In _Pamela_ the settings are frequent, but they are "still life" and rather shadowy: we do not _see_ the Bedfordshire and Lincolnshire mansions, the summer houses where (as she observes with demure relish when the danger is over) Mr.B.was "very naughty;" even the pond where, if she had been another sort of girl, the _drame_ might have become real tragedy.

Fielding does not take very much more trouble and yet somehow we _do_ see it all, with a little help from our own imaginations perhaps, but on his suggestion and start.

Especially the outdoor life and scenes--the inn-yards and the high roads and the downs by night or day; the pig-sty where poor Adams is the victim of live pigs and the public-house kitchen where he succumbs to a by-product of dead ones--these are all real for us.
But most of all is the regular progress of vivification visible in the dialogue.

This, as we have seen, had been the very weakest point of the weakness of almost all (we might say of all) English novels up to the close of the first quarter of the eighteenth century.

Richardson had done a great deal for it: but it was impossible that, on his method, it should not, for the most part, be languid, or at any rate long-winded.
Here again Fielding spirits the thing up--oxygenates and ozonises the atmosphere: while, in even fuller measure than his predecessor and victim, he recognises the efficacy of dialogue as the revealer of character.