LIFE AND WORKS OF HENRY FIELDING. To few only is it given to "write for all time;" to have their memories cherished, their thoughts embalmed in the heart of distant posterity. But if few, they have been emphatically designated the "salt of the earth who season human kind," who sustain the intellectual spirit of man, who at once elevate and vindicate the character of humanity in our eyes. Without its Homer, the poetic mind of Greece must long have lain dormant-a comparative blank; without Dante, Shakspeare, Milton, Pope, Swift, and Fielding, all, in their several walks, the great teachers and censors of the world,-who wrote in harmony with the glorious light of Gospel truth, where were Italy's fame, and where that sterling worth, that moral might and splendour of England's literature, transfused through every clime and city of the habitable globe? If it be granted that we are to estimate the degrees of celebrity enjoyed by men of letters, according to the influence exercised by their genius upon their own and succeeding times, the surest test perhaps of comparative merit, not many, we opine, will be bold enough to question the claims of one of the most profound investigators of human nature, of the most delightful yet correct interpreters of her character and language, to take precedence among the writers of English prose fiction. Should we meet with one critical exception, it might be enough to reply by inquiring amidst whom, amidst what splendid galaxy of superior minds, the light of Fielding's genius asserted its power; by how many wits of our luminous Augustan era he was preceded, and by how many more he was followed; a host of gigantic intellects, whose varied powers and brilliant talent still yield obeisance to his master-knowledge of Nature in all her complicated movements and varieties? observation and the widest range of experience, with a festive yet beneficent spirit, without which the novelist presents us with little more than the "dry bones," the tame sketches and tamer details of character and incident, to which the living spirit is denied. It was his generous love of truth, freedom, and the happiness of man; his uncompromising magnanimous exposure of the vices and errors of the great, and the admirable skill and courage which directed all his efforts in analysing the beautiful-in exposing the false and corrupt, which rendered Fielding the favourite of Byron's leisure hours, which disarmed the critical Goëthe, and which have made his works the travel companions of the aged and the young.* The popular voice seldom errs; from the verdict of a whole people, pronounced by the most impartial of all judges, time-there is no appeal; and if estimated by this rule, Fielding must be allowed to have possessed the complete art of reading those sibyl leaves of Nature before unread; of communing with her in all her varying moods; of revealing the secret sources of man's motives, passions, and actions; of opening new views of moral truth and character, in which he drew with equal skill and pathos pictures of joy or sorrow, and entertained us at once with a mimic world of reality and a creation of his own. Another, and perhaps not the least of his titles to rank highest in the scale of novelists, is the deep wisdom which pervades his entire works, the admirable and varied knowledge which he combines with the liveliest and the warmest passion; the most startling and terrific pictures intermingled with scenes of perfect humour, or of pleasing repose. If we wished to advance still further recommendations for our selection of Fielding in the outset, † we might find them in the charms of a narrative unequalled in point of interest, which absorbs us while it allures, and which, amidst its most glowing and festive scenes, its boldest expressions and representations of high and low, ever keeps in view the purest and noblest moral. It is the happy union, the rich contrast of lights and shadows which renders this great artist's works (for they are splendid emanations of art, and artistical, as the critic Goëthe cor so enduring in reputation, so eagerly read, and so unceasingly new and pleasing. Though truth and nature may pall for a season, the taste for them cannot die, and as surely as it revives, will their repre If we recur to the testimony of rival contemporaries, or even of envious detractors, headed by Horace Walpole, to that of admiring successors, confirmed by the award of unerring time; or to the unbiassed judgment of the muse of Byron, who summed up both by pronouncing "Fielding the prose Homer of human nature," we find him in each successive era regarded as pre-eminent among his fellows at once for the extent and the versatility of his powers. In him whose brilliant but chequer-rectly expresses it, in the true sense of the word,) ed career, whose invaluable but ill-requited services to his country, whose elastic and indefatigable spirit as an author, a magistrate, and a public character-we now attempt to exhibit in more important points of view, and to challenge for him higher honours than have hitherto been assigned, we recognise not only the