III. Biography

Beginning in England of literary biography

With Johnson's "Lives of the Poets" biography in England took on a literary quality. Before that time such work had been perfunctory and had been done by hack writers; but with the appearance of the "Life of Savage" (1744), says Macaulay, a new era began. "The little work with all its faults was a masterpiece. No finer specimen of literary biography existed in any language living or dead. The discerning critic might confidently have predicted that the author was destined to be the founder of a new school of English eloquence." And he was. Thirty-three years later, after he had become famous, a company of booksellers called on Dr. Johnson to add to the "Life of Savage" a series of biographical prefaces for an edition of the poets from Cowley downwards. Although intending at first to write only a few short paragraphs, this great and good talker let himself run on until he handed, over to the publishers ten volumes—somewhat short volumes to be sure, but a fine piece of work, and most of it very precious. From that time on, no biographer who expected to be read, dared be uninteresting. Prejudiced in temperament he might be, mistaken sometimes, but henceforth he must prove himself lively, vigorous, faithful, penetrating, sagacious, warm yet discriminating in praise, reasonable in censure, fearless in judgments, and fresh and exact in expression. The model had been set. The thing had been done not for one poet, but for many. Biography was now a literary type, to be written with care by a qualified person. It is worthy of note that the original type was short.

Great biographies in English

Since Johnson's day English literature has gained through biography some of the best books in the world. Boswell's "Life of Johnson" and Lockhart's "Life of Scott" are to be so ranked. Lockhart did also a superfine example of the short form, a biographical sketch of Theodore Hook, a very strange "bohemian." Lockhart's "Life of Napoleon" and "Life of Burns" are also standard. Trevelyan's "Life of Macaulay," Forster's "Life of Goldsmith" and "Life of Dickens" rank here, as possibly likewise Southey's "Life of Nelson," Mrs. Gaskell's "Life of Charlotte Bronté," and Thomas Moore's brilliant "Life of Lord Byron." Macaulay's own short "Life of Johnson," though displaying Macaulay's faults of prejudice and exaggeration, is in itself a classic.

Writer and subject

Very naturally a biography is a double revelation—one of writer and subject. What you choose to praise or blame, how you praise or blame, what you notice, what you omit, how you emphasize, how you show your erudition, where you give your sympathy, the largeness or smallness of your view of life—all these and more are tale-tellers of your own personality. A luminous illustration of this fact is Goldy's "Life of Beau Nash." Oliver and the great beau had much in common, and when the biographer is commenting on "the mixed silliness and shrewdness" of his subject, "the taste and tawdriness, blossomed-colored coats and gambling debts, vanity, carelessness, and good-heart," he is writing a critique of his own life, past and to come. When he mentions Nash's "ill-controlled sensibility which was so strong that, unable to witness the misfortunes of the miserable, he was always borrowing money, to relieve them," we see the unlucky and reckless poet himself.

Beginning

Since it is the uncertain quantity of your own personality that will make your narrative dry or entertaining, we need hardly say more on the tone side of the work, unless it be to caution you about your diction, to have it simple and fresh. On the other hand, you might profitably notice at the end of this division the outline of general facts that the world expects in every biography. A certain number of questions ought to be answered, not in any set order, not with any set emphasis, but surely in sum finally. See if you can not be original in your beginning and ending. The amount of space that you will devote to one topic or the other will be determined by your purpose and your audience. If you are writing for children, as Hawthorne was in his "Biographical Sketches," you will emphasize those divisions of the life that a child would most naturally be interested in, or would be instructed by. Emphasis Be careful, however, not to make your poor hero or heroine the opportunity for a sermon. Besides being not quite fair, the device is trite and tiresome. Hawthorne we may forgive for preaching when we remember the taste of his day and the nearness of it to Puritanical ideals; but you live in an age that likes to take its own lessons from unvarnished facts and from truths put forth concretely, not deduced. Avoid fulsomeness and heroics. Attitude Set yourself to the task of revealing the personality just as it was, and it will teach its own lesson. Many people are more inspired by an erring soul that yet achieved, than they are by an icy paragon who knew no struggles. Be sure that in this history of another person you give us a human fellow.

