[FROM GEORGE ELIOT'S " ROMOLA."]

They had now emerged from the narrow streets into a broad piazza, known to the elder Florentine writers as the Mercato Vecchio, or the Old Market. This piazza, though it had been the scene of a provision market from time immemorial, and may, perhaps, says fond imagination, be the very spot to which the Fesulean ancestors of the Florentines descended from their high fastness to traffic with the rustic population of the valley, had not been shunned as a place of residence by Florentine wealth. In the early decades of the fifteenth century, which was now near its end, the Medici and other powerful families of the popolani grassi, or commercial nobility, had their houses there, not perhaps finding their ears much offended by the loud roar of mingled dialects, or their eyes much shocked by the butchers' stalls, which the old poet Antonio Pucci accounts a chief glory, or dignita, of a market that, in his esteem, eclipsed the markets of all the earth beside. But the glory of mutton and veal (well attested to be the flesh of the right animals; for were not the skins, with the heads attached, duly displayed, according to the decree of the Signoria ?) was just now wanting to the Mercato, the time of Lent not being yet over. The proud corporation, or "Art," of butchers was in abeyance, and it was the great harvest time of the market gardeners, the cheesemongers, the venders of macaroni, corn, eggs, milk, and dried fruits a change which was apt to make the women's voices predominant in the chorus. But in all seasons there was the experimental ringing of pots and pans, the chinking of the money changers, the tempting offers of cheapness at the old-clothes stalls, the challengers of the dicers, the vaunting of new linens and woolens, of excellent wooden ware, kettles, and frying pans; there was the choking of the narrow inlets with mules and carts, together with much uncomplimentary remonstrance in terms remarkably identical with the insults in use by the gentler sex of the present day, under the same

imbrowning and heating circumstances. Ladies and gentlemen who came to market looked on at a larger amount of amateur fighting than could easily be seen in these later times, and beheld more revolting rags, beggary, and rascaldom than modern householders could well picture to themselves. As the day wore on, the hideous drama of the gaming house might be seen here by any chance open-air spectator the quivering eagerness, the blank despair, the sobs, the blasphemy, and the blows: but still there was the relief of prettier sights: there were brood rabbits, not less innocent and astonished than those of our own period; there were doves and singing birds to be bought as presents for the children; there were even kittens for sale, and here and there a handsome gattuccio, or "Tom," with the highest character for mousing; and, better than all, there were young, softly rounded cheeks and bright eyes, freshened by the start from the far-off castello at daybreak, not to speak of older faces with unfading charm of honest goodwill in them, such as are never quite wanting in scenes of human industry. And high on a pillar in the center of the place venerable pillar, fetched from the church of San Giovannistood Donatello's stone statue of Plenty, with a fountain near it, where, says old Pucci, the good wives of the market freshened their utensils, and their throats also; not because they were unable to buy wine, but because they wished to save the money for their husbands.

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But on this particular morning a sudden change seemed to have come over the face of the market. The deschi, or stalls, were indeed partly dressed with their various commodities, and already there were purchasers assembled, on the alert to secure the finest, freshest vegetables and the most unexceptionable butter. But when Bratti and his companion entered the piazza, it appeared that some common preoccupation had for the moment distracted the attention both of buyers and sellers from their proper business. Most of the traders had turned their backs on their goods, and had joined the knots of talkers

who were concentrating themselves at different points in the piazza. A vender of old clothes, in the act of hanging out a pair of long hose, had distractedly hung them round his neck in his eagerness to join the nearest group; an oratorical cheesemonger, with a piece of cheese in one hand and a knife in the other, was incautiously making notes of his emphatic pauses on that excellent specimen of marzolino; and elderly market women, with their egg baskets in a dangerously oblique position, contributed a wailing fugue of invocation.

II. NARRATION.

Narration and Description. Relating in writing events of which the writer has been a witness, or with whose history he has become familiar, is almost as natural an exercise in composition as is the description of objects before the writer's eyes. Of course, every story must contain some description, or it will lack interest; and in narrating events as well as in the description of scenes, careful observation is all-important. It is this faculty which makes the stories of Defoe so marvelously lifelike, that in reading them, we can hardly convince ourselves that they are not as real as our own lives. Remember, then, that interest in a story will be increased by good description of characters and of the scenes where the actions take place. As a matter of fact, most famous descriptions occur in the course of a story or history.

It is by no means necessary to limit one's self to the realm of truth in these exercises. Our imaginations play most easily in constructing imaginary actions in which we are supposed to take part, or which we are supposed to witness. It may even be easier to make up a story than to relate one that is true.

Practical Suggestions. In all forms of narration, as far as possible, relate events in the order of occurrence. Remember, however, that every story, true or fictitious, long or short, if worth telling at all, should have in it one fact of special interest; and that simply enumerating a series of events, without regard to their relation to each other, and without leading up to one of special interest, is telling a story without a point. Be sure, then, in writing any narrative, to keep in mind the point which you wish to bring out; and let everything be said with a view to making your point clear. When the chief fact has been stated, the story should be quickly brought to a close, for the reader will no longer be interested. In a novel with a happy ending, the culminating point of interest is that chapter in which the hero or heroine overcomes all the obstacles, in which misunderstandings are cleared up, and obstructing agents disposed of. In a tragedy, the events related all lead to misfortune or death. A well-written novel may contain many pages which one will not tire of reading over and over again; but the events narrated generally have a direct bearing upon the plot; and when the plot is unraveled, the rest of the book is taken up with disposing of the characters.

No matter how short a story one writes, he should have some point in view, or he will fail to please himself or others. An account of the last vacation is frequently assigned for a subject in narration. The writer who simply enumerates one event after another will fail to make a good composition, but the writer who is impressed with one interesting incident or phase of his vacation, will, if he writes so as to bring this out, be more entertaining than if he had no point in mind.

CHAPTER V.

ESSAYS.

Definition. An essay or exposition is a short written composition explaining any subject.

Subject must be thoroughly understood. In all the forms of composition studied thus far, the thoughts for writing have been found either in an extract from the writings of another, or, as in description or narration, the subject-matter has been furnished by the eye, the memory, or the imagination. From the definition given above, it is evident that information of a wider nature is absolutely necessary before any progress can be made in the work of writing an essay. It is the effort to explain a subject before it is understood, or to give information before one has any to give, that discourages and distracts the person who sits down with pen in hand to write on a subject of which he knows nothing except that an essay upon it is due from him.

Understand, then, at the outset, that unless you have studied, or read, or at least reflected upon the subject, you cannot possibly write an essay on it. Therefore, if called upon to write an original composition without previous opportunity for preparation, choose for your work the description of what you have seen, a story that you know, or one that you can make up. The essay needs work of preparation before it can be written; and if this work cannot be given, do not attempt to write one.