It is contended by an American humorist, in an argument in favor of osculation, that it would imply a great want of reverence in us if we were to set ourselves up as wiser than our ancestors, and refuse to continue a practice that has been sanctioned by their approval. Yet, if we follow the curious aberrations in the extent of favor accorded to it by these ancestors during the last century, we shall be somewhat puzzled over the reflex as we find it in the novels of different periods. With the exception of Richardson, however, it must be owned that the eighteenth-century novelists, from Fielding and Smollett down to the time of the appearance of Goldsmith, and Maria Edgeworth, and Jane Austen, prove the truth of the remark of Shaw (“History of English Literature”) that “the time when Fielding wrote was remarkable for the low tone of manners and sentiment; perhaps the lowest that ever prevailed in England, for it was precisely a juncture when the romantic spirit of the old chivalrous manners was extinguished, and before the modern standard of refinement was introduced.” Accordingly, in Fielding and Smollett the heroes and heroines kiss with all the gusto of a coarse and licentious age, and without waiting for the interesting time which the novelists of our day select for granting the first long kiss of affection. The readers of Fielding’s “Amelia” will remember the insulting young nobleman who, upon meeting the heroine at Vauxhall, cries out, “Let the devil come as soon as he will, d——n me if I have not a kiss.” In singular contrast with such athletic and boisterous rudeness are the overwrought refinement and strained sentiment of Richardson, Fielding’s contemporary and sometime friend. In the one it is an outbreak of coarseness or ungoverned passion; in the other it is a ceremonial whose observance is attended with decorum and solemnity. As a consequence, there is a great deal of the “naughty but nice” fascination in the former, and a large proportion of tedious and mawkish twaddle in the latter. For a specimen of Richardson’s namby-pambyism we may advert to his “Sir Charles Grandison,” in which we are told that after leaving Italy and returning to England Sir Charles solicits the hand of Harriet Byron in true Grandisonian manner. It is amusing to see the lofty style in which this mirror of chivalry makes love, and to note the extravagance of his compliments. But let Miss Byron tell the story: “‘There seems,’ said he, ‘to be a mixture of generous concern and kind curiosity in one of the loveliest and most intelligent faces in the world.’” “‘Thus,’ resumed he, snatching my hand and ardently pressing it with his lips, ‘do I honor to myself for the honor done me. How poor is man, that he cannot express his gratitude to the object of his vows for obligations confessed, but by owing to her new obligations!’” [What a formal pedant of a lover!]