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 away, does not carry conviction. It is even more impossible to write history with a purpose than it is to write fiction with a purpose. Fiction can at least select its own limitations, and professedly excludes all the events of the lives of its characters except those which suit its immediate purpose. We know that the state of the world's affairs could not be set to suit a particular past, and that men cannot be read into the expression of abstract principles. History is very impatient of direct morals. Its teaching is to be found in large tendencies, which, it may be, are very imperfectly traceable within particular limits. History cannot be made picturesque by the skill of the writer. It must be picturesque in itself if it is to be so at all. All that the writer can claim is the artistic insight which discerns the elements of a forcible composition in unexpected places, and reveals unknown beauties by compelling attention to what might otherwise be overlooked.

We may agree that history should be made as picturesque as possible; but picturesqueness cannot be applied in patches. Characters must be made life-like by remembering that after all they were human beings, neither wholly good nor wholly bad, but animated by motives analogous to those which animate ourselves and are common to man in all ages. An historian ought to live with his characters as much as possible, and form a conception of their temperament and appearance, so as to feel that he is dealing, not with dummies, but with real persons. This is not always the method pursued. I remember being told by a friend that he was in a great library, and saw