flinging a crown to each of the post-boys, on alighting from his chaise and four.

In the article of interviews, the two species of composition are pretty much on an equality; provided only, that they are supplied with a 'quantum sufficit' of moonlight, which is indispensably requisite; it being the etiquette for the moon to appear particularly conscious on these occasions. For the adorer, when permitted to pay his vows at the shrine of his divinity, custom has established in both cases a pretty universal form of prayer.

Thus far the writers of novel and romance seem to be on a very equal footing; to enjoy similar advantages, and to merit equal admiration. We are now come to a very material point, in which romance has but slender claims to comparative excellence; I mean the choice of names and titles. However lofty and sonorous the names of Amadis and Orlando; however tender and delicate may be those of Zorayda and Roxana, are they to be compared with the attractive alliteration, the seducing softness, of Lydia Lovemore, and Sir Harry Harlowe; of Frederic Freelove, and Clarissa Clearstarch? Or can the simple Don Belianis, of Greece,' or the Seven Champions of Christendom,' trick out so enticing a title-page, and awaken such pleasing expectations, as the 'Innocent Adultery,' the "Tears of Sensibility,' or the 'Amours of the Count de D***** and L-y

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2

It occurs to me while I am writing this, that as there has been of late years so considerable a consumption of names and titles, as to have exhausted all the efforts of invention, and ransacked all the alliterations of the alphabet; it may not be amiss to inform all novelists, male and female, who under these circumstances must necessarily wish, with Falstaff, to know where a commodity of good names may be bought,' that at my warehouse for

wit, I have laid in a great number of the above articles, of the most fashionable and approved patterns. Ladies may suit themselves with a vast variety, adapted to every composition of the kind; whether they may choose them to consist of two adjectives only, as the Generous Inconstant,'-the Fair Fugitive,'-or the name of a place, as 'Grogram Grove,'' Gander Green,' or whether they prefer the still newer method of coupling persons and things with an 'or,' as 'Louisa; or, the Purling Stream,'-'Estafina; or, the Abbey in the Dale,'Eliza; or, the Little House on the Hill.' Added to these, I have a complete assortment of names for every individual that can find a place in a novel; from the Belviles and Beverleys of high life, to the Humphreyses and Gubbinses of low; suited to all ages, ranks, and professions; to persons of every stamp, and characters of every denomination.

In painting the scenes of low life, the novel again enjoys the most decisive superiority. Romance indeed sometimes makes use of the grosser sentiments, and less refined affections of the squire and the confidant, as a foil to the delicate adoration, the platonic purity, which make the love of the hero, and suits the sensibility of his mistress. But where shall we find such a thorough knowledge of nature, such an insight into the human heart, as is displayed by our novelists; when, as an agreeable relief from the insipid sameness of polite insincerity, they condescend to portray in coarse colours, the workings of more genuine passions in the bosom of Dolly, the dairy-maid, or Hannah, the house-maid?

When on such grounds, and on a plan usually very similar to the one I have here endeavoured to sketch, are founded by far the greater number of those novels, which crowd the teeming catalogue of a circulating library; is it to be wondered at, that they are sought out with such avidity, and run

through with such delight, by all those (a considerable part of my fellow-citizens) who cannot resist the impulse of curiosity, or withstand the allurements of a title-page? Can we be surprised, that they look forward, with expecting eagerness, to that inundation of delicious nonsense, with which the press annually overflows; replete as it is with stories without invention, anecdotes without novelty, observations without aptness, and reflections without morality?

Under this description come the generality of these performances. There are, no doubt, a multitude of exceptions. The paths which a Fielding and a Richardson have trodden, must be sacred. Were I to profane these by impertinent criticism, I might with justice be accused of avowed enmity to wit; of open apostacy from true feeling, and true

taste.

But let me hope to stand excused from the charge of presumption, if even here I venture some observations, which I am confident must have occurred to many; and to which almost every body, when reminded of them, will be ready to give a hearty

concurrence.

Is not the novel of Tom Jones, however excellent a work of itself, generally put too early into our hands, and proposed too soon to the imitation of children? That it is a character drawn faithfully from nature, by the hand of a master, most accurately delineated, and most exquisitely finished, is indeed indisputable. But is it not also a character, in whose shades the lines of right and wrong, of propriety and misconduct, are so intimately blended, and softened into each other, as to render it too difficult for the indiscriminating eye of childhood to distinguish between rectitude and error? Are not its imperfections so nearly allied to excellence, and does not the excess of its good qualities bear so

strong an affinity to imperfection, as to require a more matured judgment, a more accurate penetration, to point out the line where virtue ends and vice begins? The arguments urged in opposition to this are, that it is a faithful copy of nature.-Undoubtedly it is but is nature to be held up to the view of childhood, in every light, however unamiable; to be exhibited in every attitude, however unbecoming? the hero's connexion with Miss Seagrim, for instance, and the supposed consequences of it are very natural no doubt; are they therefore objects worthy of imitation? But that a child must admire the character, is certain; that he should wish to imitate what he admires, follows of course; and that it is much more easy to imitate faults than excellences, is an observation too trite, I fear, not to. be well founded. A character virtuous and amiable in the aggregate, but vicious in particular parts, is much more dangerous to a mind, prone to imitation, as that of youth naturally is, than one wicked and vicious in the extreme. The one is an open assault of an avowed enemy, which every one has judgment to see, and consequently fortitude to resist; the other is the treacherous attack of an insidious invader; who makes the passions his agents to blind the judgment, and bribes the understanding to betray the heart.-Such is the character of Jones. He interests our affections at the moment that his actions revolt against our ideas of propriety; nor can even his infidelity to Sophia, however ungrateful, nor his connexion with Lady Bellastone, though perhaps the most degrading situation in which human nature can be viewed, materially lessen him in our esteem and admiration. On these grounds therefore, though there cannot be a more partial admirer of the work itself, I cannot hesitate a moment to consider that faultless monster' Sir Charles Grandison, whose insipid uniformity of goodness it

is fashionable to decry, far the more preferable to be held up to a child as an object of imitation. The only objection urged to this is, that Grandison is too perfect to be imitated with success. And to what does this argument amount? truly this, it tends to prove, that an imitator cannot come up to his original; consequently, the surest way to become a Jones, is to aim at being a Grandison: for according to that argument, let a man rate his virtues at the highest price, and the natural bias of his passions will make him bate something of his valuation. -Hence therefore the character of Grandison is assuredly the properer pattern of the two. An attempt at the imitation of that, must necessarily be productive of some attainment in virtue. The character of Jones can neither operate as an incitement to virtue, or a discouragement from vice. He is too faulty for the one, and too excellent for the other. Even his good qualities must, on an undiscerning mind, have a bad effect; since, by fascinating its affections, they render it blind to his foibles; and the character becomes the more dangerous, in proportion as it is the more amiable.

But to return from this long digression, to the consideration of novels in general. Some of my fellow-citizens may perhaps conjecture, that I have affected to undervalue them from interested motives; and that I would wean them from their study of them, for the purpose only of increasing the demand for my own lucubrations. To wipe off any suspicions of the kind, and to prove to them that my only motives are a view to their advantage, I promise, in the course of a few numbers, to point out to the observation, and recommend to the perusal of professed novel readers, a set of books, which they now treat with undeserved contempt, but from which I will prove, that they may derive at least as much entertainment, and certainly much more useful instruc