ry, feels that
every scene which does not forward the progress of the action or
intensify the interest in the characters is an artistic defect; though
in itself it may be charmingly written, and may excite applause, it is
away from his immediate purpose. And what is true of purposeless scenes
and characters which divert the current of progress, is equally true,
in a minor degree, of speeches and sentences which arrest the
culminating interest by calling attention away to other objects. It is
an error which arises from a deficient earnestness on the writer's
part, or from a too pliant facility. The DRAMATIS PERSONAE wander in
their dialogue, not swayed by the fluctuations of feeling, but by the
author's desire to show his wit and wisdom, or else by his want of
power to control the vagrant suggestions of his fancy. The desire for
display and the inability to control are weaknesses that lead to almost
every transgression of Simplicity; but sometimes the transgressions are
made in more or less conscious obedience to the law of Variety,
although the highest reach of art is to secure variety by an opulent
simplicity.

The novelist is not under the same limitations of time, nor has he
to contend against the same mental impatience on the part of his
public. He may therefore linger where the dramatist must hurry; he may
digress, and gain fresh impetus from the digression, where the
dramatist would seriously endanger the effect of his scene by retarding
its evolution. The novelist with a prudent prodigality may employ
descriptions, dialogues, and episodes, which would be fatal in a drama.
Characters may be introduced and dismissed without having any important
connection with the plot; it is enough if they serve the purpose of the
chapter in which they appear. Although as a matter of fine art no
character should have a place in a novel unless it form an integral
element of the story, and no episode should be introduced unless it
reflects some strong light on the characters or incidents, this is a
critical demand which only fine artists think of satisfying, and only
delicate tastes appreciate. For the mass of readers it is enough if
they are mused; and indeed all readers, no matter how critical their
taste, would rather be pleased by a transgression of the law than
wearied by prescription. Delight condones offence. The only question
for the writer is, whether the offence is so trivial as to be submerged
in the delight. And he will