it
constantly represented by others as the most interesting object to be
seen, is--at all hazards of time, fatigue, or expense--to see every thing.
But the historical novelist is fettered by no such necessity--he is
constrained to encumber his pages with no inconsiderable details.
Selecting for the objects of his piece the most striking characters and
moving incidents of the period he has chosen, he can throw full light upon
them, and paint the details with that minuteness of finishing which is
essential to conjuring up a vivid image in the reader's mind. He can give
the truth of history without its monotony--the interest of romance without
its unreality.

It was the power they enjoyed of abstracting in this manner from
surrounding and uninteresting details, which constituted the principal
charm of ancient history. The _Cyropaedia_ and _Anabasis_ of Xenophon are
nothing but historical romances. Livy's pictured page--Sallust's
inimitable sketches--Tacitus's finished paintings, over their chief
fascination to the simplicity of their subjects. Ancient history, being
confined to the exploits of a single hero or monarch, or the rise of a
particular city, could afford to be graphic, detailed, and consequently
interesting. That was comparatively an easy task when the events of one,
or at most two, states on the shores of the Mediterranean alone required
to be portrayed. But such a limitation of subject is impossible in modern
history, when the transactions of Europe, Asia, Africa and America require
to be detailed to render the thread of events complete. Even biography is
scarcely intelligible without such a narrative of the surrounding nations
and incidents as makes it run into the complexity and consequent dulness
of history. But the author of historical romance is entirely relieved from
this necessity, and consequently he can present the principal events and
characters of his world in far more brilliant colours to his readers than
is possible for the historian. Certainly with some the results of his more
attractive influence will be doubted; but, be that as it may, it is the
Henry V. or Richard III. of Shakspeare that occur to every mind when these
English monarchs are thought of, not the picture of them presented, able
as it is, by Hume or Turner. If we hear of Richard Coeur-de-Lion, we
immediately conjure up the inimitable picture of the crusading hero in
_Ivanhoe_ or the _Talisman_. Elizabeth of England is admirably portr