. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2018 with funding from 
 Getty Research Institute 
 
 https://archive.org/details/lifeofwilliamhprOOtick 
 
Illustrated Cabinet Edition 
 
 Life of William H. Prescott 
 
 By 
 
 George Ticknor 
 
 Boston 
 
 Dana Estes & Company 
 Publishers 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year f86j 
 By George Ticknor 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of 
 Massachusetts 
 
TO 
 
 WILLIAM HOWARD GARDINEB 
 
 AND 
 
 WILLIAM AMORY. 
 
 We are more than once mentioned together in the last testamentary dll* 
 positions of onr friend, as persons for whom he felt a true regard, and to 
 whose affection and fidelity he, in some respects, intrusted the welfare of 
 those who were dearest to him in life. Permit me, then, to associate your 
 names with mine in this tribute to his memory. 
 
 GEOKGE TICKNOB 
 
PREFATORY NOTICE. 
 
 T HE following Memoir has been written in part pay¬ 
 ment of a debt which has been accumulating for 
 above half a century. But I think it right to add, that 
 my friend counted upon me, in case I should survive him, 
 to prepare such a slight sketch of' his literary life as he 
 supposed might be expected, — that, since his death, his 
 family, and I believe the public, have desired a biograph¬ 
 ical account of him ampler than his own modesty had 
 deemed appropriate,—and that the Massachusetts Histor¬ 
 ical Society, who early did me the honor of directing me 
 to prepare a notice of their lamented associate such as it 
 is customary to insert in their official proceedings, have 
 been content to accept the present Memoir as a substi¬ 
 tute. It is, therefore, on all accounts, offered to the 
 public as a tribute to his memory, the preparation of 
 which I should not have felt myself at liberty to refuse 
 even if I had been less willing to undertake it. 
 
 But if, after all, this Memoir should fail to set the 
 author of the “Ferdinand and Isabella” before those 
 who had not the happiness to know him personally, as 
 a man whose life for more than forty years was one 
 of almost constant struggle, — of an almost constant sac¬ 
 rifice of impulse to duty, of the present to the future, — 
 it will have failed to teach its true lesson, or to present 
 my friend to others as he stood before the very few who 
 knew him as he was. 
 
 Park Street, Boston, November, 1863. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 Bieth and Parentage. — Early Training. — Removal to Bobtov 
 
 — Dr. Gardiner’s School. — Life at Home. — Love of Books. 
 
 — Difficulty of obtaining them. — Boston Athenaeum. — Wil¬ 
 
 liam S. Shaw.— Favorite Books.— Studies.—Early Friend¬ 
 ship.—Amusements.—Enters College.1 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 College Life. — Good Resolutions. — Injury to his Sight. — 
 Immediate Effects. — State of his Eye. — Relations with the 
 Person who inflicted the Injury. — Studies subsequent to 
 the Injury. — Mathematics. — Latin and Greek. — Phi Beta 
 Kappa Society. — Graduated. — Studies. — Severe Inflamma¬ 
 tion of the Eye. — His Character under Trial. — Anxiety 
 about his Health. — Is to visit Europe ..... 15 
 
 CHAPTER EX 
 
 Visit to St. Michael’s. — His Life there. — Suffering nr hie 
 Eye. — His Letters to his Father and Mother; to his Sister; 
 and to W. H. Gardiner. 31 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Leaves St. Michael’s. — Arrives in London. — Privations there. 
 
 — Pleasures. — Goes to Paris. — Goes to Italy. — Returns to 
 Paris. — Illness there. — Goes again to London. — Travels 
 little in England.— Determines to return Home. — Letter 
 to W. H. Gardiner.40 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 viii 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 Return from England. — Rheumatism. — First Literary Adven¬ 
 ture. — Decides not to be a Lawyer. — Falls in Love. — Mar¬ 
 ries. — Continues to live with his Father. — Swords of his 
 Grandfather and of the Grandfather of his Wife. — His 
 Personal Appearance.—Club of Friends.—The “Club-Room.” 
 
 — Determines to become a Man of Letters. — Obstacles in 
 his Way. — Efforts to overcome them. — English Studies.— 
 French.—Italian. — Opinion of Petrarch and of Dante.— 
 Further Studies proposed. — Despairs of learning German 47 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 He studies Spanish instead of German. — First Attempts not 
 earnest. — Mably’s “ Etude de l’Histoire.” — Thinks of writ¬ 
 ing History. — Different Subjects suggested. — Fekdinand 
 and Isabella. — Doubts long. — Writes to Mr. A. H. Everett. 
 
 — Delay from Suffering in the Eye. — Orders Books from 
 Spain.— Plan of Study.— Hesitates from the Condition of 
 his Sight. — Determines to go on. — His Reader, Mr. English. 
 
 — Process of Work. — Estimates and Plans .... 07 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 Death of his Daughter. — Inquiries into the Truth of the 
 Christian Religion. — Results. — Examines the History of 
 the Spanish Arabs. — Reviews Irving’s “ Granada.”— Studies 
 for his Work on Ferdinand and Isabella. — Begins to write 
 it. — Regard for Mably and Clemencin. — Progress of his 
 Work. — At Pepperell. — At Nahant. — Finishes the “ His¬ 
 tory of Ferdinand and Isabella” ...... 85 
 
 CHAPTER YIH. 
 
 Doubts about publishing the “ History of Ferdinand and Isa¬ 
 bella.” — Four Copies printed as it was written. — Opinions 
 of Friends. — The Author’s own Opinion of his Work. — Pub¬ 
 lishes it. — His Letters about it. — Its Success. — Its Publi¬ 
 cation in London. — Reviews of it in the United States and 
 in Europe . . ......... 9# 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Author’s Feelings on the Success of “Ferdinand and Isa¬ 
 bella.” — Illness of his Mother, and her Recovery. — Opin¬ 
 ions in Europe concerning iiis History . ... 10* 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 is 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mr. Prescott’s Character at this Period.—Effect of his In- 
 firmity of Sight in forming it. — Noctograph. — Distribu¬ 
 tion of his Day. — Contrivances for regulating the Light 
 in his Boom. — Premature Decay of Sight. — Exact System 
 of Exkrci8b and Life generally. — Firm Will in carrying 
 IT OUT. 115 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Mr. Prescott’s Social Character. — Remarks on it by Mr.Gae- 
 DINER AND Mfi. PARSONS . .. . 138 
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 
 Mr. Prescott’s Industry and general Character based oh 
 Principle and on Self-Sacrifice. — Temptations. — Expedi¬ 
 ents TO OVERCOME THEM.— EXPERIMENTS. — NOTES OF WHAT IS 
 READ TO HIM. — COMPOSES WITHOUT WRITING. — SEVERE DISCI¬ 
 PLINE of his Moral and Religious Character. — Dislikes to 
 have his Habits interfered with. — Never shows Constraint. 
 
 — Freedom of Manner in his Family and in Society.— His 
 Influence on Others. — His Charity to the Poor. — Instance 
 of it . 188 
 
 CHAPTER XUI. 
 
 Period immediately after the Publication of “ Ferdinand 
 and Isabella.” — Thinks of writing a Life of MoliRre; but 
 prefers Spanish Subjects. — Reviews. — Inquires again into 
 the Truth of Christianity.—“Conquest of Mexico.” — Books 
 and Manuscripts obtained for it. — Humboldt. — Indolence. 
 
 — Correspondence with Washington Irving .... 151 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 His Correspondence becomes Important.— Letter to Irving.— 
 Letters from Sismondi, Thierry, Tytleb, and Rogers. — Let¬ 
 ter to Gayangos. — Memoranda. — Letters to Gayangos, and 
 others. — Letters from Ford and Tytler . . . .164 
 
X 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Materials for the “ Conquest of Mexico.” — Imperfect Indus¬ 
 try. — Improved State of the Eye. — Begins to write. — 
 Difficulties. — Thoroughness. — Interruptions. — Lord Mor¬ 
 peth. — Visits to New York and Lebanon Springs. — “ Con¬ 
 quest of Mexico” finished.— Sale of Right to publish.— 
 Illness of his Father. — Partial Recovery. — “ Conquest of 
 Mexico ” published. — Its Success. — Reviews of it. — Let¬ 
 ters to Mr. Lyell and Don Pascual de Gayangos. — From 
 Mr. Gallatin. — To Lord Morpeth and to Gayangos. — From 
 Mr. Hallam and Mr. Everett. — Memoranda. — Letter from 
 Lord Morpeth. — Letters to Dean Milman and Mr. J. C. Ham¬ 
 ilton.— Letters from Mr. Tytler and Dean Milman . . 181 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 Mr. Prescott’s Style. — Determines to have one of his own. - 
 
 How HE OBTAINED IT. — DISCUSSIONS IN REVIEWS ABOUT IT. — Mb. 
 
