The Fortunes of Nigel | Page 7

as the poor tick of a solitary
death-watch in the wainscot. All is clear and above board--a Scots
metaphysician might believe every word of it.
_Captain._ And the story is, I hope, natural and probable; commencing
strikingly, proceeding naturally, ending happily--like the course of a
famed river, which gushes from the mouth of some obscure and
romantic grotto--then gliding on, never pausing, never precipitating its
course, visiting, as it were, by natural instinct, whatever worthy
subjects of interest are presented by the country through which it
passes--widening and deepening in interest as it flows on; and at length
arriving at the final catastrophe as at some mighty haven, where ships
of all kinds strike sail and yard?
_Author._ Hey! hey! what the deuce is all this? Why,'tis Ercles' vein,
and it would require some one much more like Hercules than I, to
produce a story which should gush, and glide, and never pause, and
visit, and widen, and deepen, and all the rest on't. I should be chin-
deep in the grave, man, before I had done with my task; and, in the
meanwhile, all the quirks and quiddities which I might have devised for
my reader's amusement, would lie rotting in my gizzard, like Sancho's
suppressed witticisms, when he was under his master's

displeasure.--There never was a novel written on this plan while the
world stood.
_Captain._ Pardon me--Tom Jones.
_Author._ True, and perhaps Amelia also. Fielding had high notions of
the dignity of an art which he may be considered as having founded. He
challenges a comparison between the Novel and the Epic. Smollett, Le
Sage, and others, emancipating themselves from the strictness of the
rules he has laid down, have written rather a history of the
miscellaneous adventures which befall an individual in the course of
life, than the plot of a regular and connected epopeia, where every step
brings us a point nearer to the final catastrophe. These great masters
have been satisfied if they amused the reader upon the road; though the
conclusion only arrived because the tale must have an end-- just as the
traveller alights at the inn, because it is evening.
_Captain._ A very commodious mode of travelling, for the author at
least. In short, sir, you are of opinion with Bayes--"What the devil does
the plot signify, except to bring in fine things?"
_Author._ Grant that I were so, and that I should write with sense and
spirit a few scenes unlaboured and loosely put together, but which had
sufficient interest in them to amuse in one corner the pain of body; in
another, to relieve anxiety of mind; in a third place, to unwrinkle a
brow bent with the furrows of daily toil; in another, to fill the place of
bad thoughts, or to suggest better; in yet another, to induce an idler to
study the history of his country; in all, save where the perusal
interrupted the discharge of serious duties, to furnish harmless
amusement,--might not the author of such a work, however
inartificially executed, plead for his errors and negligences the excuse
of the slave, who, about to be punished for having spread the false
report of a victory, saved himself by exclaiming--"Am I to blame, O
Athenians, who have given you one happy day?"
_Captain._ Will your goodness permit me to mention an anecdote of
my excellent grandmother?
_Author._ I see little she can have to do with the subject, Captain
Clutterbuck.
_Captain._ It may come into our dialogue on Bayes's plan.--The
sagacious old lady--rest her soul!--was a good friend to the church, and
could never hear a minister maligned by evil tongues, without taking

his part warmly. There was one fixed point, however, at which she
always abandoned the cause of her reverend _protege_--it was so soon
as she learned he had preached a regular sermon against slanderers and
backbiters.
_Author._ And what is that to the purpose?
_Captain._ Only that I have heard engineers say, that one may betray
the weak point to the enemy, by too much ostentation of fortifying it.
_Author._ And, once more I pray, what is that to the purpose?
_Captain._ Nay, then, without farther metaphor, I am afraid this new
production, in which your generosity seems willing to give me some
concern, will stand much in need of apology, since you think proper to
begin your defence before the case is on trial.-The story is hastily
huddled up, I will venture a pint of claret.
_Author._ A pint of port, I suppose you mean?
_Captain._ I say of claret--good claret of the Monastery. Ah, sir, would
you but take the advice of your friends, and try to deserve at least
one-half of the public favour you have met with, we might all drink
Tokay!
_Author._ I care not what I drink, so