often degenerating into sentimentality, and by analysis—­the subjective method; Fielding by satire and humor (often coarse, sometimes bitter) and the wide envisagement of action and scene—­the method objective.  Richardson exhibits a somewhat straitened propriety and a narrow didactic tradesman’s morality, with which we are now out of sympathy.  Fielding, on the contrary, with the abuse of his good gift for tolerant painting of seamy human nature, gives way often to an indulgence of the lower instincts of mankind which, though faithfully reflecting his age, are none the less unpleasant to modern taste.  Both are men of genius, Fielding’s being the larger and more universal:  nothing but genius could have done such original things as were achieved by the two.  Nevertheless, set beside the great masters of fiction who were to come, and who will be reviewed in these pages, they are seen to have been excelled in art and at least equaled in gift and power.  So much we may properly claim for the marvelous growth and ultimate degree of perfection attained by the best novel-makers of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.  It remains now to show what part was played in the eighteenth century development by certain other novelists, who, while not of the supreme importance of these two leaders, yet each and all contributed to the shaping of the new fiction and did their share in leaving it at the century’s end a perfected instrument, to be handled by a finished artist like Jane Austen.  We must take some cognizance, in special, of writers like Smollett and Sterne and Goldsmith—­potent names, evoking some of the pleasantest memories open to one who browses in the rich meadow lands of English literature.

CHAPTER IV

DEVELOPMENTS; SMOLLETT, STERNE AND OTHERS

The popularity of Richardson and Fielding showed itself in a hearty public welcome:  and also in that sincerest form of flattery, imitation.  Many authors began to write the new fiction.  Where once a definite demand is recognized in literature, the supply, more or less machine-made, is sure to follow.

In the short quarter of a century between “Pamela” and “The Vicar of Wakefield,” the Novel got its growth, passed out of leading strings into what may fairly be called independence and maturity:  and by the time Goldsmith’s charming little classic was written, the shelves were comfortably filled with novels recent or current, giving contemporary literature quite the air so familiar to-day.  Only a little later, we find the Gentleman’s Magazine, a trustworthy reporter of such matters, speaking of “this novel-writing age.”  The words were written in 1773, a generation after Richardson had begun the form.  Still more striking testimony, so far back as 1755, when Richardson’s maiden story was but a dozen years old, a writer in “The Connoisseur” is facetiously proposing to establish a factory for the fashioning of novels, with one, a master workman, to furnish plots and subordinates to fill in the details—­an anticipation of the famous literary menage of Dumas pere.