foremost of the two: a superiority I can by no means allow him. M. Marivaux is indeed a very amiable, elegant, witty, and penetrating writer. The reflections in his Marianne are highly judicious and agreeable. But he never finishes his works, which greatly disappoints his readers; and I think his characters fall infinitely short of those we find in the performances of his English contemporary. They are neither so original, so ludicrous, so wel! distinguished, nor so happily contrasted, as your own; and, as the characters of a novel principally determine its merit, I must be allowed to esteem my countryman the greater author.

There is another celebrated novel-writer, of the same kingdom, now living, who, in the choice and diversity of his characters, perhaps exceeds his rival M. Marivaux, and would deserve greater commendation, if the libertinism of his plans, and too wanton drawings of nature, did not take off from the merit of his works; though it must be confessed, that his genius and knowledge of mankind are very extensive. But, with all due respect for the parts of these two able Frenchmen, they have their superior; and whoever has read the works of Mr. Fielding, cannot be at a loss to determine who that superior is. Few books of this kind have ever been written with a spirit equal to Joseph Andrews; and no story, that I know of, was ever invented

B 3

with more happiness, or conducted with more art and management, than that of Tom Jones.

As to the following little piece, sir, it pretends to a very small degree of merit. It is the first essay of a young author, and perhaps may be the last. A very hasty and unfinished edition of it was published last winter, which, meeting with a more favourable reception than its writer had any reason to expect, he has since been tempted to revise and improve it, in hopes of rendering it more worthy of his reader's regard. With these alterations he now begs leave, sir, to desire your acceptance of it; he can hardly hope for your approbation: but, whatever be its fate, he is proud in this public manner to declare himself

Your constant Reader,

And sincere Admirer.

POMPEY THE LITTLE.

BOOK THE FIRST.

CHAPTER I.

A panegyric upon dogs, together with some observations on modern novels and romances.

VARIOUS and wonderful, in all ages, have been the actions of dogs; and were I to collect, from poets and historians, the many passages that make honourable mention of them, I should compose a work much too voluminous for the patience of any modern reader. But as the politicians of the age, and men of gravity, may censure me for mispending my time in writing the adventures of a lap-dog, when there are so many modern heroes, whose illustrious actions call loudly for the pen of an historian, it will not be amiss to detain the reader, in the entrance of this work, with a short panegyric on the canine race, to justify my undertaking. And can we, without the basest ingratitude, think ill of an animal that has ever honoured mankind with his company and friendship? While all other creatures are in a state of enmity with us; some flying into woods and wildernesses to escape our tyranny, and others requiring to be restrained

with bridles and fences in close confinement, dogs alone enter into voluntary friendship with us, and make their residence among us.

Nor do they trouble us only with officious fidelity, and useless good-will, but earn their livelihood by many meritorious services: they guard our houses, supply our tables, amuse our leisure hours, and discover plots to the government. I have heard of a dog's making a syllogism; which cannot fail to endear him to our two universities, where his brother logicians are so honoured for their skill in that useful science.

After these instances of sagacity and merit, it may be thought ludicrous to mention the capacity they have often discovered for playing at cards, fiddling, dancing, and other polite accomplishments, agreeable to a little incident which formerly happened at the play-house in Lincoln's Inn Fields. There was, at that time, the same emulation between the two houses as there is at present between the two great republics of Drury Lane and Covent Garden; each striving to amuse the town with various feats of activity, when they began to be tired of sense, wit, and action. At length, the managers of the house of Lincoln's Inn Fields introduced a dance of dogs dressed in French characters, to make the representation more ridiculous, and they acquitted themselves for several evenings to the universal delight of the town. One unfortunate night, a malicious wag behind the scenes threw down among them the leg of a fowl, which he had brought in his pocket for that purpose. Instantly all was in confusion; the marquis shook off his peruke, mademoiselle dropped her hoop petticoat, the fiddler threw away his violin, and all fell to scrambling for the prize that was thrown among them.

If we look into ancient history, we shall find the

wisest and most celebrated nations of antiquity contending which should pay the greatest honour to dogs. The old astronomers denominated stars after their name; and the Egyptians in particular, a sapient and venerable people, worshipped a dog among the principal of their divinities. The poets represent Diana as spending great part of her life among a pack of hounds, which I mention for the honour of the country gentlemen of Great Britain; and the illustrious Theseus dedicated much of his time to the same companions.

Julius Pollux informs us, that the art of dying purple and scarlet cloth was first found out by Hercules's dog; who, roving along the sea coast, and accidentally eating of the fish Murex, or Purpura, his lips became tinged with that colour; from whence the hint was first taken of the purple manufacture; and to this lucky event our fine gentlemen of the army are indebted for the scarlet with which they subdue the hearts of so many fair ladies.

But nothing can give us a more exalted idea of these illustrious animals, than to consider, that in old Greece they founded a sect of philosophy, the members whereof took the name of Cynics, and were ambitious of assimilating themselves to the manners and behaviour of that animal, from whom they derived their title. And that the ladies of Greece had as great fondness for them as those of our own isle, may be collected from the story which Lucian relates of a certain philosopher, who, in the excess of his complaisance to a woman of fashion, took up her favourite lap-dog and attempted to kiss it but the little creature, not being used to the rude and hard gripe of philosophic hands, it affected his loins in such a manner, as obliged him