was the more striking
that it was new. His study of human nature had begun early in life. "I
was not more than thirteen," he says, "when three young women, unknown
to each other, having an high opinion of my taciturnity, revealed to me
their love secrets, in order to induce me to give them copies to write
after, or correct, for answers to their lovers' letters. * * * I have
been directed to chide, and even repulse, when an offence was either
taken or given, at the very time when the heart of the chider or
repulser was open before me, overflowing with esteem and affection; and
the fair repulser, dreading to be taken at her word, directed _this_
word, or _that_ expression, to be softened or changed. One, highly
gratified with her lover's fervor and vows of everlasting love, has
said, when I have asked her direction, _I cannot tell you what to
write; but_ (her heart on her lips) _you cannot write too
kindly_."[171] With such an apprenticeship, Richardson had come to
possess a very delicate perception of character, and especially of
female character. There was a certain effeminacy in his own nature
which made him understand women better than men. His best creations are
Pamela and Clarissa. Lovelace and Grandison are drawn from the outside;
they are less real and natural. But Richardson leads his reader into
the inmost recesses of his heroines' hearts. He is at home in
describing the fears, the trials, and the final childlike rejoicings of
Pamela. He attains to a high tragic effect in the death of Clarissa, a
scene which Sir James Mackintosh ranked with Hume's description of the
death of Mary Stuart. In this power to touch the heart and to move the
passions of his reader lay the charm of Richardson's writing. But to
paint perfection, rather than to study nature, was his object in "Sir
Charles Grandison," and therefore that novel was less powerful in the
author's day, and is less interesting in ours than "Pamela" and
"Clarissa." We no longer need the example of the pompous Sir Charles to
dissuade us from indecent language and drunkenness in a lady's
drawing-room, and we can only laugh at the studied propriety of his
faultless intercourse with Miss Byron:

He kissed my hand with fervor, dropped down on one knee; again
kissed it--You have laid me, madam, under everlasting obligation;
and will you permit me before I rise--loveliest of women, will you
permit me to beg an early day?--

He clasped me in his; a