Stanley. The not very usual form "Laurana," which is the name of a
character in his latest novel, is that of the heroine of _Parismus_.
Further, he had had curious early experiences (which we know from his
own meticulous revelations) of writing love-letters, when he was a mere
boy, for girl-friends of his to adapt in writing to their lovers. "His
eye," he says, "had been always on the ladies," though no doubt always
also in the most honourable way. And, quite recently, the
crystallisation had been precipitated by a commission from two of his
bookseller (i.e. publisher) patrons--the founder of the House of
Rivington and the unlucky Osborne who was knocked down by Johnson and
picked up (not quite as one would wish to be) by Pope. They asked him to
prepare a series of "Familiar Letters on the useful concerns of common
life." Five-and-twenty years before, he had heard in outline something
like the story of _Pamela_. In shaping this into letters he thought it
might be a "new species of writing that might possibly turn young people
into a course of reading different from the pomp and parade of
romance-writing, and dismissing the improbable and marvellous with which
novels generally abound, might tend to promote the cause of religion and
virtue." His wife and "a young lady living with them," to whom he had
read some of it, used to come into his little closet every night with,
"Have you any more of _Pamela_, Mr. R.?" Two other female friends joined
in the interest and eulogy. He finished it (that is, the first two
volumes which contain the whole of the original idea) and published it,
though at first with the business-like precaution of appearing to "edit"
only, and the more business-like liberty of liberal praise of what he
edited. It became at once popular: and received the often repeated, but
to the author very annoying, compliment of piratical continuation. So he
set to work and continued it himself: as usually (though by no means
invariably) with rather diminished success. On such points as the
suggestion that he may have owed a debt to Marivaux (in _Marianne_) and
others, little need be said here. I have never had much doubt myself
that the indebtedness existed: though it would be rash, and is
unnecessary, to attempt to determine to what extent and in what
particular form.

It is by no means so difficult as it may at first sight appear to put
oneself very much in the situation of a contemporary reader of _Pamela_,
even i