Now, do not fly to the encyclopedia and cull facts about Napoleon or Cromwell. Take some one whom you know—a man or woman of attainment in your own neighborhood. Do the character-sketching with care. Be crisp and original in attack. The outline given below is a skeleton which you must hide with a pleasing exterior. But do not forget to put the heart and lungs in him. Exact and full information is the motor power of a living biography.

Outline for a Life

Queen Christina

(Born 1626. Died 1689.)

In the royal palace at Stockholm, the capital city of Sweden, there was born, in 1626, a little princess. The king, her father, gave her the name of Christina, in memory of a Swedish girl with whom he had been in love. His own name was Gustavus Adolphus, and he was also called the Lion of the North, because he had gained greater fame in war than any other prince or general then alive. With this valiant king for their commander, the Swedes had made themselves terrible to the Emperor of Germany and to the King of France, and were looked upon as the chief defense of the Protestant religion.

The little Christina was by no means a beautiful child. To confess the truth, she was remarkably plain. The queen, her mother, did not love her so much as she ought; partly, perhaps, on account of Christina's want of beauty, and also both the king and queen had wished for a son, who might have gained as great renown in battle as his father had.

The king, however, soon became exceedingly fond of the infant princess. When Christina was very young she was taken violently sick. Gustavus Adolphus, who was several hundred miles from Stockholm, traveled night and day and never rested until he held the poor child in his arms. On her recovery he made a solemn festival in order to show his joy to the people of Sweden and express his gratitude to Heaven. After this event he took his daughter with him in all the journeys which he made throughout his kingdom.

Christina soon proved herself a bold and sturdy little girl. When she was two years old the king and herself, in the course of a journey, came to the strong fortress of Colmar. On the battlements were soldiers clad in steel armor, which glittered in the sunshine. There were likewise great cannons, pointing their black mouths at Gustavus and little Christina and ready to belch out their smoke and thunder; for, whenever a king enters a fortress, it is customary to receive him with a royal salute of artillery.

But the captain of the fortress met Gustavus and his little daughter as they were about to enter the gateway.

"May it please your Majesty," said he, taking off his steel cap and bowing profoundly, "I fear that, if we receive you with a salute of cannon, the little princess will be frightened almost to death."

Gustavus looked earnestly at his daughter, and was indeed apprehensive that the thunder of so many cannon might perhaps throw her into convulsions. He had almost a mind to tell the captain to let them enter the fortress quietly, as common people might have done, without all this head-splitting racket. But, no; this would not do.

"Let them fire," said he, waving his hand. "Christina is a soldier's daughter and must learn to bear the noise of cannon."

So the captain uttered the word of command and immediately there was a terrible peal of thunder from the cannon and such a gush of smoke that it enveloped the whole fortress in its volumes. But amid all the din and confusion Christina was seen clapping her little hands and laughing in an ecstasy of delight. Probably nothing ever pleased her father so much as to see that his daughter promised to be fearless as himself. He determined to educate her exactly as if she had been a boy and to teach her all the knowledge needful to the ruler of a kingdom and the commander of an army.

But Gustavus should have remembered that Providence had created her to be a woman, and that it was not for him to make a man of her.

However, the king derived great happiness from his beloved Christina. It must have been a pleasant sight to see the powerful monarch of Sweden playing in some magnificent hall of the palace with his merry little girl. Then he forgot that the weight of a kingdom rested upon his shoulders. He forgot that the wise Chancellor Oxenstiern was waiting to consult with him how to render Sweden the greatest nation of Europe. He forgot that the Emperor of Germany and the King of France were plotting together how they might pull him down from his throne.