 Ford. — Writes more and more freely. — Naturalness. — His 
 Style made attractive by Causes connected with ms In¬ 
 firmity of Sight. — Its final Character. 308 
 
 CHAPTER XVH. 
 
 Bits for his Portrait and Bust. — Visit to New York. — Miscel¬ 
 laneous Reading.— Materials for the “ Conquest of Peru.” 
 
 — Begins to write. — Death of his Father. — Its Effect on 
 him. — Resumes Work. — Letter from Humboldt. — Election 
 into the French Institute, and into the Royal Society of 
 Berlin. 318 
 
 CHAPTER XVffl. 
 
 Publication of a Volume of Miscellanies.—Italian Litera¬ 
 ture. — Controversy with Daponte. — Charles Brockden 
 Brown. — Blind Asylum. — Moliere. — Cervantes. — Scott. — 
 Irving. — Bancroft. — Madame Calderon. — History of Span¬ 
 ish Literature. — Opinions of Review-writing . . . 280 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 His Domestic Relations. — “Conquest of Peru.” — Pepperell. 
 
 — Letters. — Removal in Boston. — Difficulties. — Fiftieth 
 Birthday. — Publishes the “ Conquest of Peru.” — Doubts. 
 
 — Success. — Memoranda. — “ Edinburgh Review.” — Life at 
 Pepperell. — Letter from Miss Edgeworth .... 240 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 xi 
 
 CHATTER XX 
 
 Mr. Motley. — Hesitation about beginning the History or 
 Philip the Second. — State op his Sight bad. — Preparations. 
 
 — Doubts about taking the whole Subject. — Memoir of 
 Pickering. — Early Intimations of a Life of Philip the 
 Second. — Collection of Materials for it. — Difficulty of 
 getting them. — Greatly assisted by Don Pascual de Ga- 
 yangos. — Materials at last ample. — Prints for his own 
 Use a Portion of Ranke’s Spanish Empire .... 261 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 General Scott’s Conquest of Mexico. — Summer at Pepperell 
 — Difficulties and Doubts about “Philip the Second.” — 
 Memoirs or regular History. — Anxiety about his Hearing. 
 
 —Journey for Health. — Not sufficient.— Project for vis¬ 
 iting England. — Resolves to go. — Voyage and Arrival.— 
 London. .... 272 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 Leaves London. — Hasty Visit to Paris, Brussels, and Antwerp. 
 
 — Letters. — Return to London. — Visits in the Country. — 
 Letters. — End of his Visit to England. — English Charac¬ 
 ter and Society. 80C 
 
 CHAPTER XXin. 
 
 Voyage Home.—Letters to Friends in England. — Begins to 
 work again. — Pepperell. — “ Philip the Second.” — Corre¬ 
 spondence . 821 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Political Opinions. — Correspondence with Mb. Bancroft, Mr. 
 Everett, and Mr. Sumner. — Conversation on Political Sub¬ 
 jects .. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Death os' Mr. Prescott’s Mother. — Progress with “ Philip 
 '•’he Second.” — Correspondence .35a 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XU 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Rheumatism at Nahant. — Boston Homes successively occupied 
 by Mr. Prescott in Tremont Street, Summer Street, Bedford 
 Street, and Beacon Street. — Patriarchal Mode of Life at 
 Pepperell. — Life at Nahant and at Lynn . . . 864 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 First Summer at Lynn. — Work on “ Philip the Second.” — 
 Memoranda about it. — Prints the first two Volumes. — 
 
 Their Success. — Addition to Robertson’s “ Charles the 
 Fifth.”—Memoir of Mr. Abbott Lawrence. — Goes on with 
 “Philip the Second.”—Illness. — Dinner at Mr. Gardiner’s. 
 
 — Correspondence. 876 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIIL 
 
 First Attack of Apoplexy. — Yields readily. — Clearness or 
 Mind.— Composure. — Infirmities. — Gradual Improvement. 
 
 — Occupations. — Prints the third Volume of “Philip the 
 Second.” — Summer at Lynn and Pepperell. — Notes to the 
 “ Conquest of Mexico.” — Return to Boston. — Desire for 
 active Literary Labor. — Ague. — Correspondence . 896 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Anxiety to return to serious Work. — Pleasant Forenoon. — 
 Sudden Attack of Apoplexy. — Death. — His Wishes re¬ 
 specting his Remains. — Funeral. — Expressions of Sorrow 
 on both Sides of the Atlantic ....... 413 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 A. — The Prescott Family .419 
 
 B. — The Crossed Swords. 430 
 
 C. — Extracts from a Letter addressed by Mr. Edmund B. 
 
 Otis, formerly Me. Prescott’s Secretary, to Mr. 
 Ticknor.433 
 
 D. — Literary Honors . 436 
 
 E. — Translations of Mr. Prescott’s Histories . . . .438 
 
 F. — Conversation of Mr. Prescott shortly before his Death 441 
 
 G. — On ins Death. 444 
 
 INDEX . 
 
 447 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 William H. Prescott .... Frontispiece. 
 
 House at Salem where Prescott was born ... 2 
 
 George Bancroft ....... 93 
 
 Washington Irving . . . . . . 157 
 
 Macaulay ......... 294 
 
 William H. Prescott ....... 372 
 
 Life. 
 
THE LIFE 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1796-1811. 
 
 Birth and Parentage.—Early Training. — Removal to Boston.— 
 Dr. Gardiner’s School. — Life at Home.—Love of Books. — Dif¬ 
 ficulty of obtaining them.—Boston Athenasum.— William S. 
 Shaw. — Favorite Books. — Studies. — Early Friendship. — Amuse¬ 
 ments. — Enters College. 
 
 ILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT was bom in 
 
 Y y Salem, New England, on the fourth day of May, 
 seventeen hundred and ninety-six . 1 
 
 His father, then thirty-four years old, — a person of remark¬ 
 able manly beauty, and great dignity and gentleness of char¬ 
 acter, — was already in the flush of his early success at the 
 bar, where he subsequently rose to much eminence and honor. 
 His mother, five years younger, was a woman of great energy, 
 who seemed to have been bom to do good, and who had from 
 her youth those unfailing spirits which belong to the original 
 temperament of the very few who have the happiness to pos¬ 
 sess them, and which, in her case, were controlled by a good 
 sense and by religious convictions, that made her presence like 
 a benediction in the scenes of sorrow and suffering, which, 
 during her long life, it was her chosen vocation to frequent. 
 They had been married between two and three years when 
 William was bom to them, inheriting not a few of the promi¬ 
 nent characteristics of each. He was their second child; the 
 first, also a son, having died in very early infancy. 
 
 1 For an account of the Prescott Family, see Appendix (A). 
 
 1 
 
2 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 The family of Mr. and Mrs. Prescott was always a happy 
 one, — respected and loved by those who came within the reach 
 of its influence. Their pleasant, hospitable house in Salem is 
 no longer standing; but the spot it occupied is well remem¬ 
 bered, and is pointed out to strangers with pride, as the one 
 where the future historian was born. Its site is now that of 
 “ Plummer Hall ”; — a building erected for literary and scien¬ 
 tific purposes, from funds bequeathed by the lady whose name 
 it bears, and who was long a friend of the Prescott family. 2 
 
 William’s earliest education was naturally in the hands of 
 his affectionate and active mother, his great obligations to 
 whom lie always loved to acknowledge, and from whom, with 
 slight exceptions, it was his happiness never to be separated so 
 long as they both lived. Pie felt, to the last, that her influence 
 upon him had been one of the chief blessings of his life. On 
 the afternoon of her death he spoke of it to me, as a guiding 
 impulse for which he could not be too grateful. 
 
