ural. Nor would each of them speak always in the
same strain, but they would alter their language according to their
companion,--according even to the hour of the day. All this the reader
unconsciously perceives, and will not think the language to be natural
unless the proper variations be there.

In simple narrative the rule is the same as in dialogue, though it does
not admit of the same palpable deviation from correct construction. The
story of any incident, to be realistic, will admit neither of
sesquipedalian grandeur nor of grotesque images. The one gives an idea
of romance and the other of burlesque, to neither of which is truth
supposed to appertain. We desire to soar frequently, and then we try
romance. We desire to recreate ourselves with the easy and droll. Dulce
est desipere in loco. Then we have recourse to burlesque. But in neither
do we expect human nature.

I cannot but think that in the hands of the novelist the middle course
is the most powerful. Much as we may delight in burlesque, we cannot
claim for it the power of achieving great results. So much I think will
be granted. For the sublime we look rather to poetry than to prose, and
though I will give one or two instances just now in which it has been
used with great effect in prose fiction, it does not come home to the
heart, teaching a lesson, as does the realistic. The girl who reads is
touched by Lucy Ashton, but she feels herself to be convinced of the
facts as to Jeanie Deans, and asks herself whether she might not emulate
them.

Now as to the realism of Thackeray, I must rather appeal to my readers
than attempt to prove it by quotation. Whoever it is that speaks in his
pages, does it not seem that such a person would certainly have used
such words on such an occasion? If there be need of examination to learn
whether it be so or not, let the reader study all that falls from the
mouth of Lady Castlewood through the novel called _Esmond_, or all that
falls from the mouth of Beatrix. They are persons peculiarly
situated,--noble women, but who have still lived much out of the world.
The former is always conscious of a sorrow; the latter is always
striving after an effect;--and both on this account are difficult of
management. A period for the story has been chosen which is strange and
unknown to us, and which has required a peculiar language. One would
have said beforehand that whatever might be the charms of the book, it
would not be natural. An