ed in "the syllables of
recorded time."

In this manner a vast mass of material is accumulating with which the
historian has to deal. What now is the real nature of the task he sets
before himself? What is the mission with which he is entrusted?

To understand this task, to appreciate that mission, he must ask himself
the broad questions: What is the aim of history? What are the purposes
for which it should be studied and written?

He will find no lack of answers to these inquiries, all offered with
equal confidence, but singularly discrepant among themselves. His
embarrassment will be that of selection between widely divergent views,
each ably supported by distinguished advocates.

As I am going to add still another, not exactly like any already on the
list, it may well be asked of me to show why one or other of those
already current is not as good or better than my own. This requires me
to pass in brief review the theories of historic methods, or, as it is
properly termed, of the Philosophy of History, which are most popular
to-day.

They may be classified under three leading opinions, as follows:

1. History should be an accurate record of events, and nothing more; an
exact and disinterested statement of what has taken place, concealing
nothing and coloring nothing, reciting incidents in their natural
connections, without bias, prejudice, or didactic application of any
kind.

This is certainly a high ideal and an excellent model. For many, yes,
for the majority of historical works, none better can be suggested. I
place it first and name it as worthiest of all current theories of
historical composition. But, I would submit to you, is a literary
production answering to this precept, really _History_? Is it anything
more than a well-prepared annal or chronicle? Is it, in fact anything
else than a compilation containing the materials of which real history
should be composed?

I consider that the mission of the historian, taken in its completest
sense, is something much more, much higher, than the collection and
narration of events, no matter how well this is done. The historian
should be like the man of science, and group his facts under inductive
systems so as to reach the general laws which connect and explain them.
He should, still further, be like the artist, and endeavor so to exhibit
these connections under literary forms that they present to the reader
the impression of a symmetrical and organic unity, i