s Lamb says finely of Jones, that
a single hearty laugh from him "clears the air"--but then it is in a
certain state of the atmosphere. It might clear the air when such
personages as Blifil or Lady Bellaston poison it. But I fear very much
that (except until the very last scene of the story), when Mr. Jones
enters Sophia's drawing-room, the pure air there is rather tainted with
the young gentleman's tobacco-pipe and punch. I can't say that I think Mr.
Jones a virtuous character; I can't say but that I think Fielding's
evident liking and admiration for Mr. Jones, shows that the great
humourist's moral sense was blunted by his life, and that here in Art and
Ethics, there is a great error. If it is right to have a hero whom we may
admire, let us at least take care that he is admirable: if, as is the plan
of some authors (a plan decidedly against their interests, be it said), it
is propounded that there exists in life no such being, and therefore that
in novels, the picture of life, there should appear no such character;
then Mr. Thomas Jones becomes an admissible person, and we examine his
defects and good qualities, as we do those of Parson Thwackum, or Miss
Seagrim. But a hero with a flawed reputation; a hero spunging for a
guinea; a hero who can't pay his landlady, and is obliged to let his
honour out to hire, is absurd, and his claim to heroic rank untenable. I
protest against Mr. Thomas Jones holding such rank at all. I protest even
against his being considered a more than ordinary young fellow,
ruddy-cheeked, broad-shouldered, and fond of wine and pleasure. He would
not rob a church, but that is all; and a pretty long argument may be
debated, as to which of these old types, the spendthrift, the hypocrite,
Jones and Blifil, Charles and Joseph Surface,--is the worst member of
society and the most deserving of censure. The prodigal Captain Booth is a
better man than his predecessor Mr. Jones, in so far as he thinks much
more humbly of himself than Jones did: goes down on his knees, and owns
his weaknesses, and cries out, "Not for my sake, but for the sake of my
pure and sweet and beautiful wife Amelia, I pray you, O critical reader,
to forgive me." That stern moralist regards him from the bench (the
judge's practice out of court is not here the question), and says,
"Captain Booth, it is perfectly true that your life has been disreputable,
and that on many occasions you have shown yourself to be no better than a
scamp--you