a memorial.

_Ansard_. A beautiful episode, for which receive my best thanks. But,
Barnstaple, I have very few effective passages as yet. I have
remodelled several descriptions of mountains, precipices, waterfalls,
and such wonders of the creation--expressed my contempt and surprise at
the fear acknowledged by other travellers, in several instances. I have
lost my way twice--met three wolves--been four times benighted--and
indebted to lights at a distance for a bed at midnight, after the horses
have refused to proceed. All is incident, and I am quite hard up for
description. Now, I have marked down a fine passage in --'s work--a
beautiful description of a cathedral with a grand procession.
(_Reads_.) "What with the effect of the sun's brightest beams upon the
ancient glass windows--various hues reflected upon the gothic pillars--
gorgeousness of the procession--sacerdotal ornaments--tossing of
censers--crowds of people--elevation of the host, and sinking down of
the populace _en masse_." It really is a magnificent line of writing,
and which my work requires. One or two like that in my book would do
well to be quoted by impartial critics, before the public are permitted
to read it. But here, you observe, is a difficulty. I dare not borrow
the passage.

_Barnstaple_. But you shall borrow it--you shall be even finer than he
is, and yet he shall not dare to accuse you of plagiarism.

_Ansard_. How is that possible, my dear Barnstaple? I am all
impatience.

_Barnstaple_. His description is at a certain hour of the day. All you
have to do is to portray the scene in nearly the same words. You have
as much right to visit a cathedral as he has, and as for the rest--here
is the secret. You must visit it at _night_. Instead of "glorious
beams," you will talk of "pale melancholy light;" instead of "the
stained windows throwing their various hues upon the gothic pile," you
must "darken the massive pile, and light up the windows with the silver
rays of the moon." The glorious orb of day must give place to thousands
of wax tapers--the splendid fret--work of the roof you must regret was
not to be clearly distinguished--but you must be in ecstasies with the
broad light and shade--the blaze at the altar--solemn hour of night--
feelings of awe--half a Catholic--religious reflections, etcetera.
Don't you perceive?

_Ansard_. I do. Like the rest of my work, it shall be all _moonshine_.
It shall be done, Barnstapl