trives to transfer to the mind of the
reader a reflection of the brilliant scenes created in his own
imagination. The historian embraces a wider sphere, and aims rather at
portraying the general features of whole districts of country, or even
quarters of the globe. But a painter's eye, a poet's mind, are equally
required by both; and not the least interesting parts of the works of
either are those in which the author leaves the busy and checkered scenes
of dramatic incident, to dwell amidst the recesses of inanimate
beauty,--to traverse the Alps with their shepherds, or the Pampas with
their Gauchos, and mingle with the turbid course of human events somewhat
of the purity which breathes amidst the works of Nature.

Notwithstanding this identity of object and art, there is nothing more
certain than that romance writers in general have not made the best
historians. Poets also, whose art so closely resembles that of the
novelist, have in general failed when they invoked the historic muse.
Smollett was in many respects an admirable romance writer; but the author
of "Roderick Random" has left a History of England, which is nothing but a
compilation of parliamentary debates and gazettes. Scott's powers as a
romance writer were so great and various, and his delineations of historic
scenes, characters, and events, so graphic and powerful, that it seemed
next to impossible that he should not be equally successful as a
historian, especially when the theme was one so varied and animating as
the "Life of Napoleon." Voltaire's genius was universal, and seemed
equally adapted to every object of human pursuit; but his historical
works, though deservedly popular as school books, have never risen to an
eminence approaching that justly attained by his tragedies and critical
disquisitions.

What is very remarkable, and is just the reverse of what might _a priori_
have been expected, the point in which romance writers in general fail,
when they undertake history, is in giving sufficient life and animation to
their narrative. Like race-horses, they seem in general incapable of
carrying any considerable weight. They would break down under the panoply
which a steed of Norman or Flemish extraction can sustain without
difficulty. Their imagination is only kindled when it is at liberty to
roam at will over a world of their own creation. Confined to the narration
of actual events, limited to the delineation of real character, cramped by
the desc