something of the strength and also the coarseness of Churchill. They were well calculated to raise him enemies.

In 1748 Smollet began his career of a novelwriter by publishing The Life and Adventures of Roderick Random, a work replete with humour and character, for a long time universally read by novel-readers, and still a favourite, as are all Smollet's, with those who can overlook their grossness, vulgarity, and licentious morals. Smollet seems to have taken Le Sage in his Gil Blas and Scarron in his Roman Comique for his models.

Roderick Random, like Gil Blas, has little or nothing of regular plot, and no interest is excited for the hero, whose name serves to string together a number of adventures. This work is in a great measure the history of the author's own life. The novel opens with the story of a young couple turned out of doors by their father on account of an imprudent match, and their consequent distress. It is natural and affecting. The cool selfish character of the parent, the scene of the female relations besieging his deathbed, the opening of the will, and the disap-. pointment of the gaping cousins, are all admirably drawn, and probably contain much of the author's own story on the death of his grandfather. The character of a British tar is pourtrayed in that of Tom Bowling, uncle to the hero of the piece. It has been the original of most sailor characters which have been since exhibited. He his drawn brave, blunt, generous, enthusiastically fond of his profession, and with

a mixture of surliness in the expression of his kindest affections. There is an admirable stroke of nature in his behaviour when, after attending the opening of the will, he walks away with his nephew, indignant that nothing had been left him. Full of vexation, he quickens his pace, and walks so fast that the poor lad cannot keep up with him; upon which he calls out to himn with a cross tone, "What! must I bring-to every moment for you, you lazy dog?" his anger thus venting itself on the very person on whose account that anger was excited. Into this novel the author has introduced an account of the expedition to Carthagena, and has given a strong and disgusting picture of the manner of living on board a man of war. It must give pleasure to the reader of the present day to consider how much the attention to health, cleanliness, and accommodation, in respect to our navy, has increased since that account was written. Still, it is probable nothing can present a more horrible sight than the deck of a man of war after a battle. Many of the characters in these volumes are said to be portraits, Strap the barber, schoolfellow and humble friend of Random, was one Hugh Hewson, whose death was lately announced in the papers. Captain Whiffle was a particular nobleman. Much of the work is filled up with low jokes, and laughable stories, such as one may suppose had been circulated in a club over a bottle. Some incidental particulars mark the state of accommodations at that time. Roderick Random comes to London with the pack-horses, there

being then no stage waggon, and the inventory of his goods and linen was very probably Smollet's own.

Towards the hero of this tale the reader feels little interest; but after he has been led through a variety of adventures, in which he exhibits as little of the amiable qualities as of the more respectable ones, the author, according to the laudable custom of novel-writers, leaves him in possession of a beautiful wife and a good estate.

In the summer of 1750 Dr. Smollet took a trip to Paris, and laid in a fund for a new display of character in his Peregrine Pickle. This is a work even more faulty than the former in its violation of decency and good morals. It has two or three characters of sailors not devoid of humour, though inferior to his first sketch of Tom Bowling. Commodore Trunnion is so rough and bearish, as scarcely to be like any thing human. He is the Caliban of Smollet. The wife is still more overcharged. Peregrine himself is a proud, disagreeable, ungrateful boy, vicious as soon as he could know what vice was, and who had deserved to be hanged long before the end of the first volume. The most entertaining and original part of Peregrine is the account of a classical feast, supposed to have been held by a learned physician and other gentlemen after the manner of the ancients. In this there is humour and a display of learning, though in the former it is inferior to Scriblerus. Dr. Akenside was meant to be marked out by the physician, and a painter whom he met at Paris furnished the character of Pallet.

The author has in this work shown his predilection for the party of the Stuarts, by introducing in a touching manner some Scottish gentlemen under exile for having engaged in the rebellion of 1745, whom Peregrine is supposed to meet at Boulogne, and who go every day to the sea-side to gaze with fond affection on the white cliffs of Britain, which they were never more to behold but at a distance. This Dr. Moore mentions as a real incident he was himself witness to, being with Smollet at the time. Many strictures on the government and manners of France are introduced into this work; some of them just, but tinged with that prejudice against French manners which he had deeply imbibed, and which showed itself afterwards in his travels.

The Memoirs of a Lady of Pleasure, Lady Vane, written by herself, are introduced into this work. They excited interest at the time, the lady being then much talked of, but can only now raise astonishment at the assurance which could give such a life without compunction.

It is probable that Smollet had been struck with the objections which must have been made to these two novels, that no poetical justice is exercised on the characters; for in his next piece, Count Fathom, he has exhibited, as the hero of his piece, a vicious character, who, after going through many scenes of triumphant villany, is detected and punished: but the narration is far from pleasing; knavery is not dignified enough to interest us by its fall. There are more serious characters in this piece, and he has

attempted scenes of tenderness and exalted feeling, but with little success. Strong humour he possessed, but grace and delicacy were foreign to his pencil. He could not draw an interesting female character. But in his own way, the picture of Count Fathom's mother, the follower of a camp, is very striking. It is impossible to contemplate her going about, stripping the dying and the dead with all the coolness of a mind long hardened by scenes of misery, without a thrill of horror. Count Fathom's adventure in the wood, where he is benighted and narrowly escapes being murdered by ruffians, is exceedingly well told, and a man must have strong nerves to read it without shuddering. There is less of humour in this than in his two former works; but the story of the sharper who introduces himself to a gaming-table as a boisterous, ignorant country squire, and takes in the knowing ones, is very amusing.

Smollet's next publication was a translation of Don Quixote, generally esteemed the best we have, though some accused him of not having had sufficient acquaintance with the language of the original to do it complete justice. He also translated Gil Blas.

Dr. Smollet had by this time entirely given up the practice of physic. He made a tour to Scotland to visit his relations and friends, particularly his mother, to whom he introduced himself as a stranger. She was a woman of strong sense, and a great share of humour, which she retained to the end of life. She did not know him at first; but as he could not entirely keep