Thus when I stand at twilight before the Majesty of Nature in her wintry mood, I am reminded of the great sorrow of Lear, and when I follow the tale of his madness and death-the wild, stormy evening of December is around me. And thus am I led to praise the wondrous goodness of that Father who has given me both the creation of the Poet and the Winter's Storm.

WHEN the student undertakes to investigate the history of the past, it is not the multiplicity of facts that appalls him, so much as the difficulty of distinguishing those facts amid the dense mists of prejudice and mis-statement by which they are enveloped. There are so many influences, from education and association, which combine to warp the views and bias the conclusions of the most pains-taking and impartial historians, that they too often present to their readers, however involuntarily, distorted views of historical facts. Would that this were the only or even the principle cause of historical inaccuracy! But there are those, traitors to every principle of duty and humanity, who wilfully put out the beacon-lights which the God of history has placed on every shoal of human error,-faithless pilots, who, for interested purposes to themselves or their parties, would lure individuals and communities to danger and destruction. The most gigantic intellect, the most far-reaching sagacity, the keenest penetration, afford no ground of certainty that the narrator has not been deceived, the highest degree of conscientiousness and morality is no proof that he will not deceive. Nor is he alone to blame for the erroneous impressions he conveys to the minds of his readers. Prejudice is objective, as well as subjective. We are ourselves so much under its influence, as to receive with blind confidence all that may coincide with our own prepossessions, and with distrust all that may be said in opposition to them. With teachers apt to deceive, and scholars

apt to be deceived; therefore, can we wonder at the prevalence of historical error. "If the blind lead the blind, shall they not both fall into the ditch ?"

These considerations, coupled with the fact that the history of the past has an important influence on the present and the future,-invest the office of the historian with peculiar responsibility. They stamp with indelible disgrace not a few writers of the present day, whose works, prepared with a simple view to their sale, taint the minds of the young with a prejudice which the more profound researches of maturer years are often unable to eradicate. If such works were given to the world under the name of fiction, their influence would be sufficiently mischievous. They seize upon those characters for their heroes, (as if there could be any heroes in true history) whose course has been comet-like,— brilliant, but lamentably eccentric, possessing an indescribable but potent charm for young and ardent minds. Glossing over their faults, magnifying their virtues,-especially those, as generosity and valor, which please such minds more than the milder and more passive virtues,-they by turns arouse the admiration and excite the sympathies. How much of that false principle which influences the minds of the young at the present day, is to be traced to the impossible characters whom Headley has dubbed with the names of Cromwell and Napoleon, the day of revelation of the secrets of men's hearts alone can tell.

From this labyrinth, therefore, of error, of voluntary and involuntary misrepresentation, how are we to extricate ourselves? The light which we follow is an ignis fatuus. A cloud enwraps us. How shall we detect the one, and escape the other? What are they? They are but different phases of the same principles,-selfishness. Selfishness in the historian. misleads-selfishness in the student of history blinds. To the first we have already referred,-it remains briefly to speak of the second.

One difficulty in the way of historical accuracy, and which may be traced to the principle of selfishness, is to be found in the reverence which a people entertain for the memory of their ancestors, political and religious, even more than natural ancestors. It is one of those principles of human nature which all the modern declamation about "progress cannot eradicate. Those who are most called, by way of eminence," the 'men of the age," who most heartily despise anything that looks like "old-fogyism,"”—are wonderfully anxious to prove, and wonderfully elated when they do prove, that their forefathers thought as they do. "Progress," indeed, would sometimes seem to be simply motion outwards from

the present, without regarding whether the movement be backward to the past, or forward to the future. Thus, as historic research brings to light the facts and theories of by-gone ages, the world may suddenly find itself where it was a hundred years ago, and the revolving cycles of knowledge prove the truth of the preacher's declaration, "There is nothing new under the sun." Whether this be so or not, we are far from condemning a due reverence for antiquity. It is a sentiment whose influence on this utilitarian age and nation cannot fail of being eminently salutary. Would that it were more generally diffused! But while on some points it is wanting, to a lamentable degree,-on others, again, it is carried to such an excess as to incapacitate men for taking impartial views of history. The founders of a nation, or a sect-political or religious-are in imminent peril of deification. Heathen Rome gave her founder a place among the gods, and the band of outlaws who took refuge in the infant city of the seven hills, were referred to, in after ages, as the parents of many a proud patrician stock. Papal Rome, in like manner, has exalted her supposed founder to a position far higher than he desired or deserved, and has enrolled many of his successors in her catalogue of Saints, whose names would have disgraced, by the moral infamy which attaches to them, even the calendar of Newgate. On the same principle, the memory of the leader of a great political party is carefully cherished by his followers, long after his decease; while to be the founder of a religious sect is a sure passport to an earthly, though not a heavenly immortality.

