What a difference there is between the perusal of a work of this kind and that of one of the religious novels with which our public is now satiated. In these latter, notwithstanding all the good-will of the authors, there is always, or nearly always, something unwholesome. Imagination, that admirable gift of God, is employed to transport us into the _chiaro-oscuro_ of fictitious scenes, which communicate a kind of fascination from which it is difficult to emerge, to return to the humdrum of every-day life, and to confine ourselves to the narrow limits of our every-day duties. Here on the contrary we find the full light of historic truth, imagination restored to its true object—that of giving…
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