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ONE:"I will try to reach the water hole. Leave a man there for me with a horse. If I don't��" he forced a laugh as he looked up at the buzzard which was dropping closer down above him.

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ONE:"Nothing," she answered; "I can't see why it should make any difference to you, when it hasn't with me." She had altogether regained the self-possession she had been surprised out of, with an added note of reserve. ONE:In the department of novel writing, no age had yet produced such a constellation as Fielding, Richardson, Sterne, and Smollett. Their works[147] are still read with admiration by all who have a relish for vivid and masterly delineations of life; their only drawback being, that they are all more or less stained with the grossness and licentiousness of the age. From these faults Samuel Richardson (b. 1689; d. 1761) is most free, and in his "Sir Charles Grandison" he hasshown himself ahead of his age in the wisdom and liberality of his ideas. He discountenanced duelling, and taught the soundest principles of honour and morality. The photographic minuteness of his style prevents the general reading of his works in the present day of abundant new literature. The principal novels of Henry Fielding (b. 1707; d. 1754), "Joseph Andrews," "Tom Jones," and "Amelia," abound in wit, vigour, and knowledge of human nature. He wrote also some plays, and edited several periodicals. His sister, Sarah, also wrote "David Simple," a novel, and translated Xenophon's "Memoirs of Socrates." Tobias Smollett (b. 1721; d. 1771) paints life in strong, bold, but somewhat coarse lines, full of vigour, but with even more grossness than Fielding uses. "Peregrine Pickle," "Count Fathom," "Roderick Random," "Humphrey Clinker," and "Sir Launcelot Greaves," if not now generally read, have been carefully studied and made use of by some of our modern novelists. Smollett, besides, wrote plays, satires, poems, and edited "The Briton," a weekly newspaper. Laurence Sterne (b. 1713; d. 1768) struck out a style of writing peculiar to himself, and which still defies all successful imitation. Notwithstanding attempts to represent his pathos as grimace, and his humour as tinsel, the felicity of touch in "Tristram Shandy," and the flashes of wit and feeling in his "Sentimental Journey," will, in spite of detractors, and of the occasional indecency of the author, always send readers to Sterne.