 But, like the children of most of the persons who constituted 
 the society in Salem to which his family belonged, he was sent 
 to a school for the very young, kept by Miss Meliitable Higgin- 
 son, a true gentlewoman, descended from the venerable Francis 
 Higginson, who emigrated to Salem in 1629, when there were 
 only seven bouses on the spot now covered by the whole city, 
 and who, from his scholarship, eloquence, and piety, has some¬ 
 times been called the founder of the churches of New England. 
 Miss Higginson understood, with an instinct for which experi¬ 
 ence affords no sufficient substitute, what belongs to childhood, 
 and how best to direct and mould its opening faculties. It was 
 her wont to call herself, not the school mistress, but the school 
 mother , of her little flock; and a system of discipline which 
 might be summed up in such a phrase could hardly fail of 
 being effectual for good. Certainly it succeeded to a remark- 
 
 ’ Only a year before his death, the historian was invited to be present ai 
 the dedication of “ Plummer Hall.” He was not able to attend; but, in 
 reply to the invitation, he said: “ I need not assure you that I take a sincere 
 interest in the ceremonies of the day, and I have a particular interest in the 
 spot which is to be covered by the new edifice, from its having been that on 
 which I first saw the light. It is a pleasant thought to me, that, through 
 the enlightened liberality of my deceased friend, Miss Plummer, it is now 
 to be consecrated to so noble a purpose.” 
 

SCHOOL DAYS. 
 
 3 
 
 able degree with her many pupils, during the half-century in 
 which she devoted herself with truth and love to her calling. 
 Of her more favored children, William was one. 
 
 From the tender and faithful hands of Miss Higginson, he 
 passed to the school of Mr. Jacob Newman Knapp, long known 
 in Salem as “ Master Knapp,” — a person who, as the best 
 teacher to be obtained, had been procured by Mr. Prescott and 
 a few of his more intimate friends, all of whom were anxious, 
 as he was, to spare neither pains nor expense in the education 
 of their children. Under Mr. Knapp’s care William was placed 
 at New-Year, 1803, when he was less than seven years old ; 
 and he continued there until the midsummer of 1808, when his 
 father removed to Boston. 
 
 The recollections of him during these four or five years are 
 distinct in the minds of his teacher, who still survives (1862) 
 at a venerable old age, and of a few schoolmates, now no longer 
 young. He was a bright, merry boy, with an inquisitive mind, 
 quick perceptions, and a ready, retentive memory. His lessons 
 were generally well learned ; but he loved play better than 
 books, and was too busy with other thoughts than those that 
 belonged to the school-room to become one of Master Knapp’s 
 best pupils. He was, though large for his years, not very vig¬ 
 orous in his person. He never fancied rude or athletic sports, 
 but amused himself with such boys of his own age as preferred 
 games requiring no great physical strength; or else he made 
 himself happy at home with such light reading as is most at¬ 
 tractive to all children, and especially to those whose opening 
 tastes and tendencies are quiet, if not intellectual. In the latter 
 part of his life he used to say, that he recollected no period of 
 his childhood when he did not love books ; adding, that often, 
 when he was a very little boy, he was so excited by stories 
 appealing strongly to his imagination, that, when his mother 
 left the room, he used to take hold of her gown, and follow her 
 as she moved about the house, rather than be left alone. But 
 in school he did not love work, and made no remarkable pro 
 gress in his studies. 
 
 Neither was he so universally liked by the boys "with whom 
 he was associated in Salem, as he was afterwards by the boys 
 in other schools. He had indeed his favorites, to whom he 
 
4 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING TRESCOTT. 
 
 was much attached and who were much attached to him, and 
 he never faltered in his kindness to them subsequently, how¬ 
 ever humble or unfortunate their condition became ; but at 
 home he had been encouraged to speak his mind with a bold¬ 
 ness that was sometimes rude ; partly from parental indul¬ 
 gence, and partly as a means of detecting easily any tendencies 
 in his character that his conscientious father might think it 
 needful to restrain. The consequence was, that a similar habit 
 of very free speaking at school, joined to his great natural 
 vivacity and excessive animal spirits, made him more confident 
 in the expression of his opinions and feelings than was agree¬ 
 able, and prevented him from becoming a favorite with a por¬ 
 tion of his schoolmates. It laid, however, I doubt not, the 
 foundation for that attractive simplicity and openness which 
 constituted prominent traits in his character through life. 
 
 His conscience was sensitive and tender from the first, and 
 never ceased to be so. A sermon to children produced a strik¬ 
 ing effect upon him when he was still a child. It was a very 
 simple, direct one, by Dr. Channing; and William’s mother 
 told him to read it to her one evening when his conduct had 
 required some slight censure, and she thought this the best 
 way to administer it. He obeyed her reluctantly. But soon 
 his lips began to quiver, and his voice to choke. He stopped, 
 and with tears said, “ Mother, if I am ever a bad boy again, 
 won’t you set me to reading that sermon ? ” 
 
 His temperament was very gay, like his mother’s, and his 
 eager and sometimes turbulent spirits led him into faults of 
 conduct oftener, perhaps, than anything else. Like most school¬ 
 boys, he was fond of practical jokes, and ventured them, not 
 only in a spirit of idle mischief, but even rudely. Once he 
 badly frightened a servant-girl in the family, by springing un¬ 
 expectedly upon lier from behind a door. But his father, busy 
 and anxious as he was with the interests of others, and occu¬ 
 pying himself less with the material concerns and affairs of his 
 household than almost any person I ever knew, had yet an eye 
 of unceasing vigilance for whatever related to the training of 
 his children, and did not suffer even a fault so slight to pass 
 without rebuke. After this, although William was always a 
 boy full of life and mischief, he gave no more trouble by such 
 rudeness at home. 
 
HOME INFLUENCES. 
 
 5 
 
 No doubt, therefore, his early education, and the circum¬ 
 stances most nearly connected with it, were, on the whole, 
 favorable to the formation of a character suited to the position 
 in the world that he was likely to occupy; -— a character, I 
 mean, that would not easily yield to the temptations of pros¬ 
 perity, nor be easily broken down by adverse fortune, if such 
 fortune should come upon it. It was, in fact, a condition of 
 things that directly tended to develop those manly qualities 
 which in our New-England society have always most surely 
 contributed to progress and success. 
 
 Nor was there anything in the circle with which his family 
 was most connected to counteract these influences. Life in 
 those days was a very simple tiling in Salem, compared with 
 what it is now. It was the period when Mr. Gray and Mr. 
 Peabody, the Pickmans and the Derbys, were too busy with 
 their widely extended commerce to think often of anything 
 else; when Mr. Justice Putnam was a young lawyer struggling 
 up to eminence ; when Mr. Story, afterwards the distinguished 
 jurist and judge, was only beginning to be heard of; and when 
 the mathematical genius of Dr. Bowditch, and the classical 
 studies of Mr. Pickering, which were destined later to have so 
 wide an effect on our community, were hardly known beyond 
 the limits of their personal acquaintance. 
 
 In those active, earnest days, the modest luxury of hackney- 
 coaches and hired waiters had not come to be deemed needful 
 in Salem, even among those who were already prosperous and 
 rich. When, therefore, Mrs. Prescott had invited friends to 
 dine, — a form of social intercourse which she and her husband 
 always liked, and which they practised more freely than most 
 persons then did, —- if the weather proved unfavorable, she 
 sent her own chaise to bring her lady guests to her house, and 
 carried them safely home in the same way when the hospitable 
 evening was ended. Or, if the company were larger than her 
 usual arrangements would permit to be well served, she bor¬ 
 rowed the servants of-her friends, and lent her own in return 
 But the days of such unpretending simplicity are gone by, and 
 a tasteful luxury has naturally and gracefully taken its place. 
 They were days, however, on which my friend always looked 
 back with satisfaction, and I doubt not, nor did he doubt, that 
 
6 
 
 WILLIAM lUCKLING PRESCOTT 
 
 it was well for him that his character received something of its 
 early direction under their influence. He was always grateful 
 that his first years were passed neither in a luxurious home nor 
 in a luxurious state of society. 8 
 
 Mr. Prescott the elder removed with his family to Boston 
 m the summer of 1808, and established himself in a house on 
 Tremont Street. But although he had come to a larger town, 
 and one where those of his own condition indulged in some¬ 
 what more free habits of expense, the manner of life that he 
 preferred and followed in his new home was not different from 
 the one to which he had been accustomed in Salem. It was a 
 life of cordial, open hospitality, but without show or pretension 
 of any sort. And so it continued to the last. 
 