distinguished novelist but the man of sound sense and judgment, and the author of many excellent plans, adopted, without giving him either credit or remuneration, by successive governments; in him we find that union of happy invention, "wild wit and fancy ever new," rendered infinitely more fascinating by keen penetration into the recesses of the heart, by the closest Our popular novels are even translated into Spanish. Tom Jones, indeed, has long been a favourite in Spain. It may be remarked that the most intensely national works acquire the widest reputation. Hogarth is as well known, and as much admired in Germany as in England, and yet he is John Bull all over. The Scotch novels were published in French and German as soon as they appeared in Edinburgh. The fancy and imagination of Britain are leavening the whole mind of Europe, and in the commerce of letters we are no longer, as heretofore, an importing nation. (Hartley Coleridge's Introduction to Massinger and Ford.) + See end of Life, for continuation of Series. b sentations from the hand of this great master continue to be admired. They display, indeed, that depth of study, rare invention, natural grouping, correct and beautiful composition, with a lively fancy and vigour of execution, not to be met with in any single painter of his times; and these, when more trivial and perishable records fail to perpetuate his name, will constitute the best and most lasting monument of his genius. Henry Fielding was born April 22nd, 1707, at Sharpham Park, near Glastonbury, in Somersetshire. His family, although distinguished, in point of ancestry and rank, was far from being wealthy; his father possessing little hereditary income, and owing what fortune he obtained chiefly to his promotion in a military career. He served some time under the conqueror of Blenheim, and at length attained the rank of lieutenant-general towards the close of the reign of George I. and the commencement of George II. The general was also grandson to an earl of Denbigh, nearly related to the dukes of Kingston and other families of repute, which are stated to boast one common origin with a line of monarchs. Gibbon, whose prepossessions in favour of high birth led him to dwell on the subject with so much complacency, alludes to this circumstance when speaking of the noble descent of the poet Spenser, in the following words, containing a splendid eulogium on the genius of Fielding:-" The nobility of the Spensers has been illustrated and enriched by the trophies of Marlborough, but I exhort them to consider the 'Faëry Queen' as the most precious jewel of their coronet. Our immortal Fielding was of the younger branch of the Earls of Denbigh, who drew their origin from the Counts of Hapsburg, the lineal descendants of Eltrico, in the seventh century dukes of Alsace. Far different have been the fortunes of the English and German divisions of the family of Hapsburg; the former, the knights and sheriff's of Leicestershire, have slowly risen to the dignity of a peerage; the latter, the emperors of Germany and kings of Spain, have threatened the liberty of the Old and invaded the treasures of the New World. The successors of Charles V. may disdain their brethren of England; but the romance of 'Tom Jones,' that exquisite picture of human manners, will outlive the palace of the Escurial, and the imperial eagle of Austria."—Gibbon's Miscellaneous Works. The mother of our author was a daughter of Judge Gold, one of whose immediate descendants, Sir Henry Gold, was likewise a baron of the exchequer. Besides one brother, Edmund, who became an officer of marines, the great novelist had four sisters-Catherine, Ursula, Sarah, and Beatrice. The third of these, Sarah, gave early proofs of talent, and soon became favourably known in the literary world for her spirited letters, and a work, entitled 'David Simple,' of both which Fielding himself entertained no mean opinion, speaking of them in a liberal yet just spirit of criticism. This tribute of fraternal affection will be found in the present edition; it displays a strength of feeling as well as judgment, which entered largely into the social and domestic character of the author, who, from some traits that will be given, seems to have been remarkably attached to children and young people, and to have considered, like the great Nelson, "that though glory was a fine name, and honour a pretty bauble, youth and innocence were a happier possession." The earlier part of Henry Fielding's education was committed to the care of a clergyman, the Rev. Mr. Oliver, who resided at the family mansion, in the capacity of a private tutor, and is supposed to have sat more than once to our young painter of | "living manners" for his portrait, as it is executed to the life in the novel of 'Joseph Andrews,' under the title of Parson Trulliber. From this it may be inferred that, in after life, the pupil estimated lightly the character and services of his teacher, particularly if we are to give credit to the likeness exhibited in some of the adventures. We may conclude also, from the author's own observations, that he