Yes, Gustavus forgot all the perils and cares and pompous irksomeness of a royal life, and was as happy while playing with his child as the humblest peasant in the realm of Sweden. How gayly did they dance along the marble floor of the palace, this valiant king, with his upright, martial figure, his war-worn visage and commanding aspect, and the small, round form of Christina, with her rosy face of childish merriment! Her little fingers were clasped in her father's hand, which had held the leading staff in many famous victories. His crown and scepter were her playthings. She could disarm Gustavus of his sword, which was so terrible to the princes of Europe.

But, alas! the king was not long permitted to enjoy Christina's society. When she was four years old Gustavus was summoned to take command of the allied armies of Germany, which were fighting against the emperor. His greatest affliction was the necessity of parting with his child; but people in such high stations have little opportunity for domestic happiness. He called an assembly of the senators of Sweden and confided Christina to their care, saying that each one of them must be a father to her if he himself should fall in battle.

At the moment of his departure Christina ran towards him and began to address him with a speech which somebody had taught her for the occasion. Gustavus was busied with thoughts about the affairs of the kingdom, so that he did not immediately attend to the childish voice of his little girl. Christina, who did not love to be unnoticed, immediately stopped short and pulled him by the coat.

"Father," said she, "why do not you listen to my speech?"

In a moment the king forgot everything except that he was parting with what he loved best in all the world. He caught the child in his arms, pressed her to his bosom and burst into tears. Yes; though he was a brave man, and though he wore a steel corselet on his breast, and though armies were waiting for him to lead them to battle, still his heart melted within him and he wept. Christina, too, was so afflicted that her attendants began to fear that she would actually die of grief. But probably she was soon comforted, for children seldom remember their parents quite so faithfully as their parents remember them.

For two years more Christina remained in the palace at Stockholm. The queen, her mother, had accompanied Gustavus to the wars. The child, therefore, was left to the guardianship of five of the wisest men in the kingdom. But these wise men knew better how to manage the weighty affairs of state than how to govern and educate a little girl so as to render her a good and happy woman.

When two years had passed away tidings were brought to Stockholm which filled everybody with triumph and sorrow at the same time. The Swedes had won a glorious victory at Lutzen. But, alas! the warlike King of Sweden, the Lion of the North, the father of our little Christina, had been slain at the foot of a great stone, which still marks the spot of that hero's death.

Soon after this sad event a general assembly of congress, consisting of deputations from the nobles, the clergy, the burghers, and the peasants of Sweden, was summoned to meet at Stockholm. It was for the purpose of declaring little Christina to be Queen of Sweden and giving her the crown and scepter of her deceased father. Silence being proclaimed, the Chancellor Oxenstiern arose.

"We desire to know," said he, "whether the people of Sweden will take the daughter of our dead King Gustavus Adolphus to be their queen."

When the chancellor had spoken an old man, with white hair and coarse apparel, stood up in the midst of the assembly. He was a peasant, Lars Larrson by name, and had spent most of his life in laboring on a farm.

"Who is this daughter of Gustavus?" asked the old man. "We do not know her. Let her be shown to us."

Then Christina was brought into the hall and placed before the old peasant. It was strange, no doubt, to see a child—a little girl of six years old—offered to the Swedes as their ruler instead of the brave king, her father, who had led them to victory so many times. Could her baby fingers wield a sword in war? Could her childish mind govern the nation wisely in peace?

But the Swedes do not appear to have asked themselves these questions. Old Lars Larrson took Christina up in his arms and gazed earnestly into her face. He had known the great Gustavus well, and his heart was touched when he saw the likeness which the little girl bore to that heroic monarch.

"Yes," cried he, with the tears gushing down his furrowed cheeks, "this is truly the daughter of our Gustavus! Here is her father's brow!—here is his piercing eye! She is his very picture! This child shall be our queen!"

Then all the proud nobles of Sweden and the reverend clergy, and the burghers, and the peasants knelt down at the child's feet and kissed her hand.

"Long live Christina, Queen of Sweden!" shouted they.

