to confirm Johnson's statement, is given by Boswell, on authority of a lady who was present when the circumstance took place. A gentleman, who had lately been at Paris, sought, while in a large company at Richardson's villa at North-End, to gratify the landlord, by informing him that he had seen his Clarissa lying on the king's brother's table. 1 Richardson observing that a part of the company were engaged in conversation apart, affected not to hear what had been said, but took advantage of the first general pause, to address the gentleman with— "Sir, I think you were saying something about❞— and then stopped, in a flutter of expectation; which his guest mortified, by replying, "A mere trifle, sir, not worth repeating."2 ter was given at the house of a venerable Scottish Judge, now no more, who was so great an admirer of Sir Charles Grandison, that he was said to have read that work over once every year in the course of his life. 1 ["Mr Northcote relates, that Johnson introduced Sir Joshua Reynolds and his sister to Richardson, but hinted to them, at the same time, that, if they wished to see the latter in good humour, they must expatiate on the excellences of 'Clarissa;' and Mrs Piozzi tells us, that, when talking of Richardson, he once said, 'You think I love flattery-and so I do; but a little too much always disgusts me that fellow Richardson, on the contrary, could not be contented to sail quietly down the stream of reputation, without longing to taste the froth from every stroke of the oar.'"-CROKER'S Boswell, vol. i., p. 210.] 2 Johnson himself felt pride on finding his Dictionary in Lord Scarsdale's dressing-room, and pointed it out to his friend, with the classical quotation, Quæ terra nostri non plena laboris? Yet, under correction of both these great authors, the more substantial fame is to find a popular work, not in the closet of the great, who buy every book which bears a name, but in the cabins of the poor, who must have made some sacrifice to effect the purchase. The truth seems to be, that Richardson, by nature shy, and of a nervous constitution, limited also by a very narrow education, cared not to encounter in conversation with those rougher spirits of the age, where criticism might have had too much severity in it. And he seems to have been reserved even in the presence of Johnson, though bound to him by obligation, and although that mighty aristarch professed to have the talent of "making him rear," and of calling forth his powers. Nor does he appear to have associated much with any of the distinguished geniuses of the age, saving Dr Young, with whom he corresponded late in life. Aaron Hill, who patriotically endeavoured to make him a convert to wines of British manufacture; and Mr Edwards, author of the Canons of Criticism, though both clever men, do not deserve to be mentioned as exceptions. The society of Richardson was limited to a little circle of amiable and accomplished persons, who were contented to allow a central position to the author of Clarissa, and to revolve around him in inferior orbits. The families of Highmore and Duncombe produced more than one individual of this description; and besides Mrs Donellan, and 1 ["Richardson had little conversation except about his own works, of which Sir Joshua Reynolds said he was always willing to talk, and glad to have them introduced. Johnson, when he carried Mr Langton to see him, professed that he could bring him out into conversation, and used this allusive expression- Sir, I can make him rear.' But he failed; for, in that interview, Richardson said little else than that there lay in the room a translation of his Clarissa into German." -CROKER'S Boswell, vol. v., p. 360.] ; the Miss Fieldings, whom Richardson loved, notwithstanding the offences of their brother, there was a Miss Mulso, Miss Westcombe, and other ladies besides, full of veneration for the kind instructor, whom they were permitted to term their adopted father. Mrs Charlotte Lennox was also a regular visitor at Parsons-Green, and scarce could remember a visit in which her host had not rehearsed at least one, but probably two or three, voluminous letters, if he found her in the humour of listening with attention. While Clarissa and Sir Charles Grandison were in progress, Richardson used to read a part of his labours to some of this chosen circle every morning, and receive, it may readily be supposed, a liberal tribute of praise, with a very moderate portion of criticism. Miss Highmore, who inherited a paternal taste for painting, has recorded one of those scenes in a small drawing, where Richardson, in a morning-gown and cap, is introduced reading the manuscript of Sir Charles Grandison to such a little group. This was all very amiable, though perhaps bordering on an effeminate love of flattery and applause ; but it must be owned that our author disdained not flattery from less pure hands than those of his ordinary companions. We will not dwell upon poor Lætitia Pilkington, whose wants, rather than her extravagant praises, may be supposed to have conciliated the kindness of Richardson, notwithstanding the infamy of her character;' but we are rather ["See Mrs Pilkington's Memoirs, vol. ii., p. 238; and Niccoll's Literary Anecdotes, vol. iv., p. 583. It may be scandalized that the veteran iniquity of old Cibber should not have excluded him from the intimacy of the virtuous Richardson, and that the grey profligate could render himself acceptable to the author of Sir Charles Grandison by such effusions of vulgar vivacity as the following, which we cannot forbear inserting :-" I have just finished the sheets you favoured me with; but never found so strong a proof of your sly ill-nature, as to have hung me up upon tenters till I see you again. Z-ds! I have not patience, till I know what's become of her. Why, you! I don't know what to call you! -Ah! ah! you may laugh if you please: but how be able to look me in the face, if the lady should ever be able to show hers again? What piteous, d-d, disgraceful pickle have you plunged her in? For God's sake send me the sequel; or -I don't know what to say!"-Yet another delectable quotation from the letters of that merry old good-for-nothing, which, as addressed by a rake of the theatre to the most sentimental author of the age, and as referring to one of his favourite and most perfect characters, is, in its way, a matchless specimen of elegant vivacity." The delicious meal I made of Miss Byron on Sunday last, has given me an appetite for another slice of her, off from the spit, before she is served up to the public table; will you worth noting, that Lætitia describes herself as calling on Richardson in an undress, never having formed any great idea of a printer by those she had seen in Ireland,' and being 'extremely surprised when she was directed to a house of very grand outward appearance.""] Correspondence of Richardson, vol. ii., p. 172, 173. if about five o'clock to-morrow afternoon will not be inconvenient, Mrs Brown and I will come and piddle upon a bit more of her: but pray let your whole family, with Mrs Richardson at the head of them, come in for their share."1 An appetite for praise, and an over-indulgence of that appetite, not only teaches an author to be gratified with the applause of the unworthy, and to prefer it to the censure of the wise, but it leads to the less pardonable error of begrudging others their due share of public favour. Richardson was too good, too kind a man to let literary envy settle deep in his bosom, yet an overweening sense of his own importance seems to have prevented his doing entire justice to the claims of those who might be termed his rivals. He appears to have been rather too prone to believe ill of those authors, against whose works exceptions, in point of delicacy, might justly be taken. He has inserted in his Correspondence an account of Swift's earlier life, highly injurious to the character of that eminent writer, and which the industry of Dr Barrett has since shown to be a gross misrepresentation. The same tone of feeling has made him denounce, with the utmost severity, the indecorum of Tristram Shandy, without that tribute of applause which, in every view of the case, was so justly due to the genius of the author, and which would have come with particular propriety from Richardson, himself a master of the pathetic style of composition. Richardson seems also to have joined Aaron Hill in the cuckoo-song, that Pope had written himself out 1 Correspondence of Richardson, vol. ii., p. 176. |