ted to few set analyses or summary descriptions, but by constantly
reading their letters and listening to their talk we gradually form an
opinion of the actors. We see them, too, all round; instead of, as is
usual in modern novels, regarding them steadily from one point of view;
we know what each person thinks of everyone else, and what everyone else
thinks of him; they are brought into a stereoscopic distinctness by
combining the different aspects of their character. Of course, a method
of this kind involves much labour on the part both of writer and reader.
It is evident that Richardson did not think of amusing a stray half-hour
in a railway-carriage or in a club smoking-room; he counted upon readers
who would apply themselves seriously to a task, in the hope of improving
their morals as much as of gaining some harmless amusement. This theory
is explicitly set forth in Warburton's preface to 'Clarissa.' But it
must also be said that, considering the cumbrous nature of the process,
the spirit with which it is applied is wonderful. Richardson's own
interest in his actors never flags. The distinct style of every
correspondent is faithfully preserved with singular vivacity. When we
have read a few letters we are never at a loss to tell, from the style
alone of any short passage, who is the imaginary author. Consequently,
readers who can bear to have their amusement diluted, who are content
with an imperceptibly slow development of plot, and can watch without
impatience the approach of a foreseen incident through a couple of
volumes, may find the prolixity less intolerable than might be expected.
If they will be content to skip when they are bored, even less patient
students may be entertained with a series of pictures of character and
manners skilfully contrasted and brilliantly coloured, though with a
limited allowance of incident. Within his own sphere, no writer exceeds
him in clearness and delicacy of conception.

In another way, the machinery of a fictitious correspondence is rather
troublesome. As the author never appears in his own person, he is often
obliged to trust his characters with trumpeting their own virtues. Sir
Charles Grandison has to tell us himself of his own virtuous deeds; how
he disarms ruffians who attack him in overwhelming numbers, and converts
evil-doers by impressive advice; and, still more awkwardly, he has to
repeat the amazing compliments which everybody is always paying him.
Richardson does