Even after she was a woman grown, Christina remembered the pleasure which she felt in seeing all these men at her feet and hearing them acknowledge her as their supreme ruler. Poor child! she was yet to learn that power does not insure happiness. As yet, however, she had not any real power. All the public business, it is true, was transacted in her name; but the kingdom was governed by a number of the most experienced statesmen, who were called a regency.

But it was considered necessary that the little queen should be present at the public ceremonies and should behave just as if she were in reality the ruler of the nation. When she was seven years of age, some ambassadors from the Czar of Muscovy came to the Swedish court. They wore long beards and were clad in a strange fashion, with furs and other outlandish ornaments; and as they were inhabitants of a half-civilized country, they did not behave like other people. The Chancellor Oxenstiern was afraid that the young queen would burst out laughing at the first sight of these queer ambassadors, or else that she would be frightened by their unusual aspect.

"Why should I be frightened?" said the little queen. "And do you suppose that I have no better manners than to laugh? Only tell me how I must behave and I will do it."

Accordingly, the Muscovite ambassadors were introduced, and Christina received them and answered their speeches with as much dignity and propriety as if she had been a grown woman.

All this time, though Christina was now a queen, you must not suppose that she was left to act as she pleased. She had a preceptor, named John Mathias, who was a very learned man and capable of instructing her in all the branches of science. But there was nobody to teach her the delicate graces and gentle virtues of a woman. She was surrounded almost entirely by men, and had learned to despise the society of her own sex. At the age of nine years she was separated from her mother, whom the Swedes did not consider a proper person to be intrusted with the charge of her. No little girl who sits by a New England fireside has cause to envy Christina in the royal palace at Stockholm.

Yet she made great progress in her studies. She learned to read the classical authors of Greece and Rome, and became a great admirer of the heroes and poets of old times. Then as for active exercises, she could ride on horseback as well as any man in her kingdom. She was fond of hunting and could shoot at a mark with wonderful skill. But dancing was the only feminine accomplishment with which she had any acquaintance.

She was so restless in her disposition that none of her attendants were sure of a moment's quiet either day or night. She grew up, I am sorry to say, a very unamiable person, ill-tempered, proud, stubborn, and, in short, unfit to make those around her happy or to be happy herself. Let every little girl who has been taught self-control and a due regard for the rights of others thank Heaven that she has had better instruction than this poor little Queen of Sweden.

At the age of eighteen Christina was declared free to govern the kingdom by herself without the aid of a regency. At this period of her life she was a young woman of striking aspect, a good figure and intelligent face, but very strangely dressed. She wore a short habit of gray cloth, with a man's vest over it; and a black scarf around her neck; but no jewels nor ornaments of any kind.

Yet, though Christina was so negligent of her appearance, there was something in her air and manner that proclaimed her as the ruler of a kingdom. Her eyes, it is said, had a very fierce and haughty look. Old General Wrangel, who had often caused the enemies of Sweden to tremble in battle, actually trembled himself when he encountered the eyes of the queen. But it would have been better for Christina if she could have made people love her, by means of soft and gentle looks, instead of affrighting them by such terrible glances.

And now I have told you almost all that is amusing or instructive in the childhood of Christina. Only a few more words need be said about her; for it is neither pleasant nor profitable to think of many things that she did after she grew to be a woman.

When she had worn the crown a few years, she began to consider it beneath her dignity to be called a queen, because the name implied that she belonged to the weaker sex. She therefore caused herself to be proclaimed King; thus declaring to the world that she despised her own sex and was desirous of being ranked among men. But in the twenty-eighth year of her age Christina grew tired of royalty and resolved to be neither a king nor a queen any longer. She took the crown from her head with her own hands and ceased to be the ruler of Sweden. The people did not greatly regret her abdication, for she had governed them ill, and had taken much of their property to supply her extravagance.

