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A. But the very scene has been remembered ever since.— What heart beats not at the sound of Runneymede?

B. If that had been the scene, and the event were real, would it not be piled with monuments? Would not Englishmen be obliged to pay for seeing it? Believe it not,-the tradition is just kept up by the innkeepers at Staines, and to help to buy cups at the Egham races.

A. But the autograph may be seen. The wrong date I have mentioned is not in the Latin. You have only to visit the Cottonian Library of the British Museum to satisfy yourself.

B. Did not John do all he could to annul it? Would he not get it into his power and keeping? How contrary to reason that he would surrender it to his enemies?

A. But it has universal belief in its favour!

B. The people, not one in a million having seen any pretended copy, are possessed with the idea that it is the title deed of their liberty,—their governors see that it contents them,—all are for bringing back the constitution to it,-every statute, concession, grant, bill, from that hour, may have been erroneous, niggard, partial, but this is perfect,—it is ruled for common law, and so it passes as the Sybil's books.

A. But it has been acted upon from that period!

B. I cry you mercy! During the times of the Star

Chamber?

A. That was an iniquitous departure from this Charter, and the contrast proved its iniquity. ・

B. Hume has taught me that the evidence of testimony diminishes in proportion to a fact being unusual: now it seems to me very unusual that a king should sit out of doors, and give to feudal oppressors of his people an inheritance of freedom. He moreover says, that we should be very slow in believing "any report which favours the passion of the reporter, whether it magnifies his country, his family, or himself:" but this report does magnify national vanity,—the antiquarian, who gave out that he had found the original, magnified his family and name, and a reference to it magnifies each individual who is pleased to imagine that his house is his castle. I therefore,

though you may call me incredulous and obstinate, do not believe it. It is an epidemic vertigo, and all heads have got wrong together!

Great improbabilities must not always obstruct our assent or shake our faith. Such have often been the odds of battle. Marathon, Thermopylæ, Granicus, Agincourt, recall to our minds contests the most unequal in numbers and in losses.What might not the glories of Blenheim and Ramilies have warranted England to demand, when from the height of those great victories she dictated the peace of Europe? Hard is it for posterity to believe that she suspended all on the treaty of Utrecht: one clause of which was great, the liberation of the persecuted Huguenots of France. But is it credible that another clause should be found, securing to Britain a share in the Spanish Assiento with the French Guinea Company, by which we won the palmy privilege of furnishing to the Spanish American Dominions, an annual importation of four thousand eight hundred slaves! And sometimes we learn, that where there was to the public eye unmixed atrocity, a redeeming virtue may have existed, an unknown hand strewed flowers upon Nero's tomb. These improbabilities will often require us to recollect the different position of parties. I will refer to an example, which has long since ceased to be a question of exciting politics. Three royal sepulchres rise between us and that date; and the contending statesmen now sleep side by side among the mighty dead. In the question of the first regency, who would not be surprised to find the absolute monarchism, the popular restraint, in the mouths of those who seem exactly to have changed natures, as well as sides, for that passing turn?

Certain fopperies, a fanfaronnade, of criticism have done much harm to the cause of historic truth. A gentleman of this neighbourhood has done the world the amusing kindness of assuring it, that the two worst-treated personages are Richard the Third and Eugene Aram. The first it seems had a son who was taught the learned languages, and who, when reduced to be a shepherd, spoke of the stolen interviews he had enjoyed with his royal sire. Hunch and all are to be disbelieved! The best

of uncles too! Poor Eugene Aram, it is not to be denied, did commit the murder for which he was executed; but then he laid out the proceeds, as a good botanist should do, in a flowergarden! The Defence may come rather late, but better late than never! The next tyrant, according to popular injustice, who shall receive vindication may be Caligula, and as an appropriate pendent, I would put in a plea for Turpin! Could a man be utterly depraved, who rode so well?

Another injury done to historic credit is from the quarter of the drama. Shakspeare is more fascinating, and more readily, more lastingly, remembered-than Rapin. But as a dramatist he altered, invented, transposed. His Hubert is a knightattendant upon John, the Hubert of history is Archbishop of Canterbury. For other discrepancies I have not further space. The genius of Walter Scott will never excuse his perversions of history.

