realise is very rare. The obscurity and vagueness of most descriptive writing come, paradoxical as it may seem, from an over-elaboration of detail and a neglect of bold outlines. Now, in presence of a landscape the eye rarely takes in detail. Its impression is formed of prominent features, such as a bold sweep of mountains, an expanse of water, a stretch of meadow-land, some conspicuous building. Again, the colour-scale is broad and vivid blue sky and white clouds, and green fields, and grey-green water, and purple background. It is only the trained eye that takes in niceties of form and fine shades of colour; and, consequently, when in a description these refinements are dwelt on-no matter with what truth and beauty-it requires an effort to realise the effect in nature intended by the writer. It seems literary heresy to instance a passage from Ruskin as illustrating any flaw in descriptive writing; nevertheless we doubt if the student will gain a clear and vivid impression from the following elaborate word-picture, which dazzles by excess of detail. It is taken from the magnificent description of Schaffhausen :

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The Fall of Schaffhausen.

Stand for half an hour beside the Fall of Schaffhausen, on the north side where the rapids are long, and watch how the vault of water first bends, unbroken in pure polished velocity, over the arching rocks at the brow of the cataract, covering them with a dome of crystal twenty feet thick, so swift that its motion is unseen except when a foam globe from above darts over it like a falling star, and how the trees are lighted above it under all their leaves at the instant that it breaks into foam; and how all the hollows of that foam burn with green fire, like so much shattering chrysoprase; and how, ever and anon, startling you with its white flash, a jet of spray leaps hissing out of the fall like a rocket, bursting in the wind and driven away in dust, filling the air with light, and how, thro' the curdling wreaths of the restless crashing abyss below, the blue of the water

paled by the foam in its body, shows purer than the sky thro' white rain-cloud, while the shuddering iris stoops in tremulous stillness over all, fading and flushing alternately through the choking spray and shattered sunshine, hiding itself at last among the thick golden leaves, which toss to and fro in sympathy with the wild water; their dripping masses, lifted at intervals, like sheaves of loaded corn, by some stronger gusts from the cataract, and bowed again upon the mossy rocks as its roar dies away; the dew gushing from their thick branches thro' drooping clusters of emerald herbage, and sparkling in white threads along the dark rocks of the shore, feeding the lichens which chase and chequer them with purple and silver."

Splendid this as mere rhetoric! But, even on a second or third reading, has the student a picture of the famous cataract before him? If Ruskin, at his best, fails, how can the novice hope to make his reader realise a picture by over-elaboration of detail expressed in numberless adjectives? This is a fault to which young writers are prone. They will describe the rocks, flowers, and plants on a distant mountain with the same fullness of detail as they employ to depict the objects within a stone's throw. Now, of distant objects the eye takes in at most the colour and shape, and these often in a blurred manner. It is only the objects in the foreground of a scene that can be observed with any attention of detail of shape or definition of colour. And it must never be forgotten that the aim of a description of a landscape in an essay is not to construct a geological and botanical chart, but to convey to the reader in words a picture such as he would see were he actually in presence of the natural objects described. In a word, it is to the imagination of the reader that you appeal, and only indirectly to his reason. The student should remember the old saying, which is especially true in the present context, that " the half is often more than the whole ". Thus, a portrait in oils of a friend whom we know well is, as a rule, far more vivid and lifelike than a photograph, though the latter is a far more literal and detailed

representation. To illustrate the graphic power and effectiveness which result from attending to broad outlines and prominent features, two masterly, if very different, examples are here given. The first is from a description of an Irish village and schoolhouse by Carleton, and the second is Byron's well-known picture of an Italian evening on the banks of the Brenta.

An Irish Village.

"The village of Milltown was situated at the foot of a long green hill, the outline of which formed a low arch, as it rose to the eye against the horizon. This hill was studded with clumps of beeches, and sometimes enclosed as a meadow. In the month of July, when the grass on it was long, many an hour have I spent in solitary enjoyment, watching the wavy motion produced upon its pliant surface by the sunny winds, or the flight of the cloud-shadows, like gigantic phantoms, as they swept rapidly over it, whilst the murmur of the rocking trees and the glancing of their bright leaves in the sun, produced a heartfelt pleasure, the very memory of which arises in my imagination like some fading recollection of a brighter world.

"At the foot of this hill ran a clear, deep-banked river, bounded on one side by a slip of rich level meadow, and on the other by a kind of common for the village geese, whose white feathers during the summer season lay scattered over its green surface. It was also the play-ground for the boys of the village school; for there ran that part of the river which, with very correct judgment, the urchins had selected as their bathingplace. A little slope or watering-ground in the bank brought them to the edge of the stream, where the bottom fell away into the fearful depths of the whirlpool under the hanging oak on the other bank. Well do I remember the first time I ventured to swim across it, and even yet do I see in imagination the two bunches of water-flagons on which the inexperienced swimmers trusted themselves in the water."

Evening in Italy.

"The moon is up, and yet it is not night-
Sunset divides the sky with her a sea
Of glory streams along the Alpine height
Of blue Friuli's mountains: Heaven is free
From clouds, but of all colours seems to be,-
Melted to one vast Iris of the west,-

Where the Day joins the past Eternity;
While on the other hand, meek Dian's crest
Floats through the azure air-an island of the blest.

"A single star is at her side, and reigns
With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains
Rolled o'er the peak of the far Rhaetian hill,
As day and night contending were, until
Nature reclaimed her order :-gently flows
The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil
The odorous purple of a new-born rose,

Which streams upon her stream, and glassed within it glows.

"Filled with the face of heaven, which, from afar,
Comes down upon its waters; all its hues,
From the rich sunset to the rising star,

Their magical variety diffuse :

And now they change; a paler shadow strews
Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away,

The last still loveliest, till-'tis gone-and all is gray."

Method of Descriptive Writing.-From what has already been said the chief rules of descriptive writing can be deduced. The student may be advised generally to begin with an outline sketch of the scene to be described so as to put the reader in a position to understand any detail introduced as it affects the whole.

"It was a calm evening as the sun sank over the

almost motionless waters of hill-girt Windermere." In this admirable opening sentence the student is told that the time was evening, that there was no wind stirring (calm), that the sky and waters were placid, that the lake to be described was surrounded by hills. This is a scene which, with the help of memory and association, he has no difficulty in realising, and he is thus prepared to have its details presented in the succeeding sentences. The following fine sentence, the opening one in Goldsmith's description of a city by night, is an admirable model: "The clock has just struck two; the expiring taper rises and sinks in the socket; the watchman forgets the hour in slumber; the laborious and happy are at rest; and nothing wakes but meditation, guilt, revelry and despair". Here the student is given, in a few clauses, the heads of the essay which are afterwards developed with appropriate enlargement.

Order in Description.-In filling in the details of a picture, be careful only to select salient features. Do not overcrowd your description, above all things. As to the method of dealing with the several details, it is a very general fault with young students to jump from one point in a description to another entirely remote from the first. The result of this is mere confusion. Some order must be adopted, though there is no fixed. routine method. In describing a landscape, after the opening outline sentence, it is a good plan to begin from the immediate surroundings of the person supposed to be describing the scene, and then gradually pass on to what painters call the middle distance, and finally to the horizon. Or the reverse order may be adopted, and the description begin from the horizon. If either of these courses is adopted, the student should be careful to suggest in his description, by the use of appropriate words, that distance, if it lends enchantment to a view, also diminishes the distinctness of the outline and colour of objects, and conceals details, and that consequently it is only objects near at hand that should, as a rule, be pictured in any detail, or with bright colours and sharp outlines. It should further be remembered that the