received from his clerical Mentor little more than the rudiments of the commonest education before he quitted home for the more congenial sphere of Eton; for here, it is ascertained, that he soon distinguished himself by remarkable quickness and aptitude of parts, as well as by steady application to the study of the best Greek and Roman models. It was scarcely of less utility to him, more particularly in maturer life, that he there contracted an intimacy with many of his fellow pupils afterwards so celebrated as public men at the bar, or in the senate, including Lord Lyttleton, Mr. Fox, Mr. Pitt, Sir Charles Hanbury Williams, Mr. Wilmington; with some of whom he continued in habits of friendly intercourse during life, and from others received that occasional sympathy and support which adverse circumstances and broken health rendered peculiarly acceptable, towards the close of his chequered ca reer. So satisfactory, it would appear, was the young student's progress in classical learning before he had entered his sixteenth year, that he was considered, both by his masters and by the school, not only as possessing a sound knowledge of the languages of Greece and Rome, but as well versed in the perusal of their choicest writers. This truth, we think, and his continued admiration of the works of the best ancient authors, especially of the great prose writers, are abundantly evidenced by the manner in which they are alluded to in his own; and we may conclude that his successful application at this early period was as agreeable to his father as to himself, from the fact that, on his removal from Eton and his early friendships, of which he was often heard to speak with fond regret, no objection was made to his instantly proceeding to prosecute his farther studies under the able and learned professors of the University of Leyden. There he had every advantage, which a student so advanced and prepared, as he was, for still more successful efforts, could be expected to derive from associating with men of first-rate abilities; and though young (being then only in his eighteenth year), full of vivacity and constitutionally fond of pleasure, he lost no time in placing himself under the tuition of the celebrated Vitriarius, Professor of Civil Law, and the author of a Latin work, distinguished for its ability and learning, with the laudable resolution to inform and improve his mind to the utmost of his power. He was regular in his attendance upon the different lectures; appears to have taken notes, and even thus early to have omitted no opportunities of making his remarks and observations upon what he heard and saw-much of which he was doubtless enabled, subsequently, to turn to good account. Without discontinuing his attention to the classical and ancient writers, he now also devoted himself, with assiduity, to the study of the Civil Law, and, with a marked proficiency which, while it won the approbation of the learned, promised, at no distant day, to raise him to eminence in that path, should he pursue it professionally, or in any other which he might choose for the exertion of his brilliant talents. It is to be regretted that, while thus laudably engaged in completing a course of liberal studies, such as, with the advantages of birth and station, might have raised him to eminence in public life, Fielding's residence at Leyden should have been disagreeably interrupted by circumstances over which he had no control. Before he had attained his twentieth year his pecuniary supplies began to fail him; for though a kind and considerate parent, General Fielding was unable to support his son in a manner becoming the younger branch of a noble family. Hence the fruitful source of the author's early embarrassments, and of his subsequent sufferings and misfortunes. Having been brought up with views of life opposed to everything like restricted economy or sordid cares, and influenced by a spirit and love of gaiety perhaps exceeding the usual temperament of genius, he could never forget that he occupied the position of an educated man and a gentleman. To him, therefore, the second marriage contracted by General Fielding (he committed matrimony four times, and had families as large as king Priam), and the rapidly-increasing claims by which it was followed, was an event of serious import: the Leyden scholar was thrown almost at once upon his own resources; and in the year 1727 he found himself compelled to return rather suddenly to England. But Fielding's was not a disposition to be dismayed by difficulties; and this elasticity of mind, which rose with vigorous reaction from the pressure of circumstances, is, perhaps, one of the most remarkable traits in his character, and essentially connected with the production of some of his ablest works. No author has drawn more largely upon his own personal experience, his actual position in society, his constant observation, his social character and relations, even to the chief incidents and adventures of his life. Upon his arrival in England he almost immediately repaired to London; and, though still a minor, found himself comparatively