Having thus given up her hereditary crown, Christina left Sweden and traveled over many of the countries of Europe. Everywhere she was received with great ceremony, because she was the daughter of the renowned Gustavus, and had herself been a powerful queen. Perhaps you would like to know something about her personal appearance in the latter part of her life. She is described as wearing a man's vest, a short gray petticoat, embroidered with gold and silver, and a black wig, which was thrust awry upon her head. She wore no gloves, and so seldom washed her hands that nobody could tell what had been their original color. In this strange dress, and, I suppose, without washing her hands or face, she visited the magnificent court of Louis XIV.

She died in 1689. None loved her while she lived, nor regretted her death, nor planted a single flower upon her grave. Happy are the little girls of America who are brought up quietly and tenderly at the domestic hearth, and thus become gentle and delicate women! May none of them ever lose the loveliness of their sex by receiving such an education as that of Queen Christina.

—Nathaniel Hawthorne.

Biographical Stories. (Houghton Mifflin Company.)

Joan Luna's Life

The parents of Juan Luna, the greatest and most eminent Filipino painter, were Ilocanos and of humble birth. The young artist was born in Ilocos Norte in the year 1857 and died in Hong Kong in 1899. From childhood he was hot-tempered. His early education was at home. At the age of twelve he was a good caricaturist. His father then sent him to Manila to attend the "Ateneo Municipal." At the age of twenty-one he was sent to Madrid, where he studied art under several famous Spanish and Italian painters. He was given prizes at the expositions in Madrid and Paris. In Spain he met Miss Paz Pardo de Tavera, whom he married three years later. He became very popular. Some of his friends were Dr. Jose Rizal, Dr. Roxas, the famous Italian tenor, Payarre, and many of the French and Spanish nobility. He was especially loved by women, of whose hearts and inclinations he showed a knowledge very intimate. Juan Luna had an art which is seldom found in man, an instinct found only in real genius, a power to portray and interpret life, tenderness and the emotions of wrath and pity.

He was tall and well built, with a high forehead, a short flat nose and large black impressive eyes. In about the year 1890, while he was at Paris, a terrible thing occurred. His wife began to be untrue to him. It is said that one day Paz asked Juan to let her go to a certain shop to buy some thread. He allowed her to go, but soon followed her because he suspected her. He saw that Paz did not go to a shop but to a private house. He walked in and found his wife with another man. Then the crisis began. Luna was blind with anger. He took Paz home and asked her to explain to him her late behaviour. After many a tear, after many excuses and explanations, after many promises to be good, Paz was pardoned.

Two months later Luna asked his wife to go with him and their two children to live in a village near by. Paz at first said she would not go; but through the request of her mother and brothers, she assented to Luna's plan. On the day of their departure, when the carriages which were to take them to the neighboring village were in front of the door, Paz went to the bath-room with her mother. Juan knocked at the door and asked her to come down for it was getting late. Paz then shouted out of the window, saying that her husband was killing her. All at once Luna rushed to his room, took his pistol, opened the bath-room door with a sudden push, and fired at every one who came in his way. His mother-in-law, wife and elder son were killed, and his younger son was wounded.

In this deed we see the real character of Luna. He was generous and cold-blooded; but when his pride, name and honor were wounded, his blood boiled in his head, he trembled, and saw nothing before him—neither God nor man—but only the guilty.

The police then arrested him. He was tried the following day. The newspapers spread this piece of news to the world under their title: "La Tragedia en Paris." Fortunately he was acquitted. The judges decided that man's honor is his life, and that when it is once destroyed it can never be supplied.

Luna was the greatest artist and painter that the Philippines has ever produced. He is great in his own country and ranks among the world's good painters.

In 1899 he came back to the Philippines; but on his way home, while at Hong Kong, he died of apoplexy and a broken heart. His son was brought to Manila by a friend. Andres, his son, is now twenty years of age and is also a good painter, but not like his father.

The Philippines produced one of the world painters, showing the fact that a great worker and a great mind can not be hidden, even by tyranny and oppression.

—Dolores Asuncion.

