nd collection of their facts. Any one
may easily see that he only can describe plainly and perfectly, that
which he knows exactly, whose origin and consequences, object and use,
are present to his mind; for otherwise there will be no description,
but a bewildering mixture of imperfect statements. Let a child describe
an engine, or a farmer a ship, and no one can gain anything useful or
instructive from their words; and so is it with most historians, who
are perhaps able enough even to be wearisome in relating and collecting
facts; but who forget what is most note-worthy, what first makes
history historical, and connects so many varied events in an agreeable
and instructive whole. If I understand all this rightly, it appears to
me necessary that a historian should be also a poet; for poets alone
know the art of skilfully combining events. In their tales and fables I
have often noticed, with silent pleasure, a tender sympathy with the
mysterious spirit of life. There is more truth in their romances than
in learned chronicles. Though the heroes and their fates are
inventions, yet the spirit in which they are composed is true and
natural. In some degree it matters not whether those persons, in whose
fates we trace our own, ever did or did not exist. We seek to
contemplate the great and simple spirit of an age's phenomena; and if
this wish be gratified, we are not cumbered about the certainty of the
existence of their external forms."[See Note II.]

"I have also been much attached to the poets on that account," said the
old man. "Life and the world have become through them more clear and
perceptible to me. It has appeared to me that they must be in alliance
with the acute spirits of light, which penetrate and divide all
natures, and spread over each a peculiar, softly tinted veil. By their
songs I felt my own nature gently developed, and it could move, as it
were, more freely, enjoy its social disposition and desires, poise with
silent pleasure its limbs against each other, and in various forms
excite delight a thousand-fold."

"Were you so happy in your country as to have some poets?" asked the
hermit.

"There have been a few with us at times; but travelling seemed their
chief pleasure, and therefore they scarcely ever remained long with us.
But during my wanderings in Illyria, Saxony, and Sweden, I have met
some, the remembrance of whom is ever pleasant."

"You have, travelled far, and doubtless must have seen much dur