WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT.

MR. PRESCOTT seems to us to combine many of the qualities requisite to make a popular historian. Less philosophical than Hume, he is more graphic and interesting; and the charm of his narrative so far exceeds the cold and dispassionate style of Hallam, as to give him a decided advantage over that classical and condensed historian. We must not, however, forget that the subjects treated of by Mr. Prescott are his own selection, and the most attractive on record. The unbaring to the eyes of the old world the other half so long buried in the western waters, is undoubtedly the greatest marvel in the history of the world. It is almost tantamount to some adventurous spirit reaching the moon and leading his companions to explore its mysterious recesses. It may be doubted if curiosity is not the controlling passion of the large majority of human kind, and mystery is the greatest provocative to its exercise existing. The discovery of America roused the known world into an activity unparalleled in history. Had a new planet suddenly swung alongside our earth, and courted millions by the easiest of conveyances to land and trace its wonders, not more astonishment could have

been manifested. It was the absorbing topic, and even now the desire to be mentally present at that time exists in full force. Every one seems anxious to accompany the daring few who unsealed the wonders of the new world, and we venture to say never has the true nature of a historian for those exciting times been better developed than in the author now under notice.

Every passage is based on a fact, while it reads as a romance. There is the dignity of truth and the chivalric exciting spirit of adventure harmoniously blended. Nor is he less successful in tracing with the eye of a shrewd observer the progress of those changes which in time affect the stability of states. Every nation, like every individual, has its birth, manhood, and death; but just as a nation exceeds a man in amount, so do its processes work with a proportionable slowness. There is nothing in one generation to show how far the shadow of decay has crept over the vast complexity of interests which constitutes a nation. We see not in a single year the stealing change in a human being, but a decade is unmistakable. In like manner the journalist lives and dies, and has no tangible mark to show how far the day has advanced in the life of his own country, or in those around him; but the historian, looking back from the eminence of Time, beholds the ascent and the decline. But it not alone requires the philosophical eye to see this, but it also requires other qualities to make this apparent to others. If the writer treats this in a dry, technical manner, the lesson is lost to the world; it only exists as a book of reference to the scholar or the antiquary; it buries itself in its own dust, and rots

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in the sepulchre of its own research. But when a man comes who has the power, he bids the dead Lazarus of a life of labor come forth and talk to the masses of mankind.

A first-rate historian requires powers seldom found in one man. A deficiency of any of these qualities is more apparent and deteriorates the whole, more than the absence of any single faculty in the poet, the philosopher, or the novelist. A poet may be of first-rate excellence without the possession of a philosophical mind: he may be unapproached as a lyrical writer. The philosopher may be great, and yet altogether destitute of poetical imagination. The metaphysician may be a pioneer into a new world of thought, and yet be devoid of imagination or command of language. It is only a great dramatist, like Shakspeare or Schiller, who enjoys so large a combination of opposite qualities. In like manner, the great historian is in the world of fact what the dramatist is in the world of fiction. He requires a philosophical mind; a keen insight into human nature; a patient investigation of conflicting testimonies; a power of judging from the context, and in seizing upon the most probable fact, out of the very instinct which always accompanies a large and accurate knowledge of human nature; and above all, he must possess the Promethean spark of imagination to put all this into coherent life and motion, when he has gathered the dead materials of the past. He must satisfactorily answer the question, "Can these dry bones live ?"

A great merit in Mr. Prescott is the total absence he displays of all onesidedness. He is less subjective than any prominent historian we are aequainted with. This is a rare

virtue. A glance at the most celebrated authors will prove this. While Lingard's statements must be received with caution whenever his Romanist prejudices come into play, Gibbon is not to be trusted on account of his hatred of Christianity. Hume, without any dislike to Christianity in particular, has a strong tendency to infidelity in general. These objections apply only to religious opinions; but when we come to a political bias the disturbing influences are enormous. Who can trust Robertson, where the evidence conflicts, on the Queen of Scotland?-and few can receive the special-pleading of Hume, as conclusive, on the civil war in England. Even Macintosh and Macaulay are swayed by these elements, and it is, perhaps, difficult to find any entirely free from them. Now we claim for Mr. Prescott a great exemption from this evil; he is decidedly an objective writer; there is the eloquence of the pleader, and the impartiality of the judge; and we feel, as we proceed in his details, that we can place confidence in his verdicts.

Another distinguishing trait is in his endeavor to throw his readers back into the times he is treating on. He is not content with considering the past as the past, but he endeavors to carry us back to the time itself. Many, consequently, consider the commencement of his histories tedious, but we feel glad afterwards that we have listened to the exordium. Coleridge was in the habit of observing that it is said, any fool can ask a question, but it takes a wise man to answer it; his version was, it also took a wise man to put the question aright. We have, therefore, often heard common-place men accuse Coleridge of never giving a direct answer. When this was named

to him one day, by a "yes and no" man, the great logician smiled at the ignorance and folly of the objector; and began forthwith to explain to the bewildered blockhead that it required also a wise man to put a question in a proper shape. There is scarcely an inquiry in the world, either metaphysical, circumstantial, or personal, that is capable of being directly answered. It requires a thorough investigation of all points connected with the subject to be able to master what the interrogator wants.

This applies in an eminent manner to history. It is not enough to narrate the actions just as they happened, or to report the speeches just as they were said. It is indispensably necessary that the starting-ground should be thoroughly reconnoitred. Without this we answer, just as men walk in the dark over a field they are ignorant of; they may put their foot on firm ground, or fall headlong down some yawning chasm. It is absolutely requisite that some insight should be had into the history, pursuits, and designs of the actors, and some personal knowledge of the man. Then we are better able to judge how far the historian puts true motives for this or that equivocal act. Many deeds, now apparently obscure or startling, are perfectly intelligible when judged in context with others; but taken singly and alone they are enough to damn a man's reputation and contradict his whole career. We need only glance at this; to insist upon it would be a waste of time. We leave every reader to fill up the sketch out of his own experience.

Now it occurs to us that the author before us feels this necessity in all its force, and that he does his best to remedy the