n the heyday of
his spirits and the prodigal outpouring of his jovial good humor, he
could give a hand to many "a lad and lass" whom the squeamish world
would turn its back on (indeed, there was a virtue in his benevolence,
but we dare not express our sympathies now for poor Doll Tearsheet and
honest Mistress Quickly)--if he led a sad riotous life, and mixed with
many a bad woman in his time, his heart was pure, and he knew a good one
when he found her. He married, and (though Sir Walter Scott speaks
rather slightingly of the novel in which Fielding has painted his first
wife) the picture of Amelia, in the story of that name, is (in the
writer's humble opinion) the most beautiful and delicious description of
a character that is to be found in any writer, not excepting Shakspeare.
It is a wonder how old Richardson, girded at as he had been by the
reckless satirist--how Richardson, the author of "Pamela," could have
been so blinded by anger and pique as not to have seen the merits of his
rival's exquisite performance.

Amelia was in her grave when poor Fielding drew this delightful portrait
of her; but, with all his faults, and extravagancies, and vagaries, it
is not hard to see how such a gentle, generous, loving creature as
Fielding was, must have been loved and prized by her. She had a little
fortune of her own, and he at this time inherited a small one from his
mother. He carried her to the country, and like a wise, prudent Henry
Fielding as he was, who, having lived upon nothing very jovially for
some years, thought L5,000 or L6,000 an endless wealth; he kept horses
and hounds, flung his doors open, and lived with the best of his
country. When he had spent his little fortune, and saw that there was
nothing for it but to work, he came to London, applied himself fiercely
to the law, seized upon his pen again, never lost heart for a moment,
and, be sure, loved his poor Amelia as tenderly as ever he had done. It
is a pity that he did not live on his income, that is certain: it is a
pity that he had not been born a lord, or a thrifty stock broker at the
very least; but we should not have had "Joseph Andrews" if this had been
the case, and indeed it is probable that Amelia liked him quite as well
after his ruin as she would have done had he been as rich as Rothschild.

The biographers agree that he would have been very successful at the
bar, but for certain circumstances. These ugly circumstances always fall
in the way of