The arrest of Louis XVI. during his flight from Paris to Montmédy was one of the most important events in the history of the French Revolution, and probably one of the most important in the history of France. It also forms one of the best known and most admired portions of Carlyle's history of the Revolution. It occupies a whole book of the second volume, fifty-four pages of the Library edition. It may therefore be taken as a fair specimen of Carlyle's style, both in its strength and in its weakness. A careful examination of his narrative from a purely prosaic standpoint will throw light on his manner of composition. It may be said that it is un-gracious to criticise in the petty details of fact a narrative which has stirred so many hearts by its tragic pathos, and which in its broad outlines is consistent with the truth. But here lies the whole distinction between the historical poem and the historical novel on the one side, and history proper on the other. Carlyle would have said, if he had been asked, that his one object in writing history was to tell the truth. It is for this reason that he multiplies fact upon fact and detail upon detail, until he has brought the scene vividly before the eyes of the reader. His accuracy can be trusted where he has visited the scenes which he describes, and where he is not carried away by preconceived prejudices or ideas.In history truth is always more tragic and more moving than fiction.

In a former paper I pointed out some of the distinctive marks which appear to belong especially to the early British character. The importance of this is obvious both from a historical and from a political point of view when we consider the mixed and various types which in the present day inhabit our country.

There are many circumstances which tend to invest the Craft Gilds of the Middle Ages with interest. There is much that is picturesque in the hints which we get of the liveried gatherings in the great halls: there is something that appears exemplary too in the excellent work which was sometimes done, and in the relations which seem to have subsisted between fellow-workers. But apart from all that attracts our fancy and, rightly or wrongly, moves our admiration, there are interesting problems in tracing their origin or understanding how they worked. On this last point, indeed, no little light is thrown by the analogy of similar institutions in India at the present day. Whether in the amorphous condition in which they exist all over that country, or in the more crystallised and definite forms in which one finds them in Guzerat, there is a curious parallel—notwithstanding the many contrasts—between the one country and the other. The analogy would, doubtless, be most misleading, if we relied on present-day experience there for an explanation of the decay of the gilds of former times, but as a picture which may enable us to understand how the system is worked, and how industry developed in these strange conditions and with so much minute legislation, they are invaluable. But even with this help the difficulties in understanding their history are sufficiently great to render the inquiry as to the formation and decay of craft gilds distinctly interesting, though it is not easy to sum up results in a way that shall be accurate, brief, and clear.

I am not in a position to-night to imitate my predecessors, and give at present the results of any research into archives or correspondence. My contribution is purely theoretical in its character, though I trust it may have a practical bearing. I simply wish to call attention to some of the more obvious dangers now besetting historical writing, and to attempt to estimate how far certain new methods of work may avert those dangers. My paper is merely a recommendation of ‘co-operation in the production of historical works.’