ing after this manner, with the course of his narrative, many striking sentiments and useful observations.

Let us next proceed to consider the proper qualities of historical narration. It is obvious, that on the manner of narration, much must depend, as the first notion of history is the recital of past facts; and how much one mode of recital may be preferable to another, we shall soon be convinced, by thinking of the different effects, which the same story, when told by two different persons, is found to produce.

The first virtue of historical narration, is clearness, order, and due connection. To attain this, the historian must be completely master of his subject; he must see the whole as at one view; and comprehend the chain and dependence of all its parts, that he may introduce every thing in its proper place; that he may lead us smoothly along the track of affairs which are recorded, and may always give us the satisfaction of seeing how one event arises out of another." Without this, there can be neither pleasure nor instruction, in reading history. Much for this end will depend on the observance of that unity in the general plan and conduct, which, in the preceding lecture, I recommended. Much too will depend on the proper management of transitions, which forms one of the chief ornaments of this kind of writing, and is one of the most difficult in execution. Nothing tries an historian's abilities more, than so to lay his train beforehand, as to make us pass naturally and agreeably from one part of his subject to another; to employ no clumsy and awkward junctures; and to contrive ways and means of forming some union among transactions, which seem to be most widely separated from one another. In the next place, as history is a very dignified species of composition, gravity must always be maintained in the narration. There must be no meanness nor vulgarity in the style; no quaint nor colloquial phrases; no affectation of pertness, or of wit. The smart, or the sneering manner of telling a story, is inconsistent with the historical character. I do not say, that an historian is never to let himself down. He may sometimes do it with propriety, in order to diversify the strain of his narration, which, if it be perfectly uniform, is apt to become tiresome. But he should be careful never to descend too far; and, on occasions where a light or ludicrous anecdote is proper to be recorded, it is generally better to throw it into a note, than to hazard becoming too familiar, by introducing it into the body of the work.

But an historian may profess these qualities of being perspicuous, distinct, and grave, and may notwithstanding be a dull writer; in which case, we shall reap little benefit from his labours. We shall read him without pleasure; or, most probably, we shall soon give over reading him at all. He must therefore study to render his narration interesting; which is the quality that chiefly distinguishes a writer of genius and eloquence.

Two things are especially conducive to this; the first is, a just medium in the conduct of narration, between a rapid or crowded recital of facts, and a prolix detail. The former embarrasses, and the latter tires us. An historian that would interest us, must know when to be concise, and where he ought to enlarge; passing concisely over slight and unimportant events, but dwelling on such as are striking and considerable in their nature, or pregnant with consequences; preparing beforehand our at tention to them, and bringing them forth into the most full and conspicuous light. The next thing he must attend to, is a proper selection of the

circumstances belonging to those events which he chooses to relate fully. General facts make a slight impression on the mind. It is by means of circumstances and particulars properly chosen, that a narration becomes interesting and affecting to the reader. These give life, body, and colouring to the recital of facts, and enable us to behold them as present, and passing before our eyes. It is this employment of circumstances, in narration, that is properly termed historical painting.

