_Nescio._ “Well, and what then? Suppose he had made it dull, (as in fact much of it _is_, at least, to me,) would it be the more pleasing, that the author had simply fulfilled his intentions? I like a good conceit in my heart, and the more I like it, the more do I hate to see it spoiled.” _Pulito._ “Do you assert that Sterne has spoiled his plan? If you do, the world is against you.” _Nescio._ “I beg your pardon. Those few are against me, who copy their sentiments from one another, and who, I’ll be sworn, never had the patience to read through what they so extravagantly admire. There are many good judges, who have the taste to perceive the unrivalled beauties of Sterne in particular passages, his fine strokes of humor, his felicitous touches of character, and, therefore, indiscriminately extol the whole.” _Pulito._ “Well, and I think they are about right.” _Nescio._ “So they are, except in Tristram Shandy. But _there_ I maintain, that while uncle Toby, and Yorick, and in fact all the actors, are among the most perfect pictures in the English language, the scenes are yet, many of them, _unbearably_ wearisome. I would rather undertake to thread the labyrinth of Minos.” _Pulito._ “Now, in my view, this same rambling style constitutes his great charm.” _Nescio._ “Not at all. This attraction consists in the exquisite fidelity of his characters, and the wit that gleams along his zigzag path. His roving, if properly restrained, would be pleasing. But, in the very nature of things, we cannot heartily like an author whom we cannot keep in sight. He seems to have thought that _any_ thing would _take_, provided only it were irrelevant. If, indeed, these _disjecta membra_ were all brilliant or weighty, it would repay the labor of putting them together. But when you have done this, and find much of it absolute nonsense, you must feel spent, disappointed, and angry.” _Pulito._ “Say what you will, and there is some truth in your words, Sterne will always remain inimitable.” _Nescio._ “I deny it not, and I hope he may. One such specimen, however beautiful, of utter lawlessness, is quite enough, and the fame of Sterne has already drawn many a weak-winged aspirant from sober truth into erratic nonsense. That style, which, in _him_, if affected, was, at least, original, in an _imitator_ would be stale and intolerable. By the way, have you ever read his Sermons and Letters?” _Pulito._ “Yes, and they are beautiful, are they not?” _Nescio._ “Surpassingly. But what say you to the older novelists, Fielding, Richardson and Smollett?” _Pulito._ “Why, I say that their language is as much stronger and purer, as their thoughts are better, and their characters more natural, than those of Bulwer, and his tawdry tribe.” _Nescio._ “Well, I must admire your modesty, to speak thus of a man, whom the spontaneous and infallible voice of a million has applauded, till praise itself grows weary.”