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ART. V.-The Court of England, during the reign of the Stuarts; including the Protectorate. By John Heneage Jesse.

WE have felt, in common we presume, with every reader of history, that this department of literature falls far short of conceivable, and we must think, notwithstanding the amount of talent and industry bestowed on its cultivation, of attainable perfection. We are confident that the difficulty of good historical writing has seldom been appreciated by those who have attempted the task: and that, contrary to a common impression, the talents necessary to its sucessful accomplishment, in their number, diversity, and harmony, are among the rarest with which the human mind is gifted.

History may be likened to certain optical instruments, the object of which is to bring into distinct vision objects that are removed from us, both in regard to distance and time, and which must therefore give us a minute and exact view, in detail, of their dimensions and properties, and the several relations of both. The manufacture of such an instrument is obviously attended with extreme difficulty, and is wholly impracticable except in the most advanced stages of the arts. One man may possess skill enough to shape and finish the brass work; another may carve and adjust the wood, and a third may be taught to cut and polish the reflectors and lenses, but none of them can produce a finished telescope; and even should they combine their talents for the purpose, it is barely possible to prevent the instrument from giving a tinge to the objects of vision.

Very analogous is the production of history. One author is occupied in gathering and arranging mere materials, without the slightest attempt to modify them, or even lifting a tool. Another constructs the frame-work of history, while another, still, fits in the glasses and regulates the focus, and after all, when you come to scan the objects in the field of view, you find them partly coloured and dim, and the perspective and proportions wretchedly bad. Some of the difficulties are inherent and insurmountable, but greater skill and experience would vanquish the most of them.

In historical literature, in the widest sense of the term, there are three classes of writers. The first comprises mere annalists, collectors and compilers of documents and statis

tics, men who furnish the warp and woof of history. Their avocation requires untiring patience, a relish for prying into all manner of things, with curiosity and impudence enough to surmount the apathy and reserve of mankind; and above all, that far-sighted perception and appreciation of the great and vital, but remote connexion of these primary mechanical offices with important results; something like that which enables the bellows-man behind his organ to reckon his services just as indispensable, and therefore as deserving of a share of the applause, as those of his coadjutor, who draws out the enrapturing melody from its keys. The comparision, however, does injustice to the subject: for the talents of this class of writers are as rare as they are valuable; and if specimens in natural history are valued in proportion as they are scarce, we see not why these should not receive a high niche in our Cabinet of Authors. Our country can boast a few admirable examples of this class; but after what we have said, they might, perhaps, consider it dubious praise, to have their names given as specimens of the genus we have described.

Our second class of writers includes those who are known distinctively as historians: that is, those who take the materials furnished at hand, and form a connected tissue. We have characterized the previous class as that which provides the warp and woof, the present weaves the web of history. Our literature abounds with specimens that are excellent of the sort. But what more do we want? We have a full, faithful narrative of facts, interspersed with profound philosophical reflections as to the causes and tendency of all the great leading transactions. What more can we desire? Where is the imperfection of history of which we venture to complain?

We will remark, before proceeding to answer the question, that our historical narratives and disquisitions are almost universally tinctured with party bias. Without falsifying the facts of history, it is perfectly easy to make them produce false convictions in the mind of the reader. It cannot be too often repeated, for example, that while Gibbon is admirable as a historian of the class we are describing, his book is one of the most dangerous in our language, for its insidious and powerful hostility to religion. Hume is vastly less objectionable, but would also be a strong case in proof of our remark. But this objection is a fault in the execution of this description of history, and not fundamental to the thing itself.

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We proceed, therefore, to say that the whole style of historical writing seems to us extremely defective. Let us advert, for a moment, to its characteristics. It is a detailed narrative of facts and qualities in the abstract, with occasional philosophical essays. Now it enters into the very nature of this mode of writing to be dull and tedious. It addresses itself to the understanding and the reasoning powers, while the more sprightly and buoyant of our faculties, conception and fancy, are suffered to grow drowsy and go to sleep for want of amusement. This defect is peculiarly unfortunate in the case of children and youth. In the early stages of intellectual developement, when the perceptive and immaginative faculties are by far the most active, and are the avenues by which the great bulk of knowledge gets access to the juvenile mind, it is almost impossible to lead them through the domains of history; for there is not a vestige of life to be seen, no melody of birds, no waving sunny banks, not even a flower to delight their fancy; but straight, monotonous, interminable roads, bordered, indeed, with ripe and rich fruit, but most of it above their reach, and even that, of a sort which they have not yet learned to relish. Nor is it only the fatigue of the process. The want of interest has left them to wander through the mazes of their path, half asleep; and when they have reached the end, they have scarce a single distinct recollection of the objects and localities which you wished to impress upon their memory. In a word, it is heavy drudgery, for youth especially, to wade through history; and when they have done, some of their faculties may perhaps be strengthened, but their minds are not stored with knowledge. The impressons on the memory are few and faint and evanescent.