 The promising son was sent in the early autumn to the best 
 classical school then known in New England ; for his father, 
 bred at Dummer Academy by “ Master Moody,” who in his 
 time was without an equal among us as a teacher of Latin 
 and Greek, always valued such training more than any other. 
 And it was fortunate for William that he did so ; for his early 
 classical discipline was undoubtedly a chief element in his sub¬ 
 sequent success. 
 
 The school to which he was sent — if school it could prop¬ 
 erly be called — was one kept with few of the attributes of 
 such an institution, but in its true spirit, by the Rev. Dr. Gar¬ 
 diner, 4 Rector of Trinity Church, Boston. Dr. Gardiner was 
 
 8 For this sketch of society as it existed in Salem at the end of the last 
 century I am indebted to the venerable Mrs. Putnam, widow of Mr. Justice 
 Putnam, whose family, early connected with that of the elder Mr. Prescott 
 by bonds of friendship and affection, has, in the third generation, been yet 
 more intimately and happily united to it by the marriage of the eldest son 
 of the historian with a granddaughter of the jurist. 
 
 4 Dr. Gardiner had earlier kept a regular school in Boston, with no small 
 success; but, at the time referred to, he received in his own library, with 
 little form, about a dozen youths, — some who were to be prepared for col¬ 
 lege, and some who, having been already graduated, sought, by his assistance, 
 to increase their knowledge of the Greek and Latin classics. It was excel¬ 
 lent, direct, personal teaching; — the more effective because the nuniber of 
 pupils was so small. It was, too, of a sort peculiarly adapted to make an 
 impression on a mind and temperament like young Prescott’s. Indeed, it be¬ 
 came the foundation of an attachment between him and his instructor, which 
 was severed only by death, and of which a touching proof was afforded dur¬ 
 ing the last, long-protracted illness of Dr. Gardiner, who, as his infirmities 
 increased, directed his servant to admit nobody, beyond the limits of his 
 
DB. GARDINER’S SCHOOL. 
 
 7 
 
 a good scholar, bred in England under Dr. Parr, who, some 
 years afterwards, at Hatton, spoke of him to me with much 
 regard and respect. But, besides his scholarship, Dr. Gardiner 
 was a generous, warm-hearted man. who took a sincere interest 
 in his pupils, and sympathized with them in their pursuits to a 
 degree which, however desirable, is very rare. A great deal of 
 his teaching was oral; some of it, no doubt, traditional, and 
 brought from his English school; all of it was excellent. For, 
 although recitations of careful exactness were required, and 
 punishments not slight inflicted for negligence and breaches of 
 discipline, still much knowledge was communicated by an easy 
 conversational commentary, the best part of which could not 
 readily have been found in books, while the whole of it gave 
 a life and interest to the lessons that could have been, given by 
 nothing else. 
 
 It was in this school, as soon as he became a member of it, 
 that I first knew William, as a bright boy a little more than 
 twelve years old. I had then been under Dr. Gardiner’s in¬ 
 struction some months, not as a regular member of any class, 
 but at private hours, with one or two others, to obtain a knowl¬ 
 edge of the higher Greek and Latin classics, not elsewhere to 
 be had among us. Very soon the young stranger was brought 
 by his rapid advancement to recite with us, and before long we 
 two were left to pursue a part of our studies quite by ourselves 
 From this time, of course, I knew him well, and, becoming 
 acquainted in his father’s family, saw him not only daily at 
 school, but often at home. It was a most agreeable, cheerful 
 house, where the manners were so frank and sincere, that the 
 son’s position in it was easily understood. He was evidently 
 loved — much loved — of all; his mother showing her fond¬ 
 ness without an attempt at disguise, — his father not without 
 
 family connections, except Mr. Prescott. It is needless to add, that, after 
 this, his old pupil was almost daily at his door. Nor did he ever afterwards 
 forget his early kind teacher. Dr. Gardiner died in 1830, in England, where 
 he had gone with the hope of recovery; and on receiving the intelligence of 
 his death, Mr. Prescott published, in one of our newspapers, an interesting 
 obituary of him. Subsequently, too, in 1848, he wrote to Dr. Sprague, in 
 Albany, an affectionate letter (to be found in that gentleman’s “ Annals of 
 the American Pulpit,” Vol. V. p. 365, 1869) on Dr. Gardiner’s character, and 
 in the very last year of his life he was occupied ivith fresh interest about its 
 publication. 
 
8 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLLNG PRESCOTT. 
 
 anxiety concerning his son’s spirits and the peculiar temptations 
 of his age and position. Probably he was too much indulged 
 Certainly, in his fine, open nature there were great inducements 
 to this parental infirmity; and a spirit of boyish mischief in 
 his relations with those of his own age, and a certain degree of 
 presumption in his manners toward those who were older, were 
 not wanting to justify the suspicion. That he was much trusted 
 to himself there was no doubt. 
 
 But he loved books of the lighter sort, and was kept by Ids 
 taste for them from many irregular indulgences. Books, how¬ 
 ever, were by no means so accessible in those days as they are 
 now. Few, comparatively, were published in the United States, 
 and, as it was the dreary period of the commercial restrictions 
 that preceded the war of 1812 with England, still fewer were 
 imported. Even good school-books were not easily obtained. 
 A copy of Euripides in the original could not be bought at any 
 bookseller’s shop in New England, and was with difficulty 
 borrowed. A German instructor, or means for learning the 
 German language, were not to be had either in Boston or 
 Cambridge. The best publications that appeared in Great 
 Britain came to us slowly, and were seldom reprinted. New 
 books from the Continent hardly reached us at all. Men felt 
 poor and anxious in those dark days, and literary indulgences, 
 which have now become almost as necessary to us as our daily 
 food, were luxuries enjoyed by few. 
 
 There was, however, a respectable, but very miscellaneous 
 collection of books just beginning to be made by the proprie¬ 
 tors of the Boston Athenasum; an institution imitated chiefly 
 from the Athenasum of Liverpool, and established in an unpre¬ 
 tending building not far from the house of the Prescott family 
 in Tremont Street. Its real founder was Mr. William S. Shaw, 
 who, by a sort of common consent, exercised over it a control 
 all but unlimited, acting for many years gratuitously as its 
 librarian. He was a near connection of the two Presidents 
 Adams, the first of whom he had served as private secretary 
 during his administration of the government; and in conse- 
 quence of this relationship, when Mr. John Quincy Adams was 
 sent as Minister of the United States to Russia, he deposited 
 his library, consisting of eight or ten thousand volumes, in 
 
THE BOSTON ATHEN2EUM. 
 
 9 
 
 the Athenaeum, and thus maternally increased its resources 
 during his absence abroad. The young sons of its proprietors 
 nad then, by the rules of the institution, no real right to fre 
 quent its rooms ; but Mr. Shaw, with all his passion for books, 
 and his anxiety to keep safely and strictly those instrusted 
 to him, was a kind-hearted man, who loved bright boys, and 
 often gave them privileges in liis Athenaeum to which they 
 had no regular claim. William was one of those who were 
 most favored, and who most gladly availed themselves of the 
 opportunity which was thus given them. He resorted to 
 the Athenaeum, and to the part of it containing Mr. Adams’s 
 library, as few boys cared to do, and spent many of his play- 
 hours there in a sort of idle reading, which probably did little 
 to nourish his mind, but which, as he afterwards loved to 
 acknowledge, had a decided influence in forming his literary 
 tendencies and tastes. 5 
 
 Of course such reading was not very select. He chiefly fan¬ 
 cied extravagant romances and books of wild adventure. How 
 completely he was carried away by the “ Amadis de Gaula ” 
 in Southey’s translation he recorded long afterwards, when he 
 looked back upon his boyish admiration, not only with surprise, 
 but with a natural regret that all such feelings belonged to the 
 remote past. The age of chivalry, he said sadly, was gone by 
 for him. 6 
 
 But, whatever may have been his general reading at this 
 early period, he certainly did not, in the years immediately 
 preceding his college life, affect careful study, or serious intel¬ 
 lectual cultivation of any kind. His lessons he learned easily, 
 but he made a characteristic distinction between such as were 
 indispensable for his admission to the University, and such as 
 were prescribed merely to increase his classical knowledge and 
 accomplishments. He was always careful to learn the first 
 well, but equally careful to do no more, or at least not to seem 
 willing to do it, lest yet further claims should be made upon 
 him. I remember well his cheerful and happy recitations 
 of the “ OEdipus Tyrannus”; but be was veiy fretful at being 
 required to read the more difficult “Prometheus Vinctus” of 
 
 * Letter of W. H. Gardiner, Esq. to T. G Cary, Esq. MS. 
 
