THOUGHTS OF THE TIMES;

OR,

MEN AND THINGS.

OF HISTORY.

The school of example is the world: and the masters of this school are history and experience.—Bolingbroke.

HISTORY has been cultivated in our time with more than ordinary diligence and success. Historians have become more accurate in their facts, sounder in their principles, and certainly not less picturesque in their narrative. Here, however, as elsewhere, the mechanical spirit of the age has obtruded itself; forgetting that many parts, without union, will not make one whole, we must have our division of labour, and forthwith issue from divers intellectual mills histories picturesque which do not amuse, and histories philosophical which do not instruct. A bundle of laborious essays and exaggerated romances tied up together, is a poor substitute for a living, comprehensive history.

Yet this mischievous and disagreeable separation of the picturesque and the philosophical, in the

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present instance, is not altogether without excuse. The difficulties with which the historian has to contend are many and various. One, not the least important, is inherent in the very nature of language, for the same words do not convey the same ideas to the men of different periods; and there are, perhaps, few words in different languages, beyond the names of physical objects, which exactly correspond. The historian should combine the ardour of the active, with the somewhat chilling reflection of the contemplative mind: he should describe events like the epic, sympathise with his actors, and lay bare their feelings like the dramatic poet: he should, as it were, live among men with whom he can only become acquainted through the lifeless medium of books, and know their capacities for acting, and the nature of the materials with which and on which they had to act, before he can perfectly appreciate what they did or left undone, or convey a profitable lesson to his own and future ages. He should be cautious in generalising, acute in sifting evidence, neither obtrusive nor meagre in his reflections, quick to comprehend, and discriminating to pourtray character. Lastly, without being rhetorical, he should cultivate force and beauty of expression and harmony of periods, almost as diligently as those writers whose chief object is style.

After all, the natural difficulties of the historian

are insuperable. He sees always "through a glass darkly," and therefore it is that Aristotle has called poetry, that is dramatic poetry, "something more philosophical and real than history*," for the poet can give a complete picture of his own creations, the historian can trace but the meagre outline of imperfect knowledge. This last view of the subject, however, shews history too much like one of the fine arts, with which it has little relation: it has far higher practical uses.

History, without a change in the faculties of man, which we can neither foresee nor understand, can obviously never become a science. With facts we are but imperfectly acquainted, with men still less, yet to determine with any degree of certainty what men will do from what men have done, we must know not only the facts and the men, but the different influence which the same facts would have on differently constituted minds. If it could ever be demonstrated that all men would act in the same manner under the same circumstances, our faith would be fearfully shaken in that personal and inward circle, which is "above three hundred and sixty," and in respect of which "the earth is a point." If we cannot have both, the picturesque history

* Φιλοσοφώτερον καὶ σπουδαιότερον ποίησις ἱστορίας ἐστίν.— Poetica.

Sir Thomas Browne.

is, perhaps, preferable to the philosophical, or as the Germans would say, the objective is better than the subjective. It is observable that the men, who at various periods have made the greatest impression on society, have been distinguished for strong feelings, a sanguine temperament, and a vivid imagination. Luther and Calvin moved men's minds, not so much because they argued well, as because they felt and spoke strongly. To measure such men accurately, it is necessary to sympathise with them, and as few combine in so high a degree powerful intellects with strong passions, the more simple and less ambitious mode of describing them is commonly the more satisfactory.

Again, to give a living picture of a departed age, the historian must understand its language. Now, the natural language of mankind even in a refined age, and yet more decidedly in a barbarous one, is figurative. Figurative language soonest excites our passions, gratifies our tastes, and impresses itself upon our memories; yet it is a dangerous tool to meddle with. Many pseudo-philosophers, not feeling themselves equal to its management, have inveighed loudly against it, as if the fault were in the machine, and not in the workman. Logical inaccuracies, however, are quite as common as metaphorical, and more mischievous. The logical mind is, indeed, the most imperfect, for it is easier