it all comes within the realm of _art_ or
_accident_, and any scientific truth can not be founded thereon. For
example, Macaulay says: "The handwriting of Junius is the very peculiar
handwriting of Francis, slightly disguised." Handwriting is an _art_,
just like chopping wood or playing on the piano. And to tell who wrote
an article by the "peculiar" handwriting, is about as safe as to hazard
an opinion upon who is chopping wood by the "peculiar" swing of the ax.
Nor does the same individual always write in the same style or manner.
Such proof is good for nothing. And this is the nature of all external
evidence, and is the cause of the endless litigation in our courts. A
man may go on the stand and swear to a lie. I have known men do it. Then
we draw inferences from the associations of men, which the real facts of
the case might not warrant. The accidents of place and position, of
friendships and age, of times and circumstances, and even of existence,
all may or may not, in a world full of men, have bearing on the facts
which form the opinion of an outside spectator. For example, Francis,
_it is said_, "did not _deny_ that he was Junius." If he had denied or
affirmed he was, it would have proved just the same. It belongs to the
most worthless kind of external evidence. A naturalist does not ask his
horse whether or not he is a horse. If the horse could speak and say to
his master, "I am a jackass," the master would be a fool to believe him.
It is thus persons often put on a character in a word or two which does
not belong to them, but nature takes care to always reveal the true
character, if they say much. Now if we could get within the meaning of
the words, get behind them to the spirit of their author, we would be
getting at the very soul of evidence. This would be true, and we could
found a scientific conclusion upon it, because _natural_ and not
_artificial_. This is internal evidence. At present, this kind of
evidence is known only in such a criticism as this, for the soul of the
author shines out of his work, I care not who he is. We may, for aught
I know, write our history on all we touch. If so, science will some day
give the world a knowledge of it. It is then external evidence will have
ceased.

In a work of this kind, it is incumbent on the critic to ascertain,
first, the spirit and object of the work, and then to see if it be
inconsistent with itself. If it is not, then the character he finds will
be true t