 • North American Review, January, 1850. 
 
10 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 iEschylus, because it was not a part of tbe course of study 
 wbicb all must pass through. Horace, too, of which we read 
 some parts together, interested and excited him beyond his 
 years, but Juvenal he disliked, and Persius he could not be 
 made to read at all. He was, in short, neither more nor less 
 than a thoroughly natural, bright boy, who loved play better 
 than work, but who could work well under sufficient induce¬ 
 ments and penalties. 
 
 During the whole of his school days in Boston, although 
 he was a general favorite among the boys, his friend and Jidus 
 Achates was a son of his teacher, Dr. Gardiner, of just about 
 his own age ; and, if not naturally of a more staid and sober 
 character, kept by a wise parental discipline under more re¬ 
 straint. It was a happy intimacy, and one that was never 
 broken or disturbed. Their paths in life diverged, indeed, 
 somewhat later, and they necessarily saw each other less as 
 they became engrossed by pursuits so different; — the one as a 
 severe, retired student; the other as an active, eminent lawyer, 
 much too busy with the affairs of others to be seen often out of 
 his own office and family. But their attachment always rested 
 on the old foundation, and the friend of his boyhood became 
 in time Mr. Prescott’s chief confidential adviser in his worldly 
 affairs, and was left at last the sole executor of his considerable 
 estate. 
 
 In the first few years of their acquaintance they were con¬ 
 stantly together. Dr. Gardiner gave instruction only in Greek, 
 Latin, and English. The two boys, therefore, took private les¬ 
 sons, as they were called, of other teachers in arithmetic and 
 in writing; but made small progress in either. They played, 
 too, with French, Italian, and Spanish, but accomplished little ; 
 for they cared nothing about these studies, which they account¬ 
 ed superfluous, and which they pursued only to please their 
 friends. They managed, however, always to have the same 
 instructors, and so were hardly separated at all. They learnt, 
 indeed, the slight and easy lessons set them, but were careful 
 to do no more, and so made no real progress. 
 
 Much of their free time they gave to amusements not alto¬ 
 gether idle, but certainly not tending very directly to intel¬ 
 lectual culture. Some of them were such as might have been 
 
AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 11 
 
 readily expected from their age. Thus, after frequenting a cir¬ 
 cus, they imitated what they had seen, until their performances 
 were brought to a disastrous conclusion by cruelly scorching a 
 favorite family cat that was compelled to play a part in them. 
 At another time they fired pistols till they disturbed the quiet 
 neighborhood, and came near killing a horse in the Prescott 
 stable. This was all natural enough, because it was boyish, 
 though it was a little more adventurous, perhaps, than boys’ 
 sports commonly are. Of the same sort, too, was a good deal 
 of mischief in which they indulged themselves, with little harm 
 to anybody, in the streets as they went to their school exercises, 
 especially in the evening, and then came home again, looking 
 all the graver for their frolics. But two of their amusements 
 were characteristic and peculiar, and were, perhaps, not with 
 out influence on the lives of each of them, and especially on 
 the life of the historian. 
 
 They devised games of battles of all sorts, such as they had 
 found in their school-books, among the Greeks and Romans, 
 or such as filled the newspapers of the time during the contest 
 between the English and the French in the Spanish Peninsula; 
 carrying them out by an apparatus more than commonly in¬ 
 genious for boys of their age. At first, it was merely bits of 
 paper, arranged so as to indicate the different arms and com¬ 
 manders of the different squadrons ; which were then thrown 
 into heaps, and cut up at random with shears as ruthless as 
 those of the Fates; quite severing many of the imaginary 
 combatants so as to leave no hope of life, and curtailing others 
 of their fair proportions in a way to indicate wounds more or 
 less dangerous. But this did not last long. Soon they came 
 to more personal and soldier-like encounters; dressing them¬ 
 selves up in portions of old armor which they found among 
 the curiosities of the Athenaeum, and which, I fear, they had 
 little right to use as they did, albeit their value for any purpose 
 was small indeed. What was peculiar about these amusements 
 was, that there was always an idea of a contest in them,— 
 generally of a battle, — whether in the plains of Latium with 
 .ZEneas, or on Bunker Hill under William’s grandfather, or 
 in the fanciful combats of knights-errant in the “ Amadis de 
 Gaula ”; and Prescott apparently cared more about them oi 
 this account than on any other. 
 
vz 
 
 WILLIAM niCKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 The other especial amusement of the two friends was that 
 of alternately telling stories invented as they went along. It 
 was oftener their street-talk than anything else ; and, if the 
 thread of the fiction in hand were broken otf, by arriving at 
 school or in any other way, they resumed it as soon as the 
 interruption ceased, and so continued until the whole was fin¬ 
 ished ; each improvising a complete series of adventures for 
 the entertainment of the other and of nobody else. Prescott’s 
 inventions were generally of the wildest; for his imagination 
 was lively, and his head was full of the romances that pre¬ 
 vailed in our circulating libraries before Scott ’3 time. But 
 they both etijoyed this exercise of their faculties heartily, and 
 each thought the other’s stories admirable. The historian 
 always remembered these favorite amusements of his boyish 
 days with satisfaction; and, only two or three years before 
 his death, when he had one of his grandchildren on his knee, 
 and was gratifying the boy’s demand for a fairy tale, he cried 
 out, as Mr. Gardiner entered the room: “ Ah, there’s the 
 man that could tell you stories. You know, William,” he 
 continued, addressing his friend, “ I never had any inventive 
 faculty in my life ; all I have done in the way of story-telling, 
 in my later years, has been by diligent hard work.” Such, 
 near the close of his life, was his modest estimate of his own 
 brilliant powers and performances. 
 
 How much these amusements may have influenced the char¬ 
 acter of the narrator of the Conquest of Mexico, it is not pos¬ 
 sible to determine. Probably not much. But one thing is 
 certain. They were not amusements common with boys of 
 his age ; and in his subsequent career his power of describing 
 battles, and his power of relating a succession of adventures, 
 are among his most remarkable attributes. 7 
 
 But his boyish days were now over. In August, 1811, he 
 was admitted to the Sophomore Class in Harvard College, 
 having passed his examination with credit. The next day he 
 wrote to his father, then attending the Supreme Court at Port- 
 
 I For the facts in this account of the school-boy days of Mr. Prescott, I 
 am partly indebted, as I am for much else in this memoir, — especially what 
 •elates to his college career, — to Mr. William Howard Gardiner, the early 
 Iriend referred to in the text. 
 
ENTERS COLLEGE 
 
 13 
 
 land, in Maine, the following letter, characteristic of the easy 
 relations which subsisted between them, but which, easy as 
 they were, did not prevent the son, through his whole life, from 
 looking on his admirable father with a sincere veneration. 
 
 TO THE HON. WILLIAM PRESCOTT. 
 
 Boston, Aug. 23, [1811]. 
 
 Dear Father, 
 
 I now write you a few lines to inform you of my fate. Yesterday at 
 eight o’clock I was ordered to the President’s, and there, together with a 
 Carolinian, Middleton, 8 was examined for Sophomore. When we were 
 first ushered into their presence, they looked like so many judges of the 
 Inquisition. We were ordered down into the parlor, almost frightened 
 out of our wits, to be examined by each separately ; but we soon found 
 them quite a pleasant sort of chaps. The President sent us down a good 
 dish of pears, and treated us very much like gentlemen. 9 It was not 
 ended in the morning; but we returned in the afternoon, when Professor 
 Ware examined us in Grotius de Veritatc . 10 We found him very good- 
 natured, for I happened to ask him a question in theology, which made 
 him laugh so that he was obliged to cover his face with his hands. At 
 half past three our fate was decided, and we were declared ‘ Sophomores 
 of Harvard University.’ 
 
