men of Fielding's genius: for though he amassed a
considerable quantity of law, was reputed to be a good speaker, and had
a great wit, and a knowledge of human nature which might serve him in
excellent stead, it is to be remarked that those without a certain
degree of patience and conduct will not insure a man's triumph at the
bar, and so Fielding never rose to be a Lord Chancellor or even a judge.

His days of trouble had now begun in earnest, and indeed he met them
like a man. He wrote incessantly for the periodical works of the day,
issued pamphlets, made translations, published journals and criticisms,
turned his hand, in a word, to any work that offered, and lived as best
he might. This indiscriminate literary labor, which obliges a man to
scatter his intellects upon so many trifles, and to provide weekly
varieties as sets-off against the inevitable weekly butcher's bills, has
been the ruin of many a man of talent since Fielding's time, and it was
lucky for the world and for him that at a time of life when his powers
were at the highest he procured a place which kept him beyond the reach
of weekly want, and enabled him to gather his great intellects together
and produce the greatest satire and two of the most complete romances in
our language.

Let us remark, as a strong proof of the natural honesty of the man, the
exquisite art of these performances, the care with which the situations
are elaborated, and the noble, manly language corrected. When Harry
Fielding was writing for the week's bread, we find style and sentiment
both careless, and plots hastily worked off. How could he do otherwise?
Mr. Snap, the bailiff, was waiting with a writ without--his wife and
little ones asking wistfully for bread within. Away, with all its
imperfections on its head, the play or the pamphlet must go. Indeed, he
would have been no honest man had he kept them longer on his hands, with
such urgent demands upon him as he had.

But as soon as he is put out of the reach of this base kind of want, his
whole style changes, and instead of the reckless and slovenly
hack-writer, we have one of the most minute and careful artists that
ever lived. Dr. Beattie gave his testimony to the merit of "Tom Jones."
Moral or immoral, let any man examine this romance as a work of art
merely, and it must strike him as the most astonishing production of
human ingenuity. There is not an incident ever so trifling but advances
the story, grows out of forme