his own master, and left, with slight assistance, to chalk out his own path to distinction. He now renewed his intercourse with some of his early friends: Lord Lyttleton, in particular, became attached to his society; the vivacity of his wit, his playful fancy and rich humour, combined with his love of social enjoyment and the pleasures peculiar to his age, rendering his conversation highly agreeable no less to persons of rank than to the chief literary men and dramatists of the day. Within a very few months after he became known to the celebrated Garrick, and to the survivors of that brilliant epoch which still cast its splendour over the Georgian era, he commenced as a regular writer for the stage, and while yet in his twentieth year (in 1727), produced his first comedy of Love in several Masques.' To this he was, in fact, compelled by the extreme scantiness of his finances; for though he was nominally allowed 2007. per annum, it was a well-known observation of the author, who could be humorous even at his own expense, that" it was an allowance which anybody might pay who would." It is evident, indeed, that he considered his youthful profession of a dramatist rather as a resource than a matter of choice, by his observation in after life-that he abandoned the writing of comedies exactly at the time when he ought first to have turned his attention that way. From one of the prefaces to these juvenilia, in which he relates some anecdotes of himself and Garrick (as in that of The Fathers,' of which the great actor wrote the prologue, besides interesting himself warmly in its success), it would appear that Fielding had not embraced the profession con amore; and in his warm eulogies on the comic talent of Mrs. Centlivre it seems as if he were conscious of his infe | riority, especially in the points of spirited repartee and bold witty dialogue. His first effort, nevertheless, was not unsuccessful, though its representation immediately followed that of the popular comedy of the Provoked Husband;' and the author made it his boast "that none had ever appeared so early on the stage." He had to contend with difficulties which seemed rather "to require," he says, "the superior force of a Wycherly or a Congreve, than of a raw and unexperienced pen. However, such was the candour of the audience, the play was received with greater satisfaction than I should have promised myself, from its merit, had it even preceded the Provoked Husband.' ” From that period the young dramatist, yet scarcely in his twenty-first year, devoted himself assiduously to the comic muse, and annually "produced a crop of pieces," both comedies and farces, few of which, however, became favourites, or obtained a permanent footing upon the stage. As necessitous as he was witty, and, like Goldsmith, eager to obtain fresh supplies for the gratification of his social pleasures, he threw them off with a rapidity and consequent carelessness as little favourable to their correctness as to their future celebrity. His second play, the 'Temple Beau,' which appeared in 1728, was also well received; though very imperfect, it possessed spirit and real humour; and he thus became permanently connected with the theatres up to the time of his first marriage. While it must be acknowledged that Fielding's genius was not decidedly dramatic, it was something that he escaped disapprobation, though he was at times received with indifference. His success was not always brilliant ; still less was it adequate to support him on that scale of expense which his social habits, fashionable company, and not unfrequently his kindness and generosity to others, rendered an absolute want, especially in a man of strong animal spirits, sound constitution, ardour of pursuit, and extreme vivacity of disposition. In those temporary embarrassments, to which he was often liable, even at this early period, added to the interruption of his annual stipend, and his own want of prudential considerations, he was compelled to receive assistance from men of rank, to whom his family connexions, and still more his conversational powers and rare humour had introduced him. Not a few of these, like Lord Lyttleton, were among his early acquaintances; and how justly, at this time, that nobleman and his friends must have appreciated the talents of the young author, appears from an observation subsequently made by him, speaking of Pope, Swift, and other wits of that age, namely, "that Harry Fielding had more wit and humour than all the persons they had been speaking of put together." It is not extraordinary, then, that his society should now have been sought by men of rank and talent, or that he should have been treated in the same generous and distinguished manner by the Duke of Richmond, the Duke of Roxburgh, and John Duke of Argyle. In fact, during his entire dramatic career, (between the year 1727 and 1736), in which nearly all his comedies and farces were composed, Fielding continued to enjoy the friendship and patronage of his noble contemporaries, and, before his thirtieth year, had produced no less than eighteen theatrical pieces, including