 As you would like to know how I appeared, I will give you the con¬ 
 versation, verbatim, with Mr. Frisbie, when I went to see him after the 
 examination. I asked him, “ Did I appear well in my examination 1 ” 
 Answer. “ Yes.” Question. “ Did I appear very well, Sir ? ” Answer. 
 “ Why are you so particular, young man ? Yes, you did yourself a great 
 deal of credit.” 11 
 
 8 This was, of course, his first knowledge of Mr. Arthur Middleton, with 
 whom, as a classmate, lie was afterwards much connected, and who, when 
 he was Secretary of Legation and Charge d'Affaires of the United States at 
 Madrid, rendered his early friend important literary services, as we shall 
 6ee when we reach that period of Sir. Prescott’s life. Mr. Middleton died 
 in 1853. 
 
 9 President Kirkland, who had only a few months earlier become the head 
 of the University, will always be remembered by those who knew him, not 
 only for the richness and originality of his mind and for his great perspica¬ 
 city, but for the kindliness of his nature. The days, however, in which a 
 dish of pears followed an examination, were, I think, very- few even in his 
 time, — connected with no traditions of the past, and not suited to the state 
 of discipline since. It was, I suspect, only a compliment to William’s fam¬ 
 ily, who had been parishioners of Dr. Kirkland, when he was a clergyman 
 in Boston. 
 
 10 Dr. Henry Ware was Hollis Professor of Divinity. 
 
 II Before this examination, William had, for a short time, been under the 
 private and especial instruction of Mr. Frisbie, who was then a Tutor in 
 Harvard College, and subsequently one of its favorite Professors, — too early 
 taken away by death, in 1822. 
 
u 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 I feel to-day twenty pounds lighter than I did yesterday. I shall dmo 
 at Mr. Gardiner’s. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner both say that on me depends 
 William’s going to college or not. If I behave well, he will go ; if not, 
 that he certainly shall not go. Mr. W. P. Mason has asked me to dins 
 with him on Commencement Day, as he gives a dinner. I believe I 
 shall go. As I bad but little time, I thought it best to tell a long story, 
 and write it badly, rather than a short one written well. I have been to 
 
 see Mr. EL-this morning; — no news. Kemember me to your fellow- 
 
 travellers, C., & M., &c., &c. Love to mother, whose affectionate son I 
 remain, 
 
 Wm. Hickxing Pbesooti. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 1811-1815. 
 
 College Life. — Good Resolutions. — Injury to his Sight. — imme¬ 
 diate Effects. — State of his Eye. — Relations with the Per¬ 
 son WHO INFLICTED THE INJURY. — STUDIES SUE SEQUENT TO THE 
 
 Injury. — Mathematics. — Latin and Greek. — Phi Beta Kappa 
 Society. — Graduated.-—Studies. — Severe Inflammation of the 
 Eye. — His Character under Trial. — Anxiety about his Health. 
 — Is to visit Europe. 
 
 T the time "William thus gayly entered on his collegiate 
 
 career, he had, thanks to the excellent training he had 
 received from Dr. Gardiner, a good taste formed and forming 
 in English literature, and he probably knew more of Latin and 
 Greek — not of Latin and Greek literature, but of the lan¬ 
 guages of Greece and Rome —- than most of those who entered 
 college with him knew when they were graduated. But, on the 
 other hand, he had no liking for mathematics, and never ac¬ 
 quired any; nor did he ever like metaphysical discussions and 
 speculations. His position in his class was, of course, deter¬ 
 mined by these circumstances, and he was willing that it should 
 be. But he did not like absolutely to fail of a respectable rank. 
 It would not have been becoming the character of a cultivated 
 gentleman, to which at that time he more earnestly aspired 
 than to any other ; nor would it have satisfied the just expecta¬ 
 tions of his family, which always had much influence with him. 
 It was difficult for him, however, to make the efforts and the 
 sacrifices indispensable to give him the position of a real scholar. 
 He adopted, indeed, rules for the hours, and even the minutes, 
 that he would devote to each particular study; but he was 
 so careful never to exceed them, that it was plain his heart 
 was not in the matter, and that he could not reasonably hope 
 to succeed by such enforced and mechanical arrangements. 
 Still, he had already a strong will concealed under a gay and 
 light-hearted exterior. This saved him from many dangers. 
 
WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 1C 
 
 He was always able to stop short of what he deemed flagrant 
 excesses, and to keep within the limits, though rather loose 
 ones, which he had prescribed to himself. His standard for the 
 character of a gentleman varied, no doubt, at this period, and 
 sometimes was not so high on the score of morals as it should 
 have been; but he always acted up to it, and never passed the 
 world’s line of honor, or exposed himself to academical cen¬ 
 sures by passing the less flexible line drawn by college rules. 
 He was, however, willing to run very near to both of them. 
 
 Among the modes he adopted at this time to regulate his 
 conduct, was one which had much more influence with him 
 later, than it had at first. It w T as that of making good reso¬ 
 lutions ; — a practice in which he persevered through life to 
 an extraordinary extent, not always heeding whether he kept 
 them with great exactness, but sure to repeat them as often as 
 they were broken, until, at last, some of them took effect, and 
 his ultimate purpose was, in part at least, accomplished. He 
 pardoned himself, I suppose, too easily for his manifold neg¬ 
 lects and breaches of the compacts he had thus made with his 
 conscience; but there was repentance at the bottom of all, 
 and his character was strengthened by the practice. The early 
 part of his college career, however, when for the first time 
 he left the too gentle restraints of his father’s house, was less 
 affected by this system of self-control, and was the most dan¬ 
 gerous period of his life. Upon portions of it he afterwards 
 looked back with regret. 
 
 “It was about this time,”—says Mr. Gardiner, in a very interesting 
 paper concerning his acquaintance with Mr. Prescott, which he has been 
 good enough to place at ray disposition, — “ it was about this time, that is, 
 pretty early in his college life, when the first excitemeuts of perfect liberty 
 of action were a little abated, that he began to form good resolutions, — to 
 form them, not to keep them. This was, so far as I remember, the feeble 
 beginning of a process of frequent self-examination and moral self-control, 
 which he afterwards cultivated and practised to a degree beyond all exam¬ 
 ple that has come under my observation in cases of like constitutional 
 tendency. It was, I conceive, the truly great point of his moral character, 
 and the chief foundation of all he accomplished in after life as a literary 
 man; a point which lay always concealed to transient observers under 
 lightness and gayety of manner. 
 
 “ This habit of forming distinct resolutions about all sorts of things, 
 sometimes important, but often in themselves tho merest trifles in the 
 world, grew up rapidly to an extent that became rather ludicrous; espe- 
 
STUDY AND CONDUCT. 
 
 17 
 
 daily as it was accompanied by another habit, that of thinking aloud, and 
 concealing nothing about himself, which led him to announce to the first 
 friend he met his latest new resolution. The practice, I apprehend, must 
 have reached its acme about the time when he informed me one day that 
 lie had just made a new resolution, which was, — since he found he could 
 not keep those which he had made before, — that he would never make 
 another resolution as long as he lived. It is needless to say that this was 
 kept but a very short time. 
 
 “ These resolutions, during college days, related often to the number of 
 hours, nay, the number of minutes, per day to be appropriated to each par¬ 
 ticular exercise or study; the number of recitations and public prayers per 
 week that he would not fail to attend; the number of times per week that 
 he would not exceed in attending balls, theatrical entertainments in Boston, 
 &c., &c. What was most observable in this sort of accounts that he used 
 to keep with himself was, that the errors were all on one side. Casual 
 temptations easily led him, at this time of life, to break through the 
 severer restrictions of his rule, but it was matter of high conscience with 
 him never to curtail the full quantity of indulgences which it allowed. 
 He would be sure not to run one minute over, however he might some¬ 
 times fall short of the full time for learning a particular lesson, which he 
 used to con over with his watch before him, lest by any inadvertence he 
 might cheat himself into too much study. 
 
