--ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, _Travels with a Donkey_.

 

It was full autumn now, late autumn--with the nightfalls gloomy, and all things

growing dark early in the old cottage, and all the Breton land looking sombre,

too. The very days seemed but twilight; immeasurable clouds, slowly passing,

would suddenly bring darkness at broad noon. The wind moaned constantly--it was

like the sound of a great cathedral organ at a distance, but playing profane

airs, or despairing dirges; at other times it would come close to the door, and

lift up a howl like wild beasts.

 

--PIERRE LOTI, _An Iceland Fisherman_.

 

I see the great refectory,[22] where a battalion might have drilled; I see the

long tables, the five hundred heads bent above the plates, the rapid motion of

five hundred forks, of a thousand hands, and sixteen thousand teeth; the swarm

of servants running here and there, called to, scolded, hurried, on every side

at once; I hear the clatter of dishes, the deafening noise, the voices choked

with food crying out: "Bread--bread!" and I feel once more the formidable

appetite, the herculean strength of jaw, the exuberant life and spirits of those

far-off days.[23]

 

--EDMONDO DE AMICIS, _College Friends_.

 

_Suggestions for the Use of Description_