Elizabeth Glade

Elizabeth Glade was born in Baltimore, Maryland, about the year 1816. Her mother was a poor widow, but gave her as much money as the family purse could afford, for education in those days was very expensive.

Having finished with school, Elizabeth began to occupy herself in making buttons and fringe, which at that time were made by hand. At the age of twenty-three she married John Arnold, a carpenter. They both moved to the city of Washington to live. In 1849, when gold was discovered in California, Mr. Arnold caught the fever of the excitement and joined the forty-niners. A few years afterwards his wife received news of his death.

Elizabeth was left with only two hundred dollars, and with five children who looked to her for food and care. So she began the trade she had learned in her girlhood and struggled along in spite of hard times. Her mother took care of the children while Elizabeth gave her entire attention to her trade.

Gradually her work increased. She bought land in the business part of Washington and started a store. Later she bought more property. As Washington grew, land and houses became more valuable, and Elizabeth became wealthy. She expended much money on her children's education. One son she sent to Yale college and afterwards to Europe to continue his studies. This son died before he had opportunity to make a name for himself. Her other two sons also died young; but her two daughters lived to survive her, and were a great comfort to her.

Elizabeth had a peculiar disposition; for, though she was exceedingly charitable, in small things she sometimes showed indifference to other people's feelings. In this petty selfishness, however, she was always frank and never attempted to hide her actions.

When a young girl, before she married, Elizabeth once went to town to buy two veils for herself and her sister. She had received from her sister the money for her veil. Before Elizabeth bought the veils she saw a poor woman, who asked her for money. Elizabeth opened her purse and gave the women the money for her sister's veil. She then bought a veil for herself and returned home. Her sister was surprised to see her with only one veil and asked her where the other was. "I thought that as you were younger you would not mind losing your veil, and that you would like to give the money to the poor woman," Elizabeth replied in her most innocent manner.

One time she had company to supper and, as was her custom, took all the cream off the milk for her own coffee before passing the pitcher to anyone else. The guest, when asked if she would have milk in her coffee, said: "No, I do not care for milk in my coffee when the cream has been taken off." Elizabeth burst out laughing and said, "Well, Jane, I did not think anybody saw me do that."

Elizabeth supported two of her brothers and their families when they became ill and poor.

—Nellie Barrington.

Biography of a Traitor

Vicente was born in Santa Cruz, Laguna, in the year 1868. His parents were poor, so that he did not have a high education. Very little is known about his childhood. He seemed to have attended the primary school of the town, where he learned a little Spanish. He was not properly brought up by his parents. He was allowed to indulge in bad society. Being thus left alone, exposed to vice, he grew to be an unscrupulous and unruly young man. He became an orphan at the age of eighteen. To earn his living and to satisfy his craving for any easy, idle and dependent life, he joined the Guardia Civil, a body of soldiers employed by the Spaniards to maintain peace in the islands. Unfortunately, instead of being the guardians of peace, these men became the malefactors of the country. As I have said, Vicente joined this most dreaded army of oppressors and in a few days he became one of the most cruel and abusive men in the corps. He put many guiltless persons in prison, just because of animosity or revenge. He sent many innocent persons to the block simply because he wished to gain the favor of the high officials. Such injustices were much admired and were even encouraged by the Spaniards—for they also practised such acts. Often such base conduct brought promotion to a soldier of that behavior. So Vicente was appointed a sergeant. Being thus gratuitously rewarded he grew more atrocious than before. He was, then, a terror, an awful monster to humble citizens, a murderer and a robber in every sense. His tyrannical and arbitrary character, however, often succumbed to the tinkling of coins—a fact that was universally true of government officials of that time, from the highest to the lowest. Once or twice through perfidious ways, Vicente acquired a few large tracts of land, but this unlawfully attained property was soon lost in gambling.

Spanish rule was ended by the revolution of 1898. This body of Guardia Civiles was torn asunder. Many of them were killed in the fight, but many were taken prisoners and some were pardoned. Vicente, evidently, was to live longer to play another plot against his country.