 “ On the same principle, he was careful never to attend any greater 
 number of college exercises, nor any less number of evening diversions in 
 Boston, than he had bargained for with himself. Then, as he found out 
 by experience the particular circumstances which served as good excuses 
 for infractions of his rule, he would begin to complicate his accounts with 
 himself by introducing sets of fixed exceptions, stringing on amendment, 
 as it were, after amendment to the general law, until it became extremely 
 difficult for himself to tell what his rule actually was in its application to 
 the new cases which arose ; and, at last, he would take the whole subject, 
 so to speak, into a new draft, embodying it in a bran-new resolution. And 
 what is particularly curious is, that all the casuistry attending this process 
 was sure to be published, as it went along, to all his intimates. 
 
 “ The manner in which he used to compound with his conscience in 
 such matters is well illustrated by an anecdote, which properly belongs to 
 a little later period, but which may well enough be inserted here. It is 
 one which I was lately put iu mind of by Mr. J. C. Gray, but which I had 
 heard that gentleman tell long ago in Prescott’s presence, who readily 
 admitted it to be substantially true. The incident referred to occurred at 
 the time he and Mr. Gray were travelling together in Europe. An oculist, 
 or physician, whom he had consulted at Paris, had advised him, among 
 other things, to live less freely, and when pushed by his patient, as was his 
 wont, to fix a very precise limit to the quantity of wine he might take, his 
 adviser told him that he ought never to exceed two glasses a day. This 
 rule he forthwith announced his resolution to adhere to scrupulously. And 
 he did. But his manner of observing it was peculiar. At every new 
 house of entertainment they reached in their travels, one of the first things 
 Prescott did was to require the waiter to show him specimens of all the 
 wine-glasses the house afforded. He would then pick out from among 
 
 li 
 
18 
 
 WILLIAM HICftmlNG PRESCOTT. 
 
 them the largest; and this, though it might contain two or three times the 
 quantity of a common wine-glass, he would have set by his plate as his 
 measure at dinner to observe the rule in.” 
 
 But just at the period of his college history to which Mr. 
 Gardiner chiefly refers, or a very little later, the painful acci¬ 
 dent befell him which, in its consequences, changed the whole 
 aspect of the world to him, and tended, more than any single 
 event in his life, to make him what he at last became. I refer, 
 of course, to the accident which so fatally impaired his sight. 
 It occurred in the Commons Hall, one day after dinner, in his 
 Junior year. On this occasion there was some rude frolicking 
 among the undergraduates, such as was not very rare when the 
 college officers had left the tables, as they frequently did, a few 
 minutes before the room was emptied. There was not, however, 
 in this particular instance, any considerable disorder, and Pres¬ 
 cott had no share in what there was. But when he was pass¬ 
 ing out of the door of the Hall, his attention was attracted by 
 the disturbance going on behind him. He turned his head 
 quickly to see what it was, and at the same instant received a 
 blow from a large, hard piece of bread, thrown undoubtedly 
 at random, and in mere thoughtlessness and gayety. It struck 
 the open eye ; — a rare occurrence in the case of that vigilant 
 organ, which, on the approach of the slightest danger, is almost 
 always protected by an instant and instinctive closing of the 
 lids. But here there was no notice, — no warning. The mis¬ 
 sile, which must have been thrown with great force, struck the 
 very disk of the eye itself. It was the left eye. He fell, — 
 and was immediately brought to his father’s house in town, 
 where, in the course of two or three hours from the occurrence of 
 the accident, he was in the hands of Dr. James Jackson, the kind 
 friend, as well as the wise medical adviser, of his father’s family. 1 
 
 The first effects of the blow were remarkable. They were, 
 in fact, such as commonly attend a concussion of the brain. 
 
 1 There is a graceful tribute to Dr. Jackson in Prescott’s Memoir of Mr. 
 John Pickering, where, noticing the intimacy of these two distinguished men, 
 he says, that in London Mr. Pickering was much with Dr. Jackson, who was 
 then “ acquiring the rudiments of the profession which he was to pursue 
 through a long series of years with so much honor to himself and such widely 
 extended benefit to the community.” Collections of the Massachusetts His¬ 
 torical Society, Third Series, Vol. X. p. 208. 
 
INJURY TO HIS EYE. 
 
 19 
 
 The strength of the patient was instantly and completely 
 prostrated. Sickness at the stomach followed. His pulse was 
 feeble. His face became pale and shrunken, and the whole 
 tone of his system was reduced so low, that he could not sit up 
 in bed. But his mind was calm and clear, and he was able to 
 give a distinct account of the accident that had befallen him, 
 and of what had preceded and followed it. 
 
 Under such circumstances no active treatment was deemed 
 advisable. Quiet was strictly prescribed. Whatever could 
 tend to the least excitement, physical or intellectual, was for¬ 
 bidden. And then nature was left to herself. This, no doubt, 
 was the wisest course. At any rate, the system, which had at 
 first yielded so alarmingly to the shock, gradually recovered its 
 tone, and in a few weeks he returned to Cambridge, and pur¬ 
 sued his studies as if nothing very serious had happened ; -— a 
 little more cautiously, perhaps, in some respects, but probably 
 with no diminution of such very moderate diligence as he had 
 previously practised. 2 But the eye that had been struck was 
 gone. No external mark, either then or afterwards, indicated 
 the injury that had been inflicted; and, although a glimmering 
 light was still perceptible through the ruined organ, there was 
 none that could be made useful for any of the practical pur¬ 
 poses of life. On a careful examination, such as I once made, 
 with magnifying lenses, at his request, under the direction of 
 a distinguished oculist, a difference could indeed be detected 
 between the injured eye and the other, and sometimes, as I sat 
 with him, I have thought that it seemed more dim; but to com¬ 
 mon observation, in society or in the streets, as in the well- 
 known case of the author of the “ Paradise Lost,” no change was 
 perceptible. It was, in fact, a case of obscure, deep paralysis 
 of the retina, and as such was beyond the reach of the healing 
 art from the moment the blow was given. 
 
 One circumstance, however, in relation to the calamity that 
 thus fell on him in the freshness of his youth, should not be 
 
 * This account of the original injury to Mr. Prescott’s eye, and the notices 
 of his subsequent illnesses and death, in this Memoir, are abridged from an 
 interesting and important medical letter, which Dr. Jackson was good enough 
 to address to me in June, 1859, and which may be found entire in a little 
 volume entitled, “Another Letter to a Young Physician,” (Boston, 1861,) 
 pp. 130 -156. 
 
20 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 overlooked, because it shows, even at this early period, the 
 development of strong traits in his character, such as marked 
 his subsequent life. I refer to the fact that he rarely mentioned 
 the name of the young man who had thus inflicted on him 
 an irreparable injury, and that he never mentioned it in a way 
 which could have given pain either to him or to those nearest 
 to him. Indeed, he so often spoke to me of the whole affair as 
 a mere chance-medley, for which nobody could be to blame, 
 and of which little could be distinctly known, that, for a time, 
 I supposed he was really ignorant, and preferred to remain ig 
 norant, from whose hand the fatal blow had come. But it was 
 not so. He always knew who it was ; and, years afterwards, 
 when the burden of the injury he had received was much 
 heavier on his thoughts than it had been at first, and when an 
 opportunity occurred to do an important kindness to the un- 
 happy person who had inflicted it, he did it promptly and cor¬ 
 dially. It was a Christian act, — the more truly Christian, 
 because, although the blow was certainly given by accident, he 
 who inflicted it never expressed any sympathy with the terrible 
 suffering he had occasioned. At least, the sufferer, to whom, if 
 to anybody, he shoidd have expressed it, never knew that he 
 regretted what he had done. 
 
 When William returned to College, and resumed his studies 
 he had, no doubt, somewhat different views and purposes in life 
 from those which had most influenced him before his accident. 
 The quiet and suffering of his dark room had done their work, 
 at least in part. He was, compared with rvhat he had been, 
 a sobered man. Not that his spirits were seriously affected by 
 it. They survived even this. But inducements and leisure foi 
 reflection had been afforded him such as he had never known 
 before; and, whether the thoughts that followed his accident 
 were the cause or not, he now determined to acquire a more 
 respectable rank in his class as a scholar, than he had earlier 
 deemed worth the trouble. 
 
 It was somewhat late to do it; but, having no little courage 
 and very considerable knowledge in elegant literature, he in 
 part succeeded. His remarkable memory enabled him to get 
 on well with the English studies; even with those for which, 
 as for the higher metaphysics, he had a hearty disrelish. But 
 
TROUBLES IN COLLEGE. 
 