How great an obstacle this is in the way of the student of history, can be appreciated by one who attempts to form a judgment on the character of Cromwell. He lived in one of the crises of history, when men were representative men. He stands associated with certain principles. His name is the shibboleth of a party. Nor would it be a much more difficult task to collect from the four winds the dust of his unburied corpse, than to gather from the numberless and varied representations and misrepresentations of his friends and enemies, such elements of his character as would bring him entire before us,-the soldier, the statesman, the man, the Christian.

Nearer home, however, we have another instance of a similar difficulty, in connexion with the history of the Puritans. Surely no body of men have suffered as they have, from the over-wrought zeal of their partizans. "Deliver me from my friends." We say they have suffered, for a onesided view, even though favorable, can never be of permanent advantage to any one. And the Puritans, if past experience do not fail us as to the

ultimate fate of historic heroes, will yet lose as much from undue depression as they may be supposed to have gained heretofore by undue exaltation. From Connecticut to Maine,-nay, wherever the ubiquitous Yankee has carried the traditions of the Mayflower and Plymouth Rock, on Thanksgiving day from the pulpit, and on the 4th of July from the platform and the stump,-the Pilgrim Fathers, their piety, their sufferings for conscience sake, their superlative wisdom and far-reaching statesmanship, their virtues, exhausting the whole catalogue,-these are the threadbare themes of lay and clerical eulogizers. Their actions, indeed, must be admitted to look a little dubious at times, for "facts are stubborn things," but their motives, especially in the earlier period of their history, their motives, who shall impugn their angelic purity? Judicious praise, indeed, they merit, and judicious censure, too,-their misfortune is to have no historians, but panegyrists and detractors.

But we meet, if possible, a still greater difficulty in the way of historical accuracy, in the relation which the events of the past sustain to the opinions of existing parties. Remoteness of time seems to be unavailing to secure coolness and impartiality of consideration. The reason is, and it is one of the greatest embarrassments under which history labors, that the principles of the present are linked, with the actions of the past. Contending parties fight around the dead bodies of their leaders, more fiercely than the Greeks and Trojans around Patroclus fallen. Their names are the watchwords of their respective partizans, from generation to generation. But it is a living principle, and not a mere dead historical fact, which excites the passions of the combatants.

Partizanship, however much to be deplored, is, perhaps, after all, a necessary evil. On the world's great battle-field, neutrality is impossible. We must take sides,—and on our own side we seem to see arrayed all that is good, and beautiful, and great. If only the writers of history were under the influence of party prejudice, it might be possible for their readers, weighing their statements in the balances of a just criticism, to bring order out of chaos,-and, amid the opposing forces of error, to attain the equilibrium of truth. But it is otherwise,-and the fact that' we are prejudiced, while it impedes our own view of truth, often renders those who have the ability and the inclination, reluctant to bring it out fairly. It is an ungrateful task to go in opposition to the general current of popular feeling. In some circumstances it savors of presumption. But the student of history will not realize the full benefit of his pursuit, if he allow the fear of such an imputation to restrain him either from a

fair and unbiased investigation into the character and actions of the men of other days, or from making known the results of such investigation, under proper circumstances. He should do this, both because the men of the present can never be permanently benefited by a one-sided view of the events of the past,—and because, in so doing, he may both interest and profit by the exhumation from the dust of ages, of many a historical curiosity.

THE ENTHUSIASM OF THE

NATURALIST.

ARDOR in the pursuit of an object is the first requisite to success. Whoever with enthusiastic love undertakes the accomplishment of a design, is almost sure to succeed. He would be but a sorry architect, however, who should plan a magnificent structure, with no definite adaptation of its several apartments. So is enthusiasm without a definite aim, not only futile, but destructive.

The late progress of science, and its present popularity, has led us to consider somewhat the source of that enthusiasm with which the naturalist prosecutes his labors. To those who have been permitted to read a page or two from Nature's book, in her own language, such zeal appears of no mysterious origin. If aside from the almost numberless visible forms that inhabit earth, air and water, we remember that every plant as well as every oak, every drop of glistening dew, as well as the limitless ocean, is peopled with thousands of minute sportive organisms, who can be otherwise than enthusiastic in the study of their forms and habits, who can help asking himself: for what do these almost invisible beings, whom I can crush without the slightest effort, live, and how do they spend their ephemeral existence?

Yet numbers there are who have been called naturalists, while they understand scarcely a sound of that language in which Nature proclaims her oracles, who have looked at science only as a system of meaningless names-neglecting their connection with living objects.

"These concealed by the kind art of favoring

Heaven, escape the grosser eye of man."