in writing so as to prove
that his work is fictitious, but he almost necessarily hampers himself,
to the prejudice of his work, if he imposes upon himself the condition
that his book shall be capable of being mistaken for a genuine
narrative. Every good novelist lets us into secrets about the private
thoughts of his characters which it would be impossible to obtain in
real life. We do not, therefore, blame Richardson because his characters
have a power of writing which no mortal could ever attain. His fault,
indeed, is exactly the contrary. He very erroneously fancies that he is
bound to convince us of the possibility of all his machinery, and often
produces the very shock to our belief which he seeks to avoid. He is
constantly trying to account by elaborate devices for the fertile
correspondence of his characters, when it is perfectly plain that they
are simply writing a novel. We should never have asked a question as to
the authenticity of the letters, if he did not force the question upon
us; and no art can induce us for a moment to accept the proffered
illusion. For example, Miss Byron gives us a long account of
conversations between persons whom she did not know, which took place
ten years before. It is much better that the impossibility should be
frankly accepted, on the clear ground that authors of novels, and
consequently their creatures, have the prerogative of omniscience. At
least, the slightest account of the way in which she came by the
knowledge would be enough to satisfy us for all purposes of fiction.
Richardson is not content with this, and elaborately demonstrates that
she might have known a number of minute details which it is perfectly
plain that a real Miss Byron could never have known, and thus dashes
into our faces an improbability which we should have been quite content
to pass unnoticed.

The method, however, of telling the story by the correspondence of the
actors produces more important effects. The hundred and forty-four pages
in question are all devoted to the proceedings of three days. They are
filled, for the most part, with interminable conversations. The story
advances by a very few steps; but we know all that every one of the
persons concerned has to say about the matter. We discover what was Sir
Charles Grandison's relation at a particular time to a certain Italian
lady, Clementina. We are told exactly what view he took of his own
position; what view Clementina took of it; what Miss B