 21 
 
 mathematics and geometry seemed to constitute an insurmount¬ 
 able obstacle. He had taken none of the preparatory steps to 
 qualify himself for them, and it was impossible now to go back 
 to the elements, and lay a sufficient foundation. He knew, in 
 fact, nothing about them, and never did afterwards. He be¬ 
 came desperate, therefore, and took to desperate remedies. 
 
 The first was to commit to memory, with perfect exactness, 
 the whole mathematical demonstration required of his class 
 on any given day, so as to be able to recite every syllable and 
 letter of it as they stood in the book, without comprehending 
 the demonstration at all, or attaching any meaning to the 
 words and signs of which it was composed. It was, no doubt, 
 a feat of memory of which few men would have been capable, 
 but it was also one whose worthlessness a careful teacher would 
 very soon detect, and one, in itself, so intolerably onerous, that 
 no pupil could long practise it. Besides, it was a trick; and a 
 fraud of any kind, except to cheat himself, was contrary to his 
 very nature. 
 
 After trying it, therefore, a few times, and enjoying what¬ 
 ever amusement it could afford liim and his friends, who were 
 in the secret, he took another method more characteristic. He 
 went to his Professor, and told him the truth; not only his 
 ignorance of geometry, and his belief that be was incapable 
 of understanding a word of if, but the mode by which he had 
 seemed to comply with the requisitions of the recitation-room, 
 while in fact he evaded them ; adding, at the same time, that, 
 as a proof of mere industry, he was willing to persevere in 
 committing the lessons to memory, and reciting by rote what 
 he did not and could not understand, if such recitations were 
 required of him, but that he would rather be permitted to use 
 his time more profitably. The Professor, struck with the hon¬ 
 esty and sincerity of his pupil, as well as with the singularity 
 of the case, and seeing no likelihood that a similar one would 
 occur, merely exacted his attendance at the regular hours, from 
 which, in fact, lie had no power to excuse him ; but gave him 
 to understand that be should not be troubled further with the 
 duty of reciting. The solemn farce, therefore, of going to the 
 exercise, book in band, for several months, without looking at 
 the lesson, was continued, and Prescott was always grateful to 
 the kind!)' Professes 1 for his forbearance. 
 
22 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 On another occasion, he was in danger of more serious 
 trouble with one of the Professors. In this case it arose from 
 the circumstance, that, at all periods of his life, Prescott was 
 now and then affected with a nervous laugh, or fit of laughter, 
 which, as it was always without adequate cause, sometimes 
 broke out most inopportunely. In a very interesting sketch of 
 some passages in his life, by his friend Gardiner, which I have 
 received since this Memoir was prepared, there is an account 
 of two such outbreaks, both of which I will give here, because 
 they are connected, and belong to nearly the same period in 
 his life, and because the last is strictly to be placed among his 
 college adventures. Speaking of this involuntary merriment. 
 Mr. Gardiner says : — 
 
 “ How mirthful he was, — how fond of a merry laugh, — how overflow, 
 ing with means to excite one on all admissible occasions, — I have already 
 mentioned. But what I now speak of was something beyond this. He 
 had a sense of the ludicrous so strong, that it seemed at times quite to 
 overpower him. He would laugh on such occasions,—not vociferously 
 indeed, but most inordinately, and for a long time together, as if possessed 
 by the spirit of Momus himself. It seemed to be something perfectly un¬ 
 controllable, provoked often by the slightest apparent cause; and some¬ 
 times, in his younger days, under circumstances that made its indulgence 
 a positive impropriety. This seemed only to aggravate the disease. I 
 call it a disease ; for it deprived him at the time of all self-control, and in 
 oue of the other sex would have been perhaps hysterical. But there was 
 something irresistibly comic in it to the by-standers, accompanied, as it 
 used to be, by imperfect efforts, through drolleries uttered in broken, half- 
 intelligible sentences, to communicate the ludicrous idea. This original 
 ludicrous idea he seldom succeeded in communicating; but the infection 
 of laughter would spread, by a sort of animal magnetism, from one to 
 another, till I have seen a whole company perfectly convulsed with it, no 
 one of whom could have told what in the world he was laughing at, unless 
 it were at the sight of Prescott, so utterly overcome, and struggling in vaiD 
 to express himself. 
 
 “ To give a better idea of this, I may cite an instance that I witnessed 
 in his younger days, either shortly before, or just after, his first European 
 tour. A party of young gentlemen and ladies—he and I among them — 
 undertook to entertain themselves and their friends with some private the¬ 
 atricals. After having performed one or two light pieces with some suc¬ 
 cess, we attempted the more ambitious task of getting up Julius Caesar. 
 It proceeded only to two partial rehearsals ; but the manner in which they 
 ended is to the present point. When all had sufficiently studied their 
 parts, we met for a final rehearsal. The part of Mark Antony had been 
 allotted to Piescott. He got through with it extremely well till he cam« 
 to the speech in the third act which begins, • O pardon me, thou bleeding 
 piece of earth 1 ’ This was addressed to one of our company, extended on 
 
SUCCESS IN COLLEGE. 
 
 23 
 
 the floor, and enacting the part of Caesar’s murdered corpse, with becom¬ 
 ing stillness and rigidity. At this point of the performance the ludicrous 
 seized upon Prescott to such a degree, that he burst out into one of his 
 grand fits of laughing, and laughed so immoderately and so infectiously, 
 that the whole company, corpse and all, followed suit, and a scene of 
 tumult ensued which put a stop to further rehearsal. Another evening we 
 attempted it again, after a solemn assurance from Prescott that he should 
 certainly command himself, and not give way to such a folly again. But 
 he did, -— in precisely the same place, and with the same result. After 
 that we gave up Julius Caesar. 
 
 “ A more curious instance occurred while he was in college. I was 
 not present at this, but have heard him tell it repeatedly in after life. On 
 some occasion it happened that he went to the study of the Rhetorical 
 Professor, for the purpose of receiving a private lesson in elocution. The 
 Professor and his pupil were entirely alone. Prescott took his attitude as 
 orator, and began to declaim the speech he had committed for the purpose; 
 but, after proceeding through a sentence or two, something ludicrous sud¬ 
 denly came across him, and it was all over with him at once, -—just as 
 when he came to the ‘ bleeding piece of earth,’ in the scene above narrated. 
 He was seized with just such an uncontrollable fit of laughter. The Pro¬ 
 fessor — no laughing man -— looked grave, and tried to check him ; but 
 the more he tried to do so, the more Prescott was convulsed. The Pro¬ 
 fessor began to think his pupil intended to insult him. His dark features 
 grew darker, and he began to speak in a tone of severe reprimand. This 
 only seemed to aggravate Prescott’s paroxysm, while he endeavored, in 
 vain, to beg pardon; for he could not utter an intelligible word. At last, 
 the sense of the extreme ludicrousness of the situation, and the perception 
 of Prescott’s utter helplessness, seized hold of the Professor himself. He 
 had caught the infection. His features suddenly relaxed, and he too began 
 to laugh; and presently the two, Professor and pupil, the more they looked 
 at each other the more they laughed, both absolutely holding on to their 
 sides, and the tears rolling down, their cheeks. Of course, there was an 
 end of all reprimand, and equally an end of all declamation. The Pro¬ 
 fessor, as became him, recovered himself first, but only enough to say 
 ‘ Well, Prescott, you may go. This will do for to-day.’ ” 
 
 Mathematics, by the indulgence of his teacher, being dis¬ 
 posed of in the manner I have mentioned, and several other 
 of the severer studies being made little more than exercises ot 
 memory, he was obliged to depend, for the distinction he de¬ 
 sired to obtain at college, and which ins family demanded from 
 him, almost entirely on his progress in Latin and Greek, and 
 on his proficiency in English literature. These, however, to¬ 
 gether with his zeal in pursuing them, were, by the kindness 
 of those in academical authority, admitted to be sufficient. He 
 received, in the latter part of his college career, some of the 
 customary honors of successful scholarship, and at its close a 
 
24 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Latin poem was assigned to him as iiis exercise for Commence* 
 ment. 
 
 No honor, however, that he received at college was valued 
 so much by him, or had been so much an object of his ambition, 
 as his admission to the Society of the Phi Beta Kappa, which 
 was composