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the two. To understand the motives and feelings of men of different characters and under different circumstances of life, is to know truth in regard to man; and if fiction sets these clearly and faithfully before us, it is teaching us truth, even when we are thinking only of recreation and amusement. True it is, that there are dangers many and subtle connected with this method-perils which, while they are neglected by none, are to some minds so great as to render this pursuit altogether objectionable for them. But, again I repeat it, we must not throw away advantages, known and felt to be such, because there are dangers accompanying them; at least, if we do so, we must give up all idea of cultivating our minds to the highest standard of intellectual power of which they are capable. But moral good must not be given up to intellectual improvement. True; but real moral benefit can never be opposed to real intellectual progress, or we must come to the startling conclusion that one of the two is in itself evil; and we may further assert that no pursuit, which improves the intellect, can necessarily cause moral injury that it may do so is not the fault of the pursuit itself, but of those who enter on it unprepared, or without the consideration of its fitness for themselves. I make these remarks because there are some to whom the very name of fiction carries the idea of deception,-who cannot receive the notion of its connexion with truth in any manner or under any circumstances. From historical fiction, then, as from dramatic writings, the student of history may in part attain that vividness of conception, which we have seen to be so necessary to the right investigation of past events. He must, however, remember that both dramatist and romancer have for their object to captivate his feelings; and in proportion as he feels himself under their influence, he must be careful to apply the test of reason and experience, or he may, insensibly and with pleasure to himself, be led away from sound and just conclusions. I may hence observe that, if it be not right to reject altogether and for all persons the use of the drama or fiction, they are far more in error who entertain the notion of attaining a knowledge of history by reading at first historical fiction. For persons whose taste is thus formed, the dry facts and calm deductions of historical inquiry, into which we must enter, if we would effect anything, will have no charms; they will turn from them; they will never have the means of correcting the false impressions they may have unwittingly received.

These several methods which I have mentioned may be usefully applied for the purpose which we have already seen there is,

however, one method which stands before them all in its evident utility, namely, the study of history, which unites vividness of narration to calm and philosophical reflection. In those cases we but attained a habit of mind, which we might ourselves apply to our historical studies; in this we have the habit of mind brought into active operation simultaneously with the other faculties, as exerted in the reading of history, and in the pursuit itself which is the object of our study. The combination of these two faculties in the same historian is not often to be found, and we must not reject either, because we find it unsupported by a proper degree of the other; we may learn much from the spirited narrator, as well as from the dry reasoner; we may deem ourselves fortunate indeed, when we find both united in the same man. Such a historian we see in Thucydides. He is not fond of many words; yet he contrives to convey to our minds a vivid impression of the scene which he is describing; we forget the writer in the subject which employs his pen. What could we desire more graphic than his account of the plague of Athens? It is the simple account of an eye-witness, and brings before us the reality with a vividness rarely, if ever, surpassed. In Herodotus we find an admirable raconteur, with little of deep thought and reasoning power; Livy presents somewhat of the same character of mind; while Tacitus unites extraordinary spirit in narration to a sound judgment and deep thought, and an epigrammatic terseness of expression which has never been equalled. In modern times, the military history of Colonel Napier possesses, in no small degree, the merit of vivid narration, not unconnected with sound judgment and deep thought, so far as the purely military nature of his subject admits of it. We may point to his account of the final charge of the fusileers in the battle of Albuera, as one of the finest and most spirited pieces of military description extant. I must again allude to the history of the French Revolution by Mr. Alison, as exhibiting in a high degree the union of these two most essential qualities of a historian. He may perhaps be justly accused of an occasional turgidness of style, of a redundancy of expression, which rather weighs down than exalts his style; but the praise of vigour and spirit cannot be denied him. Whether he is narrating the rapid changes and violent passions of the field of battle, or the calm meditation and statesmanlike proceedings of the council or senate, he still leads us to feel with the men who are playing their part before us. Under his guidance we do not merely stand on the elevated bank, and see the

broad stream of human action now gliding gently by us, now thundering and foaming over the rocks which impede it, but are ourselves carried along with the current, at one moment calmly floating on the smooth surface, in the next whirled along the rapid, and feeling the shock and eddy of the waters around us. Again, when he gives himself to philosophize on the events which he has narrated, we see in him the man of thoughtful character, searching out the causes of things, ever seeking to the great principles which lie hid under the ever-varying course of history; and, above all, we see the Christian desirous of setting forth the divine guidance of Providence in every transaction which he notes. I have thus spoken at length of the work of this writer, because, while all acknowledge with a species of customary reverence the merits of a Thucydides or a Tacitus, very many will not see the same qualities in a modern, or avail themselves of the instructions which a contemporary offers for their improvement. If these remarks should lead any person to read and reflect on the history of which I have spoken, they will have been, indirectly at least, not without their

use.

We have thus seen some of the means of avoiding the danger attendant on the system of historical study recommended in a previous paper: it may be asked, indeed, whether there be no dangers attendant on this application of the imaginative faculty. Undoubtedly there are; we must ever be careful to keep a proper balance; in every case our motto must still be the old quid nimis."

one,

"Ne

G. S. W.

FROM HORACE.

No Persian bouquets, boy, for me,
No garlands of the linden tree.
Oh! seek not where the hardy rose
Still blooms amid December's snows.
Thou need'st not twine a chaplet rare;
Let simple myrtle bind my hair.
For thee is simple wreath enow?
It well may deck thy master's brow,
While, shaded by his scanty vine,
At ease he quaffs the rosy wine.

G. S. W.

ANOTHER SEA.

FOR ever I'd roam on the deep, deep sea,

With a bark to bear me unguided and free.
I'd set my sail

To every gale;

I'd ride through the tempest right gloriously.
In the calm, into ocean's depths I'd see,

And gaze on the treasures

Its bosom doth hide,

And seek for its pleasures

On every side.

I'd delight in the night, when in wavering light
The silvery wavelets play;

And exult as they glittered all golden and bright
In the beams of the laughing day!

For ever I'd roam on the deep, deep sea,
With a bark to bear me unguided and free.
My heart should warm

In the face of the storm;

On the sea's wide bosom no sorrow should be,-
"Twould be joy enough that I rode on the sea.
In its rage might perish

My vessel brave;

Not a thought I'd cherish
That life might save.

Let the wave be my grave-none more silent I crave;

Let my shroud be the rustling sea;

Yet, witha-think me not to salt-water a slave :

Love-an ocean of love-let it be!

HAL.

FLOWERS AND FROWNS.

THE flowers breathing perfumes of heaven, a bright creation born to minister delight, to them alone may tender woman be compared. Yet when have flowers frowned?-As the bee that nestles in their open cups, robbing them of all their honey, and presenting its unlooked-for sting to the caressing hand of love, even such is the dark frown when it settles on fair woman's brow.

HAL.

EMILIA GALOTTI.

A Tragedy.

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.

EMILIA GALOTTI has never, I believe, been translated into English; a matter of no small surprise, since this remarkable tragedy claims no less proud a distinction than that of having completed the reformation of the German taste, and turned its literature into the channel in which it at present flows. The Francomania and the Græcomania, long staggering under the well-directed force of Lessing's powerful criticism, before this specimen of the might of a genuine German spirit, were at length laid prostrate; and the German people, seized with astonishment at the superiority of their own natural powers, as exhibited by this glorious monument of their genius, were for the first time inspired with the desire of possessing a national literature. The example set, they laboured with diligence and effect; and it is to the direction given by Lessing to their thoughts, and decided by this specimen of German capabilities,—it is to this that we owe the mighty fabric of which the noble Schiller is the crowning glory. Had not Emilia Galotti been written, it is doubtful whether Don Carlos would have appeared. There is here no space to dwell upon the struggles that Lessing prosecuted, with a giant's force, against the unhealthy influence of the pseudo-classic French: sufficient that he prevailed, and won for himself the glory of being regarded by all posterity as the regenerator of German literature. He pointed out the false conceptions of the classic model by which the French laws of criticism were governed, the lifelessness of the French tragedians; and when Wieland translated Shakspere he was the first to proclaim with a mighty voice to his countrymen the glories of our immortal bard, and urge them to that zealous study of his works that has since formed so prominent a feature in the German character.

Emilia Galotti is justly looked upon as the first GERMAN tragedy. For the first time events of modern life were substituted for the strange deeds of heroes of antiquity; for the first time a modern court and modern courtiers assumed the place of Grecian or of

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