Foreign critics have been more just to Richardson than many of his own
countrymen. I shall notice the opinions of three celebrated writers,
D'Alembert, Rousseau, and Diderot.

D'Alembert was a great mathematician. His literary taste was extremely
cold: he was not worthy of reading Richardson. The volumes, if he ever
read them, must have fallen from his hands. The delicate and subtle
turnings, those folds of the human heart, which require so nice a touch,
was a problem which the mathematician could never solve. There is no
other demonstration in the human heart, but an appeal to its feelings:
and what are the calculating feelings of an arithmetician of lines and
curves? He therefore declared of Richardson that "La Nature est bonne Ã
imiter, mais non pas jusqu'à l'ennui."

But thus it was not with the other two congenial geniuses! The fervent
opinion of Rousseau must be familiar to the reader; but Diderot, in his
éloge on Richardson, exceeds even Rousseau in the enthusiasm of his
feelings. I extract some of the most interesting passages. Of Clarissa
he says, "I yet remember with delight the first time it came into my
hands. I was in the country. How deliciously was I affected! At every
moment I saw my happiness abridged by a page. I then experienced the
same sensations those feel who have long lived with one they love, and
are on the point of separation. At the close of the work I seemed to
remain deserted."

The impassioned Diderot then breaks forth:--"Oh, Richardson! thou
singular genius in my eyes! thou shalt form my reading in all times. If
forced by sharp necessity, my friend falls into indigence; if the
mediocrity of my fortune is not sufficient to bestow on my children the