subsided, he tumbled on his knees, and a little too abjectly implored for mercy.

I did not suffer a brave man and an old man to remain a moment in this posture, but I immediately forgave him.

EXERCISE XIII. EXAMPLE 17.

AN OCCASION OF MAGNANIMITY.

The Example is taken from the diary of Henry Fielding (first of English novelists) which he kept during that voyage to Lisbon, undertaken for the benefit of his health, which was to prove his last journey. His memory serves him for Invention; and so we find, in this little, characteristic episode transcribed directly from life, one illustration of the Problem which the writer had, in one form or another, to face during his whole voyage:-How to preserve some decency of living, and comfort in his sickness, despite the constant persecutions of a mean and violent rascal (for such was the captain of the ship)? and an instance of one kind of solution. The Subject, then, resolves itself into An Occasion of Magnanimity. A gallant and afflicted gentleman, who, in addition to the suffering caused by acute illness, had suffered much from the rascality of a man whose company (being on shipboard) he was compelled to keep, at length sees fit to bring him to a due submission, and, finally, to forgive him.

The Invention (which is that of Nature herself, and not that of Mr. Fielding) shows the petty kind

of persecution to which the longsuffering traveller in question was exposed, and how gross, under the circumstances, was the captain's insolence; shows the subjugation of that rascally skipper, compelled, not only by the terrifying threat of the Law's penalties, but by Mr. Fielding's native dignity and commanding eloquence; shows, finally, his magnanimous forgiveness.

The Selection gives every necessary detail of the circumstances, particularises the captain's insolent speech, suggesting only (the narrative being related in the first person) the words of his victim.

The Disposition is straightforward; admitting, as legitimate in the composition, a journal, a digression; which, however, still serves to illustrate the case in hand.

The Diction is the admirable, leisurely, forcible diction of the Eighteenth Century in general, and of Henry Fielding in particular. It is worthy of most careful study. The sub-ironical suggestion his style so subtly conveys is Fielding's own; and it is (among other distinctions) as a master of the ironical, that he remains an example in literature. But, not less does he remain an exemplar of magnificent humanity. His style betrays a man just, courageous, and humane. Consider the majestic sentence with which the Example closes :-'I did not suffer a brave man and an old man to remain a moment in this posture, but I immediately forgave him.'

Let the pupil, then, take as his Subject, An Occa

sion of Magnanimity; either selecting his material from history or legend, or exercising his invention. Let him, so far as possible, endeavour to imitate in his composition, the Diction of the Example.

II. Description. In making a picture in words of a scene, or person, or object, which we behold before our eyes, or whose features we recall to mind, we are to remember that what we have to do is to produce the same effect upon the reader, as the scene, person, or object, produces upon ourselves. To tell the reader what that effect is, is quite useless. Thus, to say 'It was a magnificent sunset;' or 'She was a beautiful woman;' is merely to inform the reader that there were certain appearances in that sun-setting, and in that fair woman, that produced upon us the effect-gave us the impression-of magnificence and beauty. We give no hint as to what those appearances are; hence we are no whit nearer conveying the impression, or producing the effect, at which we aim, upon the reader. To do that, we must first discover and describe to ourselves, what are the particular features that impress us with a sense of beauty, or ugliness, or singularity, as the case may be. Therein lies the first difficulty to be overcome. The beginner is nearly always blind to its existence, until it is pointed out to him. He will almost invariably begin by discoursing of the feeling aroused in himself, which two or three adjectives suffice to

1 'Depict, but do not speak.'—Goethe.

define. To take a simple instance from a master :the poet Wordsworth begins a famous sonnet by informing the reader that

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free;

a statement which merely describes the effect of the evening upon Mr. Wordsworth's mind-a thing of no interest to the reader. But see how he goes on.

That describes, under a vivid simile, or image, the particular aspect of that particular evening which produced the aforesaid effect upon the poet's mind; hence, it produces the same effect upon the mind of the reader.

We are to remember, also, that every noun in common use inevitably carries along with it a train of associations; so that it is impossible to use such words as 'nun,' ' church,' 'boat,' 'labourer,' 'carriage,' without calling up in the reader's mind some picture of a veiled and hooded form, some building with tower or spire, some floating vessel, some rustic, heavy-booted figure, some wheeled vehicle. These pictures will be compound pictures, like superimposed photographs, made up of all the various impressions of such objects that the received during his life. differ with every person. be so careful how we use adjectives; for, very often these inevitable associations render the adjective unnecessary, themselves supplying the requisite quali

reader in question has

And these pictures will

Hence it is that we must

fication or detail in the reader's own mind. And every unnecessary word is a blot upon the picture.

And hence it is, also, that, in the description of persons, or familiar objects, a second difficulty arises. Since every one has two eyes, a nose and mouth, arms and legs, in the same proportion; how are we to distinguish any particular person from his fellows? and, since every common object of the same kind has the same characteristic features, and the mere mention of the noun describing it, infallibly brings those features to mind; how are we to distinguish any particular object from the rest of the same kind?

The rule is, to search for any distinctive mark, however small, which is peculiar to the person or thing-something which they alone possess.

There is a famous piece of historical description, taken from the writings of Sir Philip Warwick, a Cavalier, which may serve to illustrate this rule. Sir Philip is describing Oliver Cromwell, as he appeared to the Cavalier one day in the House of Commons.

'The first time that ever I took notice of him,' says Sir Philip, was in the very beginning of the Parliament held in November 1640, when I vainly thought myself a courtly young gentleman (for we courtiers valued ourselves much upon our good clothes): I came one morning into the House well clad, and perceived a Gentleman speaking (whom I knew not) very ordinarily apparelled; for it was a plain cloth-suit, which seemed to have been made by an ill country-tailor; his linen was plain, and not very clean; and I remember a speck or two of blood upon his little band,