of committing another; for they which doe nothing but heap adventure upon adventure, without ornament, and without stirring up passions by the artifices of Rhetorick, or irksome, in thinking to be the more entertaining.  This dry Narration, and without art, hath more of an old Chronicle, than of a Romanze, which may very well be imbellished with those ornaments, since History, as severe and scrupulous as it is, doth not forbear employing them.  Certain Authors, after they have described an adventure, a daring design, or some surprising event, able to possess one with the bravest apprehensions in the world, are contented to assure us, that such a Heros thought of very gallant things, without telling us what they are; and this is that alone which I desire to know:  For how can I tell, whether in these events Fortune hath not done as much as he? whether his valour be not a brutish valour? and whether he hath born the misfortunes that arrived unto him, as a worthy man should doe? it is not by things without him, it is not by the caprichioes of destiny, that I will judge of him; it is by the motions of his soul, and by that which he speaketh.  I honour all them that write at this day; I know their persons, their works, their merits; but as canonizing is for none but the dead, they will not take it ill if I do not Deifie them, since they are living.  And in this occasion I propose no other example, than the great and incomparable Urfe; certainly it must be acknowledged that he hath merited his reputation; that the love which all the earth bears him is just; and that so many different Nations, which have translated his Book into their tongues, had reason to do it:  as for me, I confess openly, that I am his adorer; these twenty years I have loved him, he is indeed admirable over all; he is fertile in his inventions, and in inventions reasonable; every thing in him is mervellous, every thing in him is excellent; and that which is more important, every thing in him is natural, and truly resembling:  But amongst many rare matters, that which I most esteem of is, that he knows how to touch the passions so delicately, that he may be called the Painter of the Soul; he goes searching out in the bottom of hearts the most secret thoughts; and in the diversity of natures, which he represents, evey one findes his own pourtrait, so that

    If amongst mortals any be
    That merits Altars, Urfe’s he
    Who can alone pretend thereto.

Certainly there is nothing more important in this kind of composition, than strongly to imprint the Idea, or (to say better) the image of the Heroes in the mind of the Reader, but in such sort, as if they were known to them; for that it is which interesseth him in their adventures, and from thence his delight cometh, now to make them be known perfectly, it is not sufficient to say how many times they have suffered shipwreck, and how many times they have encountered