he devil's advocate has the laugh distinctly
on his side, whatever may be said of the argument. Finally, we may say
that Lovelace, if too obviously constructed to work the plot, certainly
works it well. When we coolly dissect him and ask whether he could ever
have existed, we may be forced to reply in the negative. But whilst we
read we forget to criticise; he seems to possess more vitality than
most living men; he is so full of eloquent brag, and audacious
sophistry, and unblushing impudence, that he fascinates us as he is
supposed to have bewildered Clarissa. The dragon who is to devour the
maiden comes with all the flash and glitter and overpowering whirl of
wings that can be desired. He seems to be irresistible--we admire him
and hate him, and some time elapses before we begin to suspect that he
is merely a stage dragon, and not one of those who really walk this
earth.

Richardson's defects are, of course, obvious enough. He cares nothing,
for example, for what we call the beauties of nature. There is scarcely
throughout his books one description showing the power of appealing to
emotions through scenery claimed by every modern scribbler. In passing
the Alps, the only remark which one of his characters has to make,
beyond describing the horrible dangers of the Mont Cenis, is that 'every
object which here presents itself is excessively miserable.' His ideal
scenery is a 'large and convenient country-house, situated in a spacious
park,' with plenty of 'fine prospects,' which you are expected to view
from a 'neat but plain villa, built in the rustic taste.' And his views
of morality are as contracted as his taste in landscapes. The most
distinctive article of his creed is that children should have a
reverence for their parents which would be exaggerated in the slave of
an Eastern despot. We can pardon Clarissa for refusing to die happy
until her stupid and ill-tempered old father has revoked a curse which
he bestowed upon her. But we cannot quite excuse Sir Charles Grandison
for writing in this fashion to his disreputable old parent, who has
asked his consent to a certain family arrangement in which he had a
legal right to be consulted:--

'As for myself,' he says, 'I cannot have one objection; but what am I in
this case? My sister is wholly my father's; I also am his. The
consideration he gives me in this instance confounds me. It binds me to
him in double duty. It would look like taking advantage of it, were I so
m