LXIV THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF CANADA 



There are flourishing schools of historical criticism in France, England, 

 Germany, Italy and the United States; and writers are consequently held 

 to a much stricter account for what they give to the world as history 

 than formerly. It was a most inadequate and commonplace view of 

 history that was put forward by the great Dr. Johnson when he said, 

 teste Boswell: "Great abilities are not necessary for an historian; for 

 in historical composition all the greatest powers of the mind are 

 quiescent. He has the facts ready to his hand, so there is no exercise 

 of imagination. Imagination is not required in any high degree; only 

 about as much as is used in the lower kinds of poetry. Some penetrat- 

 ion, accuracy, and colouring will fit a man for the task, if he can give 

 the application which is necessary." 



From the modern point of view to say that the historian has the 

 facts ready to his hand seems hardly less than childish. It would be 

 nearer the truth to say that he has no facts ready to his hand; for the 

 careful sifting of facts is his particular duty. And then, what is a fact? 

 At the outset it was remarked that, while it was easy to say that 

 history was a narrative of past events, the terms of the definition might 

 call for a good deal of consideration. So far we have been discussing 

 what goes to the making of the narrative. Now we are confronted with 

 the question, what is a fact? Is there such a thing as a simple fact? If 

 there is I would venture to say it cannot have any meaning; certainly 

 the nearer a fact approaches to absolute simplicity the less meaning it 

 has. Caesar was assassinated — let us leave out place and date : is that 

 a simple fact ? By no means : it affirms the death of a man called Csesar, 

 but it brings on the scene one or more assassins, on whose part are implied 

 motives of hatred, envy, or patriotism according to the view that may 

 be taken of the matter. They may all have been honourable men, or they 

 may have been men who could not tolerate the sight of real greatness. 

 To a man who had never heard of Csesar, and had no idea when or where 

 he had lived, or how or why he had been put to death, the bare 

 assertion of the fact would be wholly unmeaning. A good many 

 years ago, news was telegraphed from the East that the Akhound of 

 Swat had died. No doubt he was somebody; but so entirely ignorant 

 were our western folk of where Swat was or what kind of person an 

 Akhound would be when he was at home, that the announcement struck 

 a clever New York journalist — a Canadian by the way — as surpassingly 

 funny; and having a leisure moment, he wrote a kind of mock threnody 

 on the sad event, which still survives as a jeu d'esprit of more than 

 ordinary note. Just so might the announcement of the death of a 

 European sovereign have struck the swarthy subjects of the Akhound, 

 except that Easterns, not possessing the same exquisite sense of humour 

 that we do, are not so much disposed to ridicule things simply because 



