ourable
view: Smollett, his nervous system apart, was manly and kindly.

As regards plot, "Roderick Random" is a mere string of picturesque
adventures. It is at the opposite pole from "Tom Jones" in the matter of
construction. There is no reason why it should ever stop except the
convenience of printers and binders. Perhaps we lay too much stress on
the somewhat mechanical art of plot-building. Fielding was then setting
the first and best English example of a craft in which the very greatest
authors have been weak, or of which they were careless. Smollett was
always rather more incapable, or rather more indifferent, in
plot-weaving, than greater men.

In our day of royalties, and gossip about the gains of authors, it would
be interesting to know what manner and size of a cheque Smollett received
from his publisher, the celebrated Mr. Osborne. We do not know, but
Smollett published his next novel "on commission," "printed for the
Author"; so probably he was not well satisfied with the pecuniary result
of "Roderick Random." Thereby, says Dr. Moore, he "acquired much more
reputation than money." So he now published "The Regicide" "by
subscription, that method of publication being then more reputable than
it has been thought since" (1797). Of "The Regicide," and its unlucky
preface, enough, or more, has been said. The public sided with the
managers, not with the meritorious orphan.

For the sake of pleasure, or of new experiences, or of economy, Smollett
went to Paris in 1750, where he met Dr. Moore, later his biographer, the
poetical Dr. Akenside, and an affected painter. He introduced the poet
and painter into "Peregrine Pickle"; and makes slight use of a group of
exiled Jacobites, including Mr. Hunter of Burnside. In 1750, there were
Jacobites enough in the French capital, all wondering very much where
Prince Charles might be, and quite unconscious that he was their
neighbour in a convent in the Rue St. Dominique. Though Moore does not
say so (he is provokingly economical of detail), we may presume that
Smollett went wandering in Flanders, as does Peregrine Pickle. It is
curious that he should introduce a Capucin, a Jew, and a black-eyed
damsel, all in the Ghent diligence, when we know that Prince Charles did
live in Ghent, with the black-eyed Miss Walkenshaw, did go about
disguised as a Capucin, and was tracked by a Jewish spy, while the other
spy, Young Glengarry, styled himself "Pickle." But all those