If he had run the false scent for a few yards only it would not matter: in a chase prolonged to something like "Hartleap Well" extension there is less excuse for his not finding it out.

Nevertheless it would of course be absurd not to rank this "knowledge of the human heart" among the claims which not only gave him but have kept his reputation.

I do not know that he shows it much less in the later part of the first two volumes (Pamela's recurrent tortures of jealous curiosity about Sally Godfrey are admirable) or even in the dreary sequel.

But analysis for analysis' sake can have few real, though it may have some pretended, devotees.
The foregoing remarks have been designed, less as a criticism of _Pamela_ (which would be unnecessary here), or even of Richardson (which would be more in place, but shall be given in brief presently), than as an account and justification of the book's position in the real subject of this volume--the History of the English Novel.

And this account will dispense us from dealing, at corresponding length, with the individually more important but historically subordinate books which followed.