 as nothing,« said
Dick, »can be more dull than a long narrative written upon the plan of a drama,
so where you have approached most near to that species of composition, by
indulging in prolonged scenes of mere conversation, the course of your story has
become chill and constrained, and you have lost the power of arresting the
attention and exciting the imagination, in which upon other occasions you may be
considered as having succeeded tolerably well.«
    I made my bow in requital of the compliment, which was probably thrown in by
way of placebo, and expressed myself willing at least to make one trial of a
more straightforward style of composition, in which my actors should do more,
and say less, than in my former attempts of this kind. Dick gave me a
patronising and approving nod, and observed, that finding me so docile, he would
communicate, for the benefit of my muse, a subject which he had studied with a
view to his own art.
    »The story,« he said, »was, by tradition, affirmed to be truth, although as
upwards of a hundred years had passed away since the events took place, some
doubt upon the accuracy of all the particulars might be reasonably entertained.«
    When Dick Tinto had thus spoken, he rummaged his portfolio for the sketch
from which he proposed one day to execute a picture of fourteen feet by eight.
The sketch, which was cleverly executed, to use the appropriate phrase,
represented an ancient hall, fitted up and furnished in what we now call the
taste of Queen Elizabeth's age. The light, admitted from the upper part of a
high casement, fell upon a female figure of exquisite beauty, who, in an
attitude of speechless terror, appeared to watch the issue of a debate betwixt
two other persons. The one was a young man, in the Vandyke dress common to the
time of Charles I., who, with an air of indignant pride, testified by the manner
in which he raised his head and extended his arm, seemed to be urging a claim of
right, rather than of favour, to a lady, whose age, and some resemblance in
their features, pointed her out as the mother of the younger female, and who
appeared to listen with a mixture of displeasure and impatience.
    Tinto produced his sketch with an air of mysterious triumph, and gazed on it
as a fond parent looks upon a hopeful child, while he anticipates the future
figure he is to make in the world, and the height to which he will raise the
honour of his family.
