looking down upon him from the wall, Sir Guy paced to and fro with hurried steps. The Angel of Mercy was nearer to him than she had been for years, and her whispers were distinctly heard. Glory and fame were forgotten by the knight, for self was forgotten.

6. The question-a strange question for him-"What good' ?" arose in his mind. He had killed St. Bertrand-but why'? To add another leaf to his laurels as a brave knight. But was this leaf worth its cost-the broken heart of the. fairest and loveliest maiden in the land'? nay, more-the life-drops from that broken heart'?

7. For the first time the flush of triumph was chilled by a remembrance of what the triumph had cost him. Then came a shudder as he thought of the lovely widow who drooped in Arno Castle of the wild pang that snapped the heart-strings of De Cressy's bride, when she saw the battleaxe go crashing into her husband's brain-of the beautiful betrothed of Sir Gilbert de Marion, now a shrieking maniac -of Agnes St. Bertrand!

8. As these sad images came up before the knight, his pace grew more rapid, and his brows, upon which large beads of sweat were standing, were clasped between his hands with a gesture of agony. "And what for all this`?" he murmured. "What for all this'? Am I braver or better for such bloody work' ?"

9. Through the long night he paced the hall of his castle, but with daydawn he rode forth alone. The sun rose and set; the seasons came and went; years passed; but the knight returned not.

II. THE HERMIT.

10. Far from the busy scenes of life dwelt a pious recluse, who, in prayer, fasting, and various forms of penance, sought to find repose for his troubled soul. His food was pulse, and his drink the pure water that went sparkling in the sunlight past his hermit-cell in the wilderness. Now and then a traveler who had lost his way, or an eager hunter in pursuit of game, met this lonely man in his deep seclusion. To such he spoke eloquently of the vanities of life, and of the

wisdom of those who, renouncing these vanities, devote themselves to God: and they left him, believing the hermit to be a wise and happy man.

11. But they erred. The days came and went'; the seasons changed'; years passed'; and still the hermit's prayers went up at morning, and the setting sun looked upon his kneeling form. His body was bent, though not with age'; his long hair whitened, but not with the snows of many winters'. Yet all availed not. The solitary one found not in prayer and penance that peace which passeth all understanding.

12. One night he dreamed in his cell that the Angel of Mercy came to him, and said: "It is in vain-all in vain! Art thou not a man, to whom power has been given to do good to thy fellow-man'? Thou callest thyself God's servant; but where is thy work? I see it not. Where are the hungry thou hast fed'? the naked thou hast clothed'? the sick and the prisoner who have been visited by thee? They are not here in the wilderness!"

13. The angel departed, and the hermit awoke. "Where is my work?" he asked, as he stood with his hot brow uncovered in the cool air. "The stars are moving in their courses; the trees are spreading forth their branches and

rising to heaven; and the stream flows on to the ocean; but I, superior to all these-I, gifted with a will, an understanding, and active energies-am doing no work!

14. Morning came, and the hermit saw the bee at its labor, the bird building its nest, and the worm spinning its silken thread. And is there no work for man, the noblest of all created things'? said he.

15. The hermit knelt in prayer, but found no utterance. Where was his work? "De Montfort! it is vain!" he exclaimed. "There must be work, as well as penance and prayer."

He arose from his prostrate attitude. When night came, the hermit's cell was tenantless.

III. THE MAN.

16. A fearful plague raged in a great city. In the narrow streets, where the poor were crowded together, the hot breath of the pestilence withered up hundreds in a day. Those not stricken down, fled, and left the suffering and the dying to their fate.

17. In the midst of these dreadful scenes, a man clad in plain garments—a stranger-entered the plague-stricken city. The flying inhabitants warned him of the peril he was about encountering, but, heeding them not, he took his way with a firm step to the most infected regions.

18. In the first house that he entered he found a young maiden alone, and almost in the agonies of death; and her feeble cry was for something to slake her burning thirst. He placed to her lips a cool draught, of which she drank eagerly; then he sat down to watch by her side. In a little while the hot fever began to abate, and the sufferer slept. Then he lifted her in his arms, and bore her beyond the city walls, where the air was purer, and where were those appointed to receive and minister to the sick.

19. For weeks the plague hovered with its black wings. over that devoted city; and during the whole time, this stranger to all the inhabitants passed from house to house, supporting a dying head here, giving drink to such as were almost mad with thirst there, and bearing forth in his arms those for whom there was any hope of life. But when "the

pestilence that walketh in darkness and wasteth at noonday" had left the city, he was nowhere to be found.

20. For years the castle of De Montfort was without a lord. At last its knightly owner returned-not on mailed charger, with corselet, casque, and spear'-a boastful knight, with hands crimsoned by his brother's blood'-nor as a pious devotee from his cloister'; but as a man', from the city where he had done good deeds amid the dying and the dead. He came to take possession of his stately castle and his broad lands once more; not to glory in his proud elevation, but to use the gifts with which God had endowed him, in making wiser, better, and happier his fellow-men.

21. He had work to do, and he was faithful in its performance. He was no longer a knight-errant, seeking for adventure wherever brute courage promised to give him renown; he was no longer an idle hermit, shrinking from his work in the great harvest-fields of life; but he was a man, doing valiantly among his fellow-men truly noble deedsnot deeds of blood, but deeds of moral daring, in an age when the real uses of life were despised by the titled few.

22. There were the bold Knight, the pious Hermit, and the Man; but the MAN was best and greatest of all.

PRINCIPLES, AND BEAUTIES OF DESCRIPTION.

[Analysis.-1. Extent to which Description is used.-2. The test of what. Extract from BLAIR. How description is treated by a writer of the inferior class.-3. By a writer of genius.-4. Chief beauty of description. Irving as a descriptive prose writer.-5. Where the descriptive faculty is often seen. Extract from HORACE.-6. The poet Thomson.-7. Extract from THOMSON's Seasons.-8. Extract from JOHNThe style of description adapted to different scenes and objects. What every complete description requires.-10. What kind of description is most effective, and why. What writers excel in it. Illustrations from the BIBLE.

BON.

1. WE have spoken of description in connection with narration, inasmuch as both are often combined in the same subject. Description, like narration, is seldom employed entirely alone in a composition of any great length, although often found alone in detached pieces: but it enters into all kinds of composition, and, when well executed, is a great ornament to all.

2. Description, whether found in poetry or in prose, is the best test of a writer's imagination. In the language of Dr. Blair, "It always distinguishes an original from a secondrate genius. To a writer of the inferior class, nature, when at any time he attempts to describe it', appears exhausted by those who have gone before him in the same track. He sees nothing new, or peculiar, in the object which he would paint'; his conceptions of it are loose and vague'; and his expressions', of course', feeble and general. He gives us words' rather than ideas'; we meet with the language of description', but we apprehend the object described very indistinctly.

3. "A writer of genius, on the contrary, makes us imagine that we see an object before our eyes'; he catches the distinguishing features'; he gives it the colors of life and reality'; he places it in such a light that a painter could copy after him. This happy talent is chiefly owing to a strong imagination, which first receives a lively impression of the