A too philosophic tone is adopted by some of these authors. It is not disputed, what Tacitus observed, "that it is incumbent on the writer to rejudge the actions of men, to the end that the good and worthy may meet with the reward due to eminent virtue, and that mischievous citizens may be deterred by the condemnation that waits on evil deeds, at the tribunal of posterity." In this consists the chief part of the historian's duty. But histories have been composed too much on a theory, upon a prejudice, the course of events has been held back from its natural progress by disquisition,-you were allowed to look at nothing without the troublesome showman bawling into your ears. Coleridge is said to have asked Southey, hearing that he was engaged on his History of Brazil, "Do you write of man natural as Herodotus, or of man political as Thucydides, or of man technical as Polybius?" The answer was smartly happy. "I mean to write the History of Brazil."

I know nothing which would more tend to damage the influence, or pervert the investigation, of history, than a blind acquiescence in Bolingbroke's Letters on its Study and its Use. To his noble style all will bear testimony. But his acerbity, his vanity, his recklessness of remark, his disdain of authority,

leave him most open to suspicion. If any thing more than the rest could disgust the reader, it is his affectation of originality. He tricks up common-places as perfect discoveries. Forsooth, he will "have no regard to the methods prescribed by others." And yet is it no very notable novelty, that "history is conversant about the past, and that by knowing the things that have been, we become better able to judge of the things that are." His invective grows quite termagant on certain topics, and he avows "a thorough contempt for the whole business of certain learned lives: for all the researches into antiquity, for all the systems of chronology and history, that we owe to the immense labours of a Scaliger, a Bochart, a Petavius, an Usher, and even a Marsham." This is strange return from one devoted to history! Surely he must have known his obligations! Surely it is too much to throw contempt upon enquiries which Sir Isaac Newton pursued! But I have particularly introduced this charlatan to combat the moral which he would connect with History. He would inculcate that it is a rule. "By this map of the country," he says, "we who are only passengers in this world, which history spreads before us, may learn, if we please, to guide ourselves." Now nothing worse can be conceived than this abandonment of moral principle. According to it, the first of our race had no guide at all. Virtue and vice are made results of experience, and are founded upon no law. Essential differences between them are exploded. Man has nothing at hand,-fixed, imperative, to regulate him. If he can catch his shadow in history, it is well: if there be none, he must shift for himself. This is far vainer, and more pernicious, than any doctrine expediency ever broached. It is most intangible, most unsusceptible of application. He it was, too, who gave birth to the well-known aphorism: "History is philosophy teaching by example." Were the meaning all, that history should be so written, that it might be philosophy teaching by example, we could have no quarrel with the assertion. But it is far more bald and unqualified. It is designed to convert history into the only code, and only test of right and wrong. It is from history we must deduce our philosophy.

Philosophy will be its student, that it may be a learner from it. She is disciple rather than teacher. And the very materials of history are scarcely fitted for general instruction. It is not man who is so much exhibited there, as a particular class of men. It is not modest virtue which there finds its shaded niche,ambition there erects its flaunting stage. It is the men of courts and camps, the muster roll of fiercer spirits, who engross it. Instruction cannot respect events, but actions. How generally are these actions,-the sinuous intrigue of ambassadors, the cruel dint of warriors,-but calculated to blunt the moral sense, and sear each generous feeling! It is not a general school for man. The mass of our race love quiet and calm. Only a few seek an element of turbulence. Thus the most convulsing events of history leave the many unaffected, as the earthquake which rends the solid architecture of the city scarcely causes the pilgrim's tent to flap. And if it be the incentive rather than the school, it will follow, that all who seek its fame must stir themselves into notoriety, must conquer renown, must seize the means of aggrandisement, must make it an end, must, as the actors in the ancient theatres, overstrain their parts, must therefore emulate that which, whether good or evil, history most commonly and lavishly applauds. Hapless the lesson, undeserved the honour, of such historic instruction, of such historic award! Far happier are they, and only virtuous, who act on immediate precept; far more dignified they, who treat any history insignificant but the testimony of a good conscience. Our remembrance by posterity is but a chance,-brave men lived before Agamemnon,-and there is no certain verdict in its applause. Let our appeal be to something more authoritative, let our rule be in something more inflexible, let our reward be in something more direct, than the caprice of the historic dicer, or the hazard of the historic die. It is with events, and public interests, that this department of letters has to do, with political causes and combinations of causes,—that province it well fulfils,-but there must be a revolution in morals ere it may be the exponent of moral rule, or the sanction of moral obligation.

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