present in this matter:  “Published in order to cultivate the principles of virtue and religion in the mind of youth of both sexes”; the author of “Sanford and Merton” has here his literary progenitor.  The sub-title, “or Virtue Rewarded,” also indicates the homiletic nature of the book.  And since the one valid criticism against all didactic aims in story-telling is that it is dull, Richardson, it will be appreciated, ran a mighty risk.  But this he was able to escape because of the genuine human interest of his tales and the skill he displayed with psychologic analysis rather than the march of events.  The close-knit, organic development of the best of our modern fiction is lacking; leisurely and lax seems the movement.  Modern editions of “Pamela” and “Clarissa Harlowe” are in the way of vigorous cutting for purposes of condensation.  Scott seems swift and brief when set beside Richardson Yet the slow convolutions and involutions serve to acquaint us intimately with the characters; dwelling with them longer, we come to know them better.

It is a fault in the construction of the story that instead of making Pamela’s successful marriage the natural climax and close of the work, the author effects it long before the novel is finished and then tries to hold the interest by telling of the honeymoon trip in Italy, her cool reception by her husband’s family, involving various subterfuges and difficulties, and the gradual moral reform she was able to bring about in her spouse.  It must be conceded to him that some capital scenes are the result of this post-hymeneal treatment; that, to illustrate, where the haughty sister of Pamela’s husband calls on the woman she believes to be her husband’s mistress.  Yet there is an effect of anti-climax; the main excitement—­getting Pamela honestly wedded—­is over.  But we must not forget the moral purpose:  Mr. B.’s spiritual regeneration has to be portrayed before our very eyes, he must be changed from a rake into a model husband; and with Richardson, that means plenty of elbow-room.  There is, too, something prophetic in this giving of ample space to post-marital life; it paves the way for much latter-day probing of the marriage misery.

The picture of Mr. B. and Pamela’s attitude towards him is full of irony for the modern reader; here is a man who does all in his power to ruin her and, finding her adamant, at last decides to do the next best thing—­secure her by marriage.  And instead of valuing him accordingly, Pamela, with a kind of spaniel-like fawning, accepts his august hand.  It must be confessed that with Pamela (that is, with Richardson), virtue is a market commodity for sale to the highest bidder, and this scene of barter and sale is an all-unconscious revelation of the low standard of sex ethics which obtained at the time.  The suggestion by Sidney Lanier that the sub-title should be:  “or Vice Rewarded,” “since the rascal Mr. B. it is who gets the prize rather than Pamela,” has its pertinency from our later and more enlightened view.  But such was the eighteenth century.  The exposure of an earlier time is one of the benefits of literature, always a sort of ethical barometer of an age—­all the more trustworthy in reporting spiritual ideals because it has no intention of doing so.