ur, but artistically appropriate.
The contrast between the world and its simple-minded inhabitant is the
more forcible in proportion to the firmness and solidity of Fielding's
touch. Uncle Toby proves that Sterne had preserved enough tenderness to
make an exquisite plaything of his emotions. The Vicar of Wakefield
proves that Goldsmith had preserved a childlike innocence of
imagination, and could retire from duns and publishers to an idyllic
world of his own. Joseph Andrews proves that Fielding was neither a
child nor a sentimentalist, but that he had learnt to face facts as they
are, and set a true value on the best elements of human life. In the
midst of vanity and vexation of spirit he could find some comfort in
pure and strong domestic affection. He can indulge his feelings without
introducing the false note of sentimentalism, or condescending to tone
his pictures with rose-colour. He wants no illusions. The exemplary Dr.
Harrison in 'Amelia' held no action unworthy of him which could protect
an innocent person or 'bring a rogue to the gallows.' Good Parson Adams
could lay his cudgel on the back of a villain with hearty goodwill. He
believes too easily in human goodness, but there is not a maudlin fibre
in his whole body. He would not be the man to cry over a dead donkey
whilst children are in want of bread. He would be slower than the
excellent Dr. Primrose to believe in the reformation of a villain by
fine phrases, and if he fell into such a weakness, his biographer would
not, like Goldsmith, be inclined to sanction the error. A villain is
induced to reform, indeed, by the sight of Amelia's excellence, but
Fielding is careful to tell us that the change was illusory, and that
the villain ended on a gallows. We are made sensible that if Adams had
his fancies they were foibles, and therefore sources of misfortune. We
are to admire the childlike character, but not to share its illusions.
The world is not made of moonshine. Hypocrisy, cruelty, avarice, and
lust have to be stamped out by hard blows, not cured by delicate
infusion of graceful sentimentalisms.

So far Fielding's portrait of an ideal character is all the better for
his masculine grasp of fact. It must, however, be admitted that he fails
a little on the other side of the contrast. He believes in a good heart,
but scarcely in very lofty motive. He tells us in 'Tom Jones'[15] that
he has painted no perfect character, because he never happened to meet
one. His