plays and farces, besides a few which appeared at a subsequent period. Though unequal, and deficient in some of the peculiar requisites for distinguished success upon the stage, they gave promise of riper powers, and as presenting the complete theatre of an author so celebrated in his other productions, they have been preserved entire in the present edition of his works. His 'Pasquin' alone, is a masterpiece of satire in its, class. It has been well remarked, indeed, of Fielding's dramatic character, that though the plan of his pieces is not always regular, yet he is often happy in his style and diction, and in every group that he has exhibited there are to be seen particular delineations that will amply recompense the attention bestowed upon them. Though no man in the opinion of that ingenious and discriminating biographer, Dr. Aikin, had a stronger perception of the ludicrous in characters, and though he painted the detached scenes with humour, yet a want of true delicacy to distinguish between the comic, or the grotesque and extravagant, and defect of care and judgment in the business of the drama, prevented him from obtaining excellence in this species of composition. It is most probable, however, that his inferiority as a dramatist partly to be attributed to the rapid manner in which he composed his plays, and to the unfavourable situation in which he was placed, as well as to the disadvantage of his having commenced so difficult a species of composition at too early a period of life. Perhaps, also, he possessed greater talent for painting in detail, than for placing a variety of characters before the spectator, by a few bold decided strokes of the pencil; for it is thought, that two different classes of mind are required for these distinct species of production, and the same writer, it has been remarked, rarely succeeds in both. It would appear equally true of a sister art, for the ingenious Retsch, who is considered so incomparable in his dramatic outlines, is very inferior to himself, in respect to finished composition. From the haste, moreover, in which Fielding wrote to supply his continually recurring necessities, without even revising or correcting many of his pieces, he may be said to have furnished rather the materials than the wrought productions of art, calculated for brilliant scenic effect. He was known frequently to enter into an engagement over night with some manager, to bring him a play at a certain hour, and then to go to his lodgings after spending the evening at a tavern (the club assembly of the day), and write a scene on the papers in which he had wrapped his tobacco; and to be ready with his composition for the players next morning to rehearse it. We must remember, at the same time, with regard to these extempore efforts, that not a few of Fielding's pieces are little more than free translation, or adaptations from the French, and among these, perhaps, that of 'L'Avare' of Molière, presented under the title of The Miser,' was one of the most successful. In some of his satirical passages, the author touched (too freely for a corrupt court and ministry) upon political topics, and he was one of the writers who, by indulging their bold and caustic vein, particularly in the cutting satire of his 'Pasquin,' contributed to the act for limiting the number of theatres, and submitting dramatic performances to the cruel process of the pruning knife, in the hands of the Lord Chamberlain. The satire of Fielding's comedy is exceedingly keen and severe on the characters of "the great," as he ironically calls them, and on the habits of fashionable life; and for this reason, perhaps, they would have been eminently adapted, with greater care and revision, to appear with advantage before the public. "If the comedy of 'Pasquin,' says Mr. Murphy, "were restored to the stage, it would be a more favourite entertainment with our audiences than the much admired Rehearsal.'" A more rational one it certainly would be, as it must undoubtedly be better understood. Though its success was considerable, it never shone forth with a lustre equal to its merit; and yet it is a composition that might have done honour to the Athenian stage, when the middle comedy, under the authority of the laws, made use of fictitious names, to satirise vice and folly, however disguised by honours and employments. But the middle comedy did not flourish long at Athens; the archness of its aim, and the poignancy of its satire, soon became offensive to the officers of state; a law was made to prohibit those oblique strokes of wit; and the comic muse was restrained from all indulgences of personal satire, however humorously drawn under the appearance of imaginary characters. The same fate attended the use of the middle comedy in England; and it is said, that the wit and humour of our modern Aristophanes, whose quarry in some of his pieces, particularly the Historical Register,' was higher game than in prudence he should have chosen, were principal instruments in provoking that law under which the British theatre has groaned ever since. It has been also observed by