e anxious to marry him,
which is almost comic; he is perfectly ready to marry the Italian lady,
if she can surmount her religious scruples, though he is in love with
Miss Byron; and his mind is evidently in a pleasing state of
equilibrium, so that he will be happy with either dear charmer. Indeed,
for so chivalric a gentleman, his view of love and marriage is far less
enthusiastic than we should now require. One of his benevolent actions,
which throws all his admirers into fits of eulogy, is to provide one of
his uncles with a wife. The gentleman is a peer, but has hitherto been
of disreputable life. The lady, though of good family and education, is
above thirty, and her family have lost their estate. The match of
convenience which Sir Charles patches up between them has obvious
prudential recommendations; and of course it turns out admirably. But
one is rather puzzled to know what special merits Sir Charles can claim
for bringing it to pass.

Such a hero as this may be worthy and respectable, but is not a very
exalted ideal. Neither do his circumstances increase our interest. It
would be rather a curious subject of inquiry why it should be so
impossible to make a virtuous hero interesting in fiction. In real life,
the men who do heroic actions are certainly more attractive than the
villains. Domestic affection, patriotism, piety, and other good
qualities are pleasant to contemplate in the world; why should they be
so often an unspeakable bore in novels? Principally, no doubt, because
our conception of a perfect man is apt to bring the negative qualities
into too great prominence; we are asked to admire men because they have
not passions--not because they overcome them. But there are further
difficulties; for example, in a novel it is generally so easy to see
what is wrong and what is right--the right-hand path branches off so
decidedly from the left, that we give a man little credit for making the
proper choice. Still more is it difficult to let us sufficiently into a
man's interior to let us see the struggle and the self-sacrifice which
ought to stir our sympathies. We witness the victories, but it is hard
to make us feel the cost at which they are won. Now, Richardson has, as
we shall directly remark, overcome this difficulty to a great extent in
Clarissa; but in Sir Charles Grandison he has entirely shirked it; he
has made everything too plain and easy for his hero. 'I think I could be
a good woman,' says Becky Shar