United States or Malaysia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
And yet it is a book for which all English readers have cause to be grateful, not only as a document on Smollett and his times, not only as being in a sense the raison d'etre of the Sentimental Journey, and the precursor in a very special sense of Humphry Clinker, but also as being intrinsically an uncommonly readable book, and even, I venture to assert, in many respects one of Smollett's best.
Smollett's employment of "the service" as a subject may have been, consciously and intentionally, only one of those utilisings of personal experience of which we have spoken. But really it was an instance of the great fact that the novelist, on the instigation mainly of Fielding himself, was beginning to take all actual life to be his province.
Bailey's account of his voyage to England is the best contemporary testimony to the truth of Smollett's pictures of sea-life that we ever met with, and we cannot sufficiently regret that the whole of his journal during his college-life was not published. Mr. Olmsted would be sure of a grateful recognition from posterity, if he would do for New England what he has done for the South.
Though this is notably less readable than the author's earlier works, still the wonder is that when the man is so far "off his beat," he should yet know so well how to meet the strange conditions which confront him. To one whose idea of Smollett's genius is formed entirely by Random and Pickle and Humphry Clinker, Ferdinand Count Fathom will offer many surprises.
He would lay down the book without a word, and take up Smith's Wealth of Nations or Smollett's England the profitable studies recommended, and speedily become lost in a dejected reverie, with fixed eyes and drooping lips. 'Though hawks can prey through storms and winds, The poor bee in her hive must dwell.
And is not this a "consummation devoutly to be wished?" Thy spirit, Independence, let me share; Lord of the lion-heart, and eagle-eye! Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky! Are not these noble verses? They are the introduction of Smollett's Ode to Independence: if you have not seen the poem, I will send it to you.
Gray had been at Leghorn, on his way to Rome; and now amuses his correspondent with the inconveniences of his journey under the auspices of a tippling companion, with his notions about Pisa and Italy in general, and with particulars of public intelligence from home, some of which relate to Smollett's old antagonist, Admiral Knowles. "I despaired of executing Mrs.
Coleridge admired the plot of "Tom Jones," but though one naturally hesitates to differ from a critic of such superb mastery and power, I confess I have never been struck by that plot, any more than by the plots, such as they are, in "Joseph Andrews," or in Smollett's works.
Smollett's heroes, one conceives, were intended to be fine, though not faultless young fellows; men, not plaster images; brave, generous, free-living, but, as Roderick finds once, when examining his conscience, pure from serious stains on that important faculty.
In comparison with his sphere, that in which Fielding walked was limited . . ." The second part of Scott's parallel between the men whom he considered the greatest of our novelists, qualifies the first. Smollett's invention was not richer than Fielding's, but the sphere in which he walked, the circle of his experience, was much wider.
Word Of The Day