"A fine way to paint soul, by painting body So ill, the eye can't stop there, must go further And can't fare worse!" This great reformer in art is made by Browning to declare why men should paint "God's works--paint anyone, and count it crime To let a truth slip by," for according to this man, who initiated a new movement in art, "Art was given for that; God uses us to help each other so, Lending our minds out.... This world's no blot for us Nor blank; it means intensely, and means good: To find its meaning is my meat and drink." This monologue, while only a fragment of simple conversation, touches those profound moments which only an artist can realize, and unfolds the real essence of a character. Abrupt beginnings are very common in monologues, but the student will find that these are often the easiest to master. They can be easily interpreted by dramatic instinct. There is always a situation, dramatic in proportion to the abruptness of the beginning, and a few glances will fasten attention upon the real theme. The monologue will never stir one who desires long preliminary chapters of descriptions before the real story is opened, but one with true dramatic imagination can easily make a sudden plunge into the very midst of life and action. The unity of time on account of the momentary character of a monologue needs no discussion. And yet we find in one otherwise strong monologue, "Before Sedan," by Austin Dobson, a strange violation of the principle of time. BEFORE SEDAN "THE DEAD HAND CLASPED A LETTER." Here, in this leafy place, Quiet he lies, Cold, with his sightless face Turned to the skies; 'Tis but another dead; All you can say is said. Carry his body hence,-- Kings must have slaves; Kings climb to eminence Over men's graves: So this man's eye is dim;-- Throw the earth over him. What was the white you touched, There, at his side? Paper his hand had clutched Tight ere he died;-- Message or wish, maybe;-- Smooth the folds out and see. Hardly the worst of us Here could have smiled:-- Only the tremulous Words of a child;-- Prattle, that has for stops Just a few ruddy drops. Look. She is sad to miss, Morning and night, His--her dead father's--kiss; Tries to be bright, Good to mamma, and sweet, That is all. "Marguerite." Ah, if beside the dead Slumbered the pain! Ah, if the hearts that bled Slept with the slain! If the grief died;--but no;-- Death will not have it so. The title of this monologue suggests something of the situation, and from the first sentence we gather that it is spoken by one searching for the dead in remote nooks of the battle-field. From the remarks against war, the speaker seems to be one of the citizens searching their farms for any who, wounded, have crawled away for water, or have died in an obscure corner.