At the beginning of the Filipino-American war, while all the people left the town, with a heartless friend Vicente surrendered. They allied themselves with the Americans to betray their countrymen in the battlefield. During the year following 1898, these two men were the sole guides of the Americans in their campaigns. They caused many to be thrown in prison. They laid heavy taxes upon the goods of the tradesmen for their own use.

Vicente's friend was elected president of the town the first time that the civil government was established here. He was unfortunate, however, in being stabbed to death soon afterwards. Vicente succeeded his friend in 1900, and later married the wife of his predecessor. By this time Vicente was very rich with the spoils of his own countrymen. In fact, he was, then, living a glorious life at the expense of his suffering country. He did not wield his power long. Naturally, the Americans had no confidence in him. When the war was over, his office was taken from him and was given to a good and honest citizen.

From that time Vicente lived a retired life with his family. Because of cock-fighting, gambling and card playing, his seemingly abounding wealth was soon exhausted. After all, he was a poor ordinary man, devoid of influence, respect and rank in society. Even his house was sold. He then rented his former house and set up as a notary public in 1904; by which he could hardly support his family. His repressed ambition for power was, however, kindled again and in January, 1909, he proclaimed himself candidate for the presidency in the coming election. But fortune, health and success deserted him. He grew consumptive and, after a few weeks, he was confined to his bed.

One night in June, 1909, Vicente suddenly rose from his bed and before his companions could ask him what he wished, he jumped out of the window, shouting that he was chased by some devils who were compelling him to go with them to hell. He did not live long after this event. He died a few hours later. In the morning, the incident of his tragical death reached the ears of almost everybody, and all these people said, "He is just paying for some of his injustices. God is punishing him. Who knows what punishment he will receive in the other world!"

—Walfrido de Leon.

CHAPTER IX
IMPERSONAL ACCOUNTS

In its general sense narrative history includes all true-story forms, even incidents and eye-witness accounts. But annals and chronicles may be grouped by themselves on the basis of the non-personal and scientific attitude of the writer and the fact that the story is usually of the doings of a set of people living as a unit. Of course we find such type blendings as the "Annals" of Goethe, which are true but autobiographical, and the "Annals of the Parish" by John Galt, and the "Chronicles of the Schönberg-Cotta Family," which though collective are fictitious; yet for the most part these forms are thought of as embodying community and actual history, and we will take them up as such, remembering that fiction has drawn on all true-narrative forms for verisimilitude. History is often classified into narrative, scenic, and philosophical. Only with the first kind have we anything to do.

There are a number of histories that have extraordinary literary value, that are not mere recitals of past events with tame descriptions of by-gone scenes and more-or-less acute analysis of epochs and causes, but are intense human documents with the life-blood of nations throbbing and beating in their pages. Green gave his health and the best days of his living to write his "History of the English People," and we love it. It has something more than a scholar's accuracy in it. It has a broad and deep inspiration that brings a catch in the throat and a gleam of pride in the eye of any who are fortunate enough to belong to the magnificent race whose deeds it records. Enthusiasts fought for Macaulay's "History" at the door of the bindery, fulfilling the author's hope that it might be considered more interesting than a novel. Motley's "Rise of the Dutch Republic" is one of the most creditable things in American letters. Prescott's "Ferdinand and Isabella," "Conquest of Mexico" and of "Peru," and Parkman's "Montcalm and Wolfe" are along side for literary qualities. Carlyle's "French Revolution" is a unique and graphic set of pictures. Gibbon's "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire" has long stood as a classic example of literary high-seriousness in an allied department. Grote's "History of Greece," Machiavel's "History of Florence," Sismondi's "Italian Republics," Hallam's "Middle Ages," Symond's "Italian Renaissance" and Schiller's "Thirty Years' War" are all worthy the name of literature and have excellent narrative in them. We can study at present, however, only those forms of history that are shorter and are merely narrative—annals, chronicles, and true relations.