ABSTRACT
There is at last a very happy taste sprung up amongst us for novel and romance, such a one as appeared in France when Richlieu was forming his schemes for the making his master absolute at home, and shining abroad.2 It was about this time the most celebrated novels made their appearance, and amused the better sort of people into a matchless inattention to what the directors of publick affairs were concerting for the fettering of the people. The follies of the persons of rank very aptly catch the regard of the vulgar, who are ever ready to be led by the examples of those they esteem their betters; nor needs there any other means to make the common people behave sillily, than the observing their superiors descend from their dignity, and very gravely become buffoons.