Warburton, the author of the Divine Legation,' that comic satire is like a two-edged sword, and is susceptible of great abuse; which he illustrates by an anecdote of the court of Charles II. "This weapon in the dissolute times of Charles II. completed the ruin of the best minister of that age. The historians tell us that chancellor Hyde was brought into his majesty's contempt by this odd court argument; they mimicked his walk and gesture, with a fire-shovel and bellows for the mace and purse. Thus, it being the representation, and not the object represented, which strikes the fancy, vice and virtue must fall indifferently before it." The objects, however, of Fielding's satire were always of a legitimate kind; and in no part of his works do we find anything like a sneer, either against religion or virtue. His farces partook all of the same character; they were admirable burlesque representations, and they were almost invariably successful. The production only of two or three mornings, and struck off in the heat of the moment, they nevertheless pleased the public, and still continue to enliven our winters on the stage, by the exquisite manner in which they hit the object at which they are aimed. "The representations," says Bishop Hurd, "of common nature may either be taken accurately, so as to reflect a faithful and exact image of their original, which alone is that I should call comedy; or they may be forced or overcharged above the simple and just proportions of nature, as when the excesses of a few are given for standing characters; when not the man in general, but the passion is described, or when, in the draught of the man, the leading feature is extended beyond measure; and in these cases, the representation holds of the province of farce." This is a just and accurate definition, and the farces of Fielding comprehend all that is required: the mock tragedy of Tom Thumb' is considered replete with as fine a parody as perhaps has ever been written; the Lottery,' The Intriguing Chambermaid,' and the Virgin Unmasked,' besides the real entertainment they afford, had also, on their first appearance, the merit of bringing out the comic genius of some of our best actresses. Of Mrs. Clive in particular, the author observes in one of his prefaces-"I cannot help reflecting that the town has one obligation to me, who made the first discovery of your just capacity, and brought you earlier forward on the theatre than the ignorance of some, and the envy of others, would otherwise have permitted. I shall not here dwell on anything so well known as your theatrical merit ; which one of the finest judges, and the greatest man of his age, hath acknowledged to exceed, in humour, that of any of your predecessors in his time." Notwithstanding the indisputable merit of some of his comic productions, Fielding's finances continued still in a dilapidated condition; for the remuneration he obtained was decidedly inadequate to his expenses. When we consider that by his own account he gained by the Wedding Day,' which was performed six nights with unremitted applause, only fifty pounds, we are not surprised that he should have required the occasional assistance of his friends. And fortunately he now extended his acquaintance, with a few persons of merit as well as distinction; and the refinement of modern clubs being unknown, the grand resort of literary wit and fashion, and too often of dissipation, were the favourite taverns of the day.* She But in the midst of his dramatic career, surrounded by the witty, the gay, and the idle, both in the greenroom, and in private circles, he was happily rescued from his growing habits of a reckless unsettled life, by the force of a virtuous attachment. Towards the end of 1734, when in the 27th year of his age, he became acquainted with a young lady from Salisbury, a Miss Cradock, whose beauty and accomplishments at once attracted and rivetted his affections. was possessed of little fortune, not exceeding fifteen hundred pounds; yet that was no bar to their immediate union; for where his feelings were deeply interested, Fielding was always a poor calculator of future expectancies. Nearly at the same time, by the death of his mother, he succeeded to a small estate at Stower in Dorsetshire, which produced an income of rather more than two hundred a year; a sum sufficient, together with the strenuous and welldirected exertion of his talents, to have secured him from anxiety, with regard to the important step which he had taken. After a brief residence in town, it is not surprising that he consulted his young bride's wishes, though scarcely in unison with his own, in retiring to their little estate in the country; he made indeed serious resolutions to abandon his town connexions, to bid adieu to the lighter pursuits and gaieties of his youth, and withdrawing entirely from the theatres, (with the exception of such pieces as he had already in progress,) to add to his still restricted income, by undertaking works which might obtain a more permanent hold upon the public favour. He was ardently attached to his wife, and in fact resolved, from that time, to become a prudent man (and few had stronger sense, or a more sound and penetrating judgment); to seek happiness where only it was to be found, in the performance of social duties, and the cultivation of domestic affections; add to these motives, the absorbing charms of study, (for like Cervantes, he was passionately attached to reading, and extending his ideas by all means within his reach,) and of literary composition, and there appeared every prospect of rational happiness, and even of an enviable life. But, alas! for the weakness of human vows, and the inconstancy of human wishes!