There is of course a vast difference in this respect in different authors. Some are more dry, more dull, more abstract than others. But the difficulty of which we complain is not a thing of degree, but of kind; not a fault of the composition, in point of beauty, vigour, or eloquence, but of the whole mode of representing historical truth to the mind. Several modern attempts to make history attractive to youth have, to a great extent, failed by mistaking the real difficulty of the case. They have simplified, ornamented and tried to enliven their subject, and while they have succeeded in part, they have still failed to compass the great object in view. History is still the least interesting of all the branches of study, to a great body of students; while, from

the nature of the case, we should certainly conclude that it ought to be the most absorbing to every class of minds, and the most of all to the young.

To take an example, and one which will give every possible advantage to the department of history:-The student will devour with absorbing interest the historical dramas of Shakspeare, while the excellent volumes of Hallam will be read, not for their interest, but for the knowledge they contain, if indeed they are not left undisturbed amidst the dust of an upper shelf. Sir Walter Scott will enlist and enchant a thousand readers, who could not be induced to wade through the best histories of classical or modern times. Now why is this? The subject is the same in both cases; men, manners, and actions. Ah, but in one case it is fiction, and in the other fact. But no man admires fiction as fiction. It is only as the representation of scenes, which 'the mind at the moment contemplates as real. And hence, fiction, itself, is interesting, only in proportion to its resemblance to nature and truth. If it is unnatural it is shocking. Now why is not a display of truth and nature as attractive as fiction, when fiction herself is obliged to array herself in their garb, in order to please? We do not recollect to have seen the question distinctly put: and we cannot conceive of an answer, except, that truth is kept behind the scenes, and merely described, while fiction borrows her dress and steps out upon the stage, to display herself in real living characters. Let truth then take back her own attire, and come forth, and play her part in life, instead of having it recited by a prompter, and she will instantly become, by her simplicity and honesty, the universal favourite alike of buoyant youth, and sober manhood.

Between the ordinary style of historical narrative, and that which we have attempted to describe, there is much the same difference, as to effect, that exists between the hearing of the ear, and the seeing of the eye. It is the difference which every one must have felt between two versions of the same story, accordingly as they are well or ill told. One man will hold the breathless attention of children by some trifling narrative, while another will fail to gain a hearing for the most instructive details of history. It is the same principle, which, as to the interest of their works, distinguishes Rollin from Shakspeare. To concede this superiority to fiction over truth, would, it seems to us, be a libel on the constitution of the human mind, and its relation to human nature.

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We cannot conceive why the style of representation of the great Dramatist of English literature might not, as to its essential characteristic, be applied to the department of history. We do not mean, of course, to have the events of history manufactured into dramas, of five acts each, cut and carved for theatrical exhibition; but to have them represented, in the style in question, to the "minds eye," as they successively arise; so that instead of listening as to a report of distant transactions, we may enter into them with all the interest of living present reality. In a word, we would have the genius of Shakspeare employed, not to create, but simply to display human character and actions. For the verbal descriptions, or, at best, the outline profiles or crayon sketches. of the characters of common history, we would substitute the fresh speaking portraits, full length and coloured to the life, after the style of those which enchant you at every step in the galleries of the romance of history. The only difference would be, that instead of fancy paintings, we would have them perfect likenesses. Let this be done, and students of all classes will linger amidst the scenes of history, and receive the lessons of its wisdom, with nearly the same interest, and more real pleasure, than they now resort to gaze upon the splendid and gorgeous, but unsubstantial visions of fiction.

Nor let it be objected, that this mode of representation would require an endless accumulation of the details of life, in order to secure fulness and accuracy, and thus swell the compass of history beyond all reasonable proportion. It is not so. The artist does not lay fibre after fibre, nerve after nerve, and vein after vein; but a few touches of his pencil, and the features of his picture, beam upon you from the canvass. The perfect distinctness, and amazing compass of action, comprised in the characters of Hamlet or Othello, show that brevity would gain as much as beauty by the style in question.

The reader has probably perceived, what we ought to have distinctly stated before this time, that the third class of authors, in the division proposed at the outset of these remarks, consists of those who have taken undisputed possession of the wide field of historical romance. To revert once more to our original figure, it is the characteristic province of this class, to take the threadbare web of history, and work upon it all manner of embroidery. Their object is to beautify and please. Their relation to the others, will probably be

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