History of England , or of the man who collects and publishes in a volume some dozen lines of Milton, Pope, and Prior, with a paper from the Spectator , and a chapter from Sterne, are eulogized by a thousand pens⁠—there seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity and undervaluing the labour of the novelist, and of slighting the performances which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend them. “I am no novel-reader⁠—I seldom look into novels⁠—Do not imagine that I often read novels⁠—It is really very well for a novel.” Such is the common cant. “And what are you reading, Miss⁠⸺?” “Oh! it is only a novel!” replies the young lady, while she lays down her book with affected indifference, or momentary shame. “It is only Cecilia , or Camilla , or Belinda