In all these virtues of narration, particularly in this last, of picturesque descriptive narration, several of the ancient historians eminently excel. Hence, the pleasure that is found in reading Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, Livy, Sallust, and Tacitus. They are all conspicuous for the art of narration. Herodotus is, at all times, an agreeable writer, and relates every thing with that naivete and simplicity of manner, which never fails to interest the reader. Though the manner of Thucydides be more dry and harsh, yet, on great occasions, as when he is giving an account of the plague of Athens, the siege of Platea, the sedition in Corcyra, the defeat of the Athenians in Sicily, he displays a very strong and masterly power of description. Xenophon's Cyropædia, and his Anabasis, or Retreat of the Ten Thousand, are extremely beautiful. The circumstances are finely selected, and the narration is easy and engaging; but his Hellenics, or Continuation of the History of Thueydides, is a much inferior work. Sallust's Art of Historical Painting in his Catilinarian, but, more especially in his Jugurthine War, is well known; though his style is liable to censure, as too studied and affected. Livy is more unexceptionable in his manner; and is excelled by no historian whatever in the art of narration; several remarkable examples might be given from him. His account, for instance, of the famous defeat of the Roman army by the Samnites, at the Furce Caudinæ, in the beginning of the ninth book, affords one of the most beautiful exemplifications of historical painting, that is any where to be met with. We have first, an exact description of the narrow pass between two mountains, into which the enemy had decoyed the Romans. When they find themselves caught, and no hope of escape left, we are made to see, first, their astonishment, next, their indignation, and then, their dejection, painted in the most lively manner, by such circumstances and actions as were natural to persons in their situation. The restless and unquiet manner in which they pass the night; the consultations of the Samnites; the various measures proposed to be taken; the messages between the two armies, all heighten the scene. At length, in the morning, the consuls return to the camp, and inform them they could receive no other terms but that of surrendering their arms, and passing under the yoke, which was considered as the last mark of ignominy for a conquered army. Part of what then follows, I shall give in the author's own words. Redintegravit luctum in castris consulum adventus; ut vix ab iis abstinerent manus, quorum temeritate in eum locum deducti essent. Alii alios intueri, contemplari arma mox tradenda, et inermes futuras dextras; proponere sibimet ipsi ante oculos, jugum hostile, et ludibria victoris, et vultus superbos, et per armatos inermium iter. Inde fædi agminis miserabilem viam ; per sociorum urbes reditum in patriam ac parentes quo sæpe ipsi triumphantes venissent. Se solos sine vulnere, sine ferro, sine acie victos; sibi non stringere licuisse gladios, non manum cum hoste conserere; sibi nequicquam arma, nequicquam vires, nequicquam animos datos. Hæc frementibus,

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hora fatalis ignominiæ advenit. Jamprimùm cum singulis vestimentis, inermes extra vallum abire jussi. Tum a consulibus abire lictores jussi, paludamentaque detracta. Tantam hoc inter ipsos, qui paulo ante eos dedendos, lacerandosque censuerant, miserationem fecit, ut suæ quisque conditionis oblitus, ab illa deformatione tantæ majestatis, velut ab nefando spectaculo, averteret oculos. Primi consules, prope seminudi, sub jugum missi,* &c. The rest of the story, which it would be too long to insert, is carried on with the same beauty, and full of pica turesque circumstances.†

Tacitus is another author eminent for historical painting, though in a manner altogether different from that of Livy. Livy's descriptions are more full, more plain, and natural; those of Tacitus consist in a few bold strokes. He selects one or two remarkable circumstances, and sets them before us in a strong, and, generally, in a new and uncommon light. Such is the following picture of the situation of Rome, and of the emperor Galba, when Otho was advancing against him: Agebatur huc illuc Galba, vario urbæ fluctuantis impulsu, completis undique basilicis et templis, lugub.i prospectu. Neque populi aut plebis ulla vox; sed attoniti vultus, et conversæ ad omnia aures. Non tumultus, non quies; sed quale magni metûs, et magnæ iræ, silentium est.'‡ No

The arrival of the consuls in the camp, wrought up their passions to such a degree, that they could scarcely abstain from laying violent hands on them, as by their rashness they had been brought into this situation. They began to look upon one another; to cast a melancholy eye on their arms, which were now to be surrendered, and on their right hands, which were to become defenceless. The yoke under which they were to pass; the scoffs of the conquerors: and their haughty looks, when disarmed and stripped, they should be led through the hostile lines: all rose before their eyes. They then looked forward to the sad journey which awaited them, when they were to pass as a vanquished and disgraced army through the territories of their allies, by whom they had often been beheld returning in triumph to their families and native land. They alone, they muttered to one another, without an engagement, without a single blow, had been conquered. To their hard fate it fell, never to have had it in their power to draw a sword, or to look an enemy in the face; to them only, arms, strength and courage, had been given in vain. While they were thus giving vent to their indignation the fatal moment of their ignominy arrived. First, they were all commanded to come forth from the camp, without armour, and in a single garment. Next, orders were given, that the consuls should be left without their lictors, and that they should be stripped of their robes. Such commiseration did this affront excite among them, who, but a little before, had been for delivering up those very consuls, to the enemy, and for putting them to death, that every one forgot his own condition, and turned his eyes aside from this infamous disgrace, suffered by the consular dignity, as from a spectacle which was too detestable to be beheld. The consuls, almost half naked, were first made to pass under the yoke,' &c.

†The description which Cæsar gives of the consternation occasioned in his camp, by the accounts which were spread among his troops, of the ferocity, the size, and the courage of the Germans, affords an instance of historical painting, executed in a simple manner; and, at the same time, exhibiting a natural and lively scene. Dum paucos dies ad Vesontionem moratur, ex percunctatione nostrorum, voscibusque Gallorum ac mercatorum, qui ingenti magnitudine corporum Germanos, incredibili virtute, adque exercitatione in armis esse prædicabant; s pe numero sese cum iis congressos ne vultum quidem atque aciem oculorum ferre potuisse; tantus subito terror omnem exercitum occupavit. ut non mediocriter omnium mentes animosque perturbaret. Hic primum ortus est a tribunis militum, ac præfectis, reliquisque qui ex urbe, amicitiæ causa, Cæsarem seenti, suum periculum miserabantur, quod non magnum in re militari usum habebant quorum alius, aliâ causa illata quam sibi ad proficiscendum necessariam esse diceret, petebat ut ejus voluntate discedere liceret. Nonnulli pudore adducti, ut timoris suspicionem vitarent, remanebant. Hi neque vultum fingere, neque interdum lacrymas tenere poterant. Abditi in tabernacolis aut suum fatum querebantur, aut cum familiaribus suis, commune periculum miserabantur. Vulgo, totis castris testamenta obsignabantur.'

DE BELL. GALL. L. I.

‡'Galba was driven to and fro by the tide of the multitude, shoving him from place to place. The temples and the public buildings were filled with crowds of a dismal appearance. No clamours were heard, either from the citizens, or from the rabble. Their coun

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to the judicious Father Paul. Bentivoglio, in his excellent history, of the wars of Flanders, is accused of approaching to the florid and pompous manner; and Davila, though one of the most agreeable and entertaining relaters, has manifestly this defect of spreading a sort of uniformity over all his characters, by representing them as guided too regularly by political interest. But, although some such objections may be made to these authors, they deserve, upon the whole, to be placed in the first rank of modern historical writers. The wars of Flanders, written in Latin by Famianus Strada, is a book of some note; but is not entitled to the same reputation as the works of the other historians I have named. Strada is too violently partial to the Spanish cause; and too open a panegyrist of the Prince of Parma. He is florid, diffuse, and an affected imitator of the manner and style of Livy.

Among the French, as there has been much good writing in many kinds, so also in the historical. That ingenious nation who have done so much honour to modern literature, possesses, in an eminent degree, the talent of narration. Many of their later historical writers are spirited, lively and agreeable; and some of them not deficient in profoundness and penetration. They have not, however, produced any such capital historians as the Italians, whom I mentioned above.

Our island, till within these few years, was not eminent for its historical productions. Early, indeed, Scotland made some figure by means of the celebrated Buchanan. He is an elegant writer, classical in his Latinity, and agreeable both in narration and description. But one cannot but suspect him to be more attentive to elegance than to accuracy. Accustomed to form his political notions wholly upon the plans of ancient governments, the feudal system seems never to have entered into his thoughts; and as this was the basis of the Scottish constitution, his political views are of course, inaccurate and imperfect. When he comes to the transactions of his own times, there is such a change in his manner of writing, and such an asperity in his style, that, on what side soever the truth lies with regard to those dubious and long controverted facts which make the subject of that part of his work, it is impossible to clear him from being deeply tinctured with the spirit of party.

Among the older English historians, the most considerable is Lord Clarendon. Though he writes as the professed apologist of one side, yet there appears more impartiality in his relation of facts, than might at first be expected. A great spirit of virtue and probity runs through his work. He maintains all the dignity of an historian. His sentences, indeed, are often too long, and his general manner is prolix ; but his style, on the whole, is manly; and his merit, as an historian, is much beyond mediocrity. Bishop Burnet is lively and perspicuous; but he has hardly any other historical merit. His style is too careless and familiar for history; his characters are, indeed, marked with a bold and strong hand; but they are generally light and satirical; and he abounds so much in little stories concerning himself, that he resembles more a writer of memoirs than of history. During a long period, English historical authors were little more than dull compilers; till of late the distinguished names of Hume, Robertson, and Gibbon, have raised the British character, in this species of writing, to high reputation and dignity.

I observed in the preceding lecture, that annals, memoirs, and lives, are the inferior kinds of historical composition, It will be proper, be

fore dismissing this subject, to make a few observations upon them. Annals are commonly understood to signify a collection of facts, digested according to chronological order; rather serving for the materials of history, than aspiring to the name of history themselves. All that is required, therefore, in a writer of such annals, is to be faithful, distinct, and complete.

Memoirs denote a sort of composition, in which an author does not pretend to give full information of all the facts respecting the period of which he writes, but only to relate what he himself had access to know or what he was concerned in, or what illustrates the conduct of some person, or the circumstances of some transaction, which he chooses for his subject. From a writer of memoirs, therefore, is not expected the same profound research, or enlarged information, as from a writer of history. He is not subject to the same laws of unvarying dignity and gravity. He may talk freely of himself; he may descend into the most familiar anecdotes. What is chiefly required of him is, that he be sprightly and interesting; and especially, that he inform us of things that are useful and curious; that he convey to us some sort of knowledge worth the acquiring. This is a species of writing very bewitching to such as love to write concerning themselves, and conceive every transaction, in which they had a share, to be of singular importance. There is no wonder, therefore, that a nation so sprightly as the French, should, for two centuries past, have been pouring forth a whole flood of memoirs; the greatest part of which are little more than agreeable trifles.

Some, however, must be excepted from this general character: two in particular; the memoirs of the Cardinal de Retz, and those of the Duke of Sully. From Retz's Memoirs, besides the pleasure of agreeable and lively narration, we may derive also much instruction, and much knowledge of human nature. Though his politics be often too fine spun, yet the memoirs of a professed factious leader, such as the Cardinal was, wherein he draws both his own character, and that of several great personages of his time, so fully, cannot be read by any person of good sense without benefit. The Memoirs of the Duke of Sully, in the state in which they are now given to the public, have great merit, and deserve to be mentioned with particular praise. No memoirs approach more nearly to the usefulness, and the dignity of a full legitimate history. They have this peculiar advantage, of giving us a beautiful display of two of the most illustrious characters which history presents; Sully himself, one of the ablest and most incorrupt ministers, and Henry IV. one of the greatest and most amiable princes of modern times. I know few books more full of virtue, and of good sense, than Sully's Memoirs; few, therefore, more proper to form both the heads and the hearts of such as are designed for public business, and action in the world. Biography, or the writing of lives, is a very useful kind of composition; less formal and stately than history: but to the bulk of readers, perhaps, no less instructive, as it affords them the opportunity of seeing the characters and tempers, the virtues and failings of eminent men fully displayed; and admits them into a more thorough and intimate acquaintance with such persons, than history generally allows. For a writer of lives may descend, with propriety, to minute circumstances, and familiar incidents. It is expected of him, that he is to give the private, as well as the public life, of the person whose actions he records; nay, it is from private life, from familiar, domestic, and seemingly triv