 is generally imagined, and would
have a fair Title to a Place in the Bill of Mortality, did it not differ in one
Instance from all other Diseases, viz. That no Physician can cure it.
    Now, upon the most diligent Enquiry into the former Lives of these two
Brothers, I find, besides the cursed and hellish Maxim of Policy
above-mentioned, another Reason for the Captain's Conduct: The Captain, besides
what we have before said of him, was a Man of great Pride and Fierceness, and
had always treated his Brother, who was of a different Complexion, and greatly
deficient in both those Qualities, with the utmost Air of Superiority. The
Doctor, however, had much the larger Share of Learning, and was by many reputed
to have the better Understanding. This the Captain knew, and could not bear.
For, tho' Envy is at best a very malignant Passion, yet is its Bitterness
greatly heightened by mixing with Contempt towards the same Object; and very
much afraid I am, that whenever an Obligation is joined to these two,
Indignation, and not Gratitude, will be the Product of all three.
 

                                    Book II

  Containing Scenes of matrimonial Felicity in different Degrees of Life; and
various other Transactions during the first two Years after the Marriage between
                  Captain Blifil, and Miss Bridget Allworthy.
 

                                   Chapter I

  Shewing what Kind of a History this is; what it is like, and what it is not
                                     like.
 
Tho' we have properly enough entitled this our Work, a History, and not a Life;
nor an Apology for a Life, as is more in Fashion; yet we intend in it rather to
pursue the Method of those Writers who profess to disclose the Revolutions of
Countries, than to imitate the painful and voluminous Historian, who to preserve
the Regularity of his Series thinks himself obliged to fill up as much Paper
with the Detail of Months and Years in which nothing remarkable happened, as he
employs upon those notable Æras when the greatest Scenes have been transacted on
the human Stage.
    Such Histories as these do, in reality, very much resemble a News-Paper,
which consists of just the same Number of Words, whether there be any News in it
or not. They may likewise be compared to a Stage-Coach, which performs
constantly the same Course, empty as well as full. The Writer, indeed, seems to
think himself obliged to keep even Pace with Time, whose Amanuensis he is; and,
like his Master, travels as slowly through Centuries of monkish Dulness, when
the World seems to have been asleep, as