-early habits arising from his family connexions, and mode of education, had cast their chains too firmly round him, and he was a remarkable example of the truth of our great moral poet's melancholy, but too well-founded sentiment, derived from close knowledge of the infirmity of the best natural disposition, however free from the worldly character: That young Harry Fielding, like Burns, and a few of that "vivacious species," was admirably gifted to do the honours of the Bacchanalian rites, to the infinite delight of Momus and his crew," making night jorial," there is little reason from all contemporary authorities to doubt; and as little we apprehend that early dissipation, want of regular habits, and excesses so difficult for genius to guard against, laid the ground-work of disease, and of that premature decay to which, in the prime of life, he fell a victim. "Weak and irresolute is man; The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan, And thus it was with one whose rare abilities, intimate knowledge of life, which he had often drawn and exposed with all its vices and weaknesses, and whose power of penetrating character gave him a pre-eminence in knowledge over other men; so that in his own words, while he saw and approved the best, he still followed the most dangerous path." Unfortunately, too, he was surrounded by neighbours whose superior wealth and studied ostentation, perhaps mingled with little oversights, and real or imaginary neglect, may have piqued his family pride, and gradually urged him into expenses and an appearance of ease and independence which his fortune was ill calculated to support. It is probable that he saw all the consequences of his conduct while attempting to vie in some degree with the landed gentry of the country, and to visit them on equal terms. He encumbered himself with a retinue of livery-servants, and kept his dogs and horses, with an improvidence seldom heard of even in the annals of authorship. Had he come into possession of more thousands than he had hundreds at command, he could not have assumed more gentlemanly confidence, more ease and equality in his intercourse with men of rank; and there is little doubt that, if circumstances had favoured him, no man was more eminently calculated, by his superior abilities and many estimable qualities, to have adorned a much higher and a more influential station. As a lordlieutenant of a county, as a judge or supreme magistrate, his sterling sense, bis extensive knowledge of the world, and of the characters and motives of men would have rendered him an invaluable public officer. But it is more than probable that the world would then have been deprived of those inimitable master-pieces upon which his reputation so broadly rests; for it is evident that their peculiar merit consists in being perfect transcripts of the author's own heart and mind, of his individual and original character and power of observation; that they were, in fact, the genuine productions of the great school of experience and adversity. Both in Joseph Andrews' and in 'Amelia' he may be said to have given us the real history of his life, with all its chequered incidents and events; its continual cares and anxieties; its brief impassioned intervals of social hilarity and enjoyment. In the retired country gentleman of Joseph Andrews,' who relates his adventures to parson Adams; and in his hero Booth, he as ingeniously and feelingly blended his own adventures, his own weaknesses and good qualities as a man. When Booth dwells upon his conjugal affection, upon his imprudence, and his fears for the life of his Amelia, it is still Henry Fielding who speaks. And we have also the authority of Richardson for asserting that his first wife sat for the favourite 'Amelia' of the author. When he describes Booth's fondness, from a boy, for driving a coach; his extending his farm, and forgetting the excellent advice of Dr. Harrison, he evidently reflects upon his own imprudence in yielding to his natural disposition for a social and independent style of living, in accordance rather with his early education and wishes than with prudential considerations. In other words "he set up his coach," and, with admirable strokes of ironical humour, he describes the result. "The consequence of setting up this poor old coach is inconceivable. Before this, as my wife and myself had very little distinguished ourselves from the other farmers and their wives, either in our dress or our way of living, they treated us as their equals ; |