother, x 
 
INDEX 
 
 219 
 
 Fielding, Sir John, xii, xxiv 
 Fielding's family, ix, x 
 " Firebrand," xliv 
 Fletcher, John, 76 
 Florus, 128 
 Fordhook, xxviii, xxix 
 Francis, Philip, 29, 46 
 
 Garrick, David, 32, 98, 140 
 Gay, John,xiii, 78 
 Gibbon's tribute to Fielding, ix 
 Giffard, manager of Goodman's 
 
 Fields, xvii 
 Gil Bias, by Le Sage, 19 
 Glover, Richard, author of Leon- 
 
 idas, 63 
 Gould, Sir Henry, x 
 Gray, Thomas, xlviii 
 Greenland, 95 
 Grub Street, 4 
 Guildhall, 17 
 Guy of Warwick, 23 
 
 " Huncamunca," xxxvi 
 Harlothrtimbo, by Samuel John- 
 son, 25 
 
 " lago," 99 
 
 Jack the Giant-Killer, 23 
 James I of England, 76 
 Johnson, Dr. Samuel, xxv, Ixi, 
 
 Ixxiv, Ixxv 
 Jonathan Wild, xxi, 1, li, lii, Ixi, 
 
 Ixxii 
 " Jonathan Wild," xxxiii, 84, 86- 
 
 90 
 Jonson, Ben, 14, 32, 40, 76, 114 
 Joseph Andrezus, xix, xx, xlii, xlv- 
 
 xlix, liii, Ixvi, Ixix, Ixx, Ixxvi 
 " Joseph Andrews," xlix, 24, 99, 
 
 100, lOI 
 Journal oj a Voyage to Lisbon, 
 
 xxiii, xxviii, Ixii 
 Justiceship of Fielding, xxiii, xxv, 
 
 xxvi, xxvii, Iviii 
 Hanbury Williams, Sir Charles, x Juvenal, 41 
 Harlequin, 37 
 
 Heliogabalus, 8 
 
 Henry V, 50 
 
 Henry VIII, 76 
 
 Herodotus, 50 
 
 Hoadly's Suspicioics Husband, 116 
 
 Hobbes, Thomas, 169 
 
 Hockley Hole, Bear garden at, 
 
 102 
 Hogarth, William, xxvi, xxxii, Ixxv, 
 
 12, 61, 100, 140 
 Homer, 2, 9, 25, 31, 38, 48, 49, 57, 
 
 59, 60, 64, 68, 69, 70, 72 
 Horace, xxxii, 29, 30, 31, 33, 38, 41, 
 
 45, 46, 48, 5I' 57> 78, 79' 80' 99' 
 107, 117, 128, 155, 156, 157, 163 
 
 " Lady Bellaston," Ivii, 62 
 
 Laslius, 98 
 
 Lamb, Charles, Ixiv 
 
 Lap-Dog and Ass, 155 
 
 Latreille, F., xiv 
 
 Lee, Nathaniel, xxxvi 
 
 Leonidas, 63 
 
 Leyden, University of, xi, xii, xvi 
 
 Lillo's Fatal Curiosity, 116 
 
 Lincoln's Inn Fields, theatre in, 
 
 xiii 
 Lisbon, author's voyage to and 
 
 death at, xxviii-xxx 
 Livy, 60, 92 
 Locke, John, 26 
 
220 
 
 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 Longinus, 45, 82 
 " Lord Grizzle," xxxvi, xxxvii 
 Louis XIV, 134 
 
 Love in Several Masques, xiii, xxxiv 
 Lowell, J. R., XXXV 
 Lucan, 67, 69, 70, 72 
 Lucian, 1, 5, 67, 68, 79, 81 
 " Luckless," xxxviii 
 Lucretius, 16, 112 
 Lysander, 84 
 
 Lyttelton, George, Lord, x, xxiii, 
 xxiv, 5, 158 
 
 Macaulay, Lord, Ixiv 
 
 Machiavelli, 77 
 
 " Man of Ross," John Kyrle, loi 
 
 " Man of the Hill," Ivii 
 
 Marivaux, 5, 20 
 
 " Marplay," xxxix, xl 
 
 Martial, 46 
 
 Mary, Queen of England, 76 
 
 Menander, 83 
 
 Millar, . Andrew, publisher, xix, 
 
 xxiv, XXV 
 Miller, Philip, gardener, 32 
 Mills, "William, 99 
 Milton, John, 3, 20, 31, 66, 70, 
 
 164 (?) 
 Miscellanies, xxi, xxii, xxxiii, 1, 
 
 Ixvii-lxix 
 Miss Lticy in Town, xx 
 " Miss Mathews," lix, Ixi 
 Moliere, xiv, xxxviii, 5, 80, 116 
 Moore Smythe, James, 58 
 More's Utopia, 90 
 Moyle, Walter, 67 
 " Mr. Allworthy," Ivi, Ix 
 " Mr. Wilson," xlix 
 " Mrs. Atkinson," Ix, Ixi 
 " Mrs. Fitz Patrick," Ivii 
 
 " Mrs. Miller," Ivii 
 
 " Mrs. Moneywood," xlii 
 
 " Mrs. Slipslop," xlviii, xlix, 103 
 
 " Mrs. Tow-wouse," xlii, xlix 
 
 Murphy, Edward, x, xi, xxi 
 
 Nepos, 23, 84 
 
 Nero, 13, 51, 52, 54, 84, 116 
 Newcastle, Duke of, xxviii 
 New-Theatre, or French House, 
 
 xiii, xvii 
 North, Christopher, Ixiv 
 " Northerton, Ensign," 62 
 
 Of the Remedy of Affliction, Ixvii, 
 Ixviii 
 
 Oldmixon, John, 38 
 
 On the Knowledge of the Charac- 
 ters of Men, Ixvii, Ixviii 
 
 Opera House in the Haymarket, 
 xiii, xxxiv 
 
 Orpheus, 63 
 
 Otway, Thomas, xxxvi, 32 
 
 Ovid, 70, 72, 168 
 
 Pamela, xix, xx, xlv, xlvi, Ixxvi, 
 
 22, 23, 24 
 
 " Pamela Andrews," xlix 
 
 " Parson Adams," xlviii, xlix, Ixi 
 
 '• Parson Trulliber," xlix 
 
 Pasquin, xvii, xxxiv, xlii, xliii, xliv 
 
 Peacock's Index to English-speak- 
 ing Students . . . at Ley den Uni- 
 versity, xi 
 
 Penlez, Bosavern, xxvi 
 
 Persius, 53, 155 
 
 Piantanida, Signior, 63 
 
 Pitt, WilHam, 59 
 
 Plato, 81, 90, 146, 147 
 
 Plutarch, 23, 81, 84 
 
INDEX 
 
 22 1 
 
 Pluhis, the God of Riches, xx 
 
 Pons Asinorum, 82 
 
 Poor Laws, no, iii 
 
 Pope, Alexander, 8, 38, 48, 55, 58, 
 
 62, 64, 67, 68, 69, 72, 77, loi, 
 
 140 
 Priscian, 74 
 Proposals for Makitig an Effectual 
 
 Provision for the Poor, xxvii 
 
 Quin, James, actor, 140 
 
 Rabelais, 5, 66, 67, 80 
 Ralph, James, xviii, Ixv 
 Rapin, Paul de, 19 
 Regnard, xxxviii 
 Retz, Cardinal de, 108 
 Richardson, Samuel, xix, xx, xxiv, 
 
 xxv, xlv, xlvi, xlvii, Ixi, Ixxiv, 
 
 Ixxv, Ixxvi, 79 
 Rochester, Wilmot, Earl of, 159 
 Rolle, Judge Henry, 75 
 Romances by Calprenede, etc., 10 
 Romeo and fiiliet, xxxvi 
 Rowe, Nicholas, xxxvi, 29, 67 
 
 St. James's Palace, 96 
 
 St. James's Park, no 
 
 St. Paul, 83 
 
 St. Peter, 75 
 
 Sappho, 63 
 
 Scarron, 20 
 
 Scipio, 98 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter, xxiii, xxxv, Iii 
 
 Seasonable Reproof ' [to Fielding), 
 
 XV 
 
 Seneca, 81 
 
 Shaftesbury, Earl of, 11, 49, 130 
 Shakespeare, the man and his 
 works, xxxvi, Ixvii, Ixxvii, 5, 29, 
 
 32, 39, 44, 65, 66, 76, 80, 94, 97, 
 99, 116, 157, 160 
 
 Sharpham Park, Fielding's birth- 
 place, X 
 
 Sheridan's Critic, xxxvii 
 
 Sheriff, office of, hereditary, 105 
 
 Sidney's Arcadia, 23 
 
 Silius Italicus, 70 
 
 " Sir Alexander Drawcansir," xxv, 
 Ixvi 
 
 Socrates, 126, 146, 147 
 
 " Sophia Western," Ivi, lix, 3 
 
 Spectator, Ixv \ 
 
 " Squire Western," xliii, Ivi 
 
 Statins, 70 
 
 Steele, Sir Richard, Ixiv, Ixxix, 
 64 
 
 Stephen, Sir Leslie, xvii, xxi 
 
 Stuart, Lady Louisa, xxii 
 
 Suetonius, 52, 84 
 
 Swift, Jonathan, 2, 5, 66, 78, 79 
 
 Tarquin, 128 
 
 Tatler, Ixv 
 
 Telemaque, by Fenelon, 10 
 
 Thackeray, W. M., xv, xxx, xxxi, 
 
 Iv, lix, Ixii, Ixiii, Ixxviii 
 Thames, manners on, 108, 109 
 The Author' s Farce, xiii, xvi, xxxiv, 
 
 xxxviii-xlii, xliii 
 The Coffee-House Politician, xiii, 
 
 xxxiv 
 The Covent Garden Tragedy, xiv 
 The Debauchees, xiv 
 The Election, xliii 
 The Golden Rump, xvii 
 The Good-Natured Afaft, xviii 
 The Grtib-Street Opera, xiv 
 The Historical Register for the 
 
 Year 1^36, xvii, xiii, xliii 
 
222 
 
 SELECTED ESSAYS OF FIELDING 
 
 The Intriguing Chambermaid, xvi, 
 
 xxxviii 
 The Jacobite'' s Jotirnal, xxiv, Ixvi 
 The Letter Writers, xiv 
 The Life and Death of Common 
 
 Sense, xliii, xliv 
 The Lottery, xiv 
 The Miser, xiv, xxxviii 
 The Mock-Doctor, xiv, xxxviii 
 The Modern Husband, xiv 
 The Pleasures of the Town, xxxiv 
 The Rehearsal, xvii, xxxvii 
 The Temple Beau, xiii, xxxiv 
 The True Patriot, xxii, Ixvi 
 The Unforticnate Jilt, xlix 
 The Universal Gallant, xvi 
 The Virgin Unmasked, xvi 
 The Wedding Day, xviii 
 Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane, xiii, 
 
 xviii, 96, 98 
 Theobald, Lev^'is, 66 
 Thespis, 96 
 
 Thomson, " Jemmy," xxxvi 
 " Thwackum," Ivii, 62 
 Thucydides, 60 
 Titian, 61 
 Tom Jo7ies, xvi, xxiv, xxvi, xxxii, 
 
 xiii, xiv, lii-lviii, Ixvi, Ixix, Ixx, 
 
 Ixxi, Ixxii, Ixxiv, Ixxvi, Ixxviii 
 " Tom Jones," Iv, Ivi, Ixxvi 
 Tom Thumb, xiii, xiv, xxxiv, xxxv- 
 
 xxxvii, xliii 
 
 " Tom Thumb," xxxvi 
 
 Trajan, 51 
 
 Trapp, Dr. Joseph, 64 
 
 " Trapwit " and " Fustian," xliii 
 
 Tyburn Hill, 54 
 
 Universities of England, 119, 120 
 
 Vagrant Act, 106 
 Van Brugh, Sir John, xxxiv, 61 
 Van Dyck, 61 
 Veronese, Paolo, 100 
 Villiers, Sir George, 50 
 Virgil, 2, 37, 57, 59, 60, 64, 70 
 Vitriarius, xi 
 Voltaire, 20 
 
 Walpole, Horace, xviii, xxiii 
 Walpole, Sir Robert, xvii 
 Warburton, William, xxxvi, 6 
 Ward, Dr., xxix 
 Westminster Hall, 42, 74 
 W(hitehead), P(aul), 133 
 Whitelocke, Bulstrode, 19 
 Wilks, the actor, 26 
 Wycherley, William, 32 
 
 Xerxes, 50 
 
 Young, Edward, 78, 140 
 Young, Reverend William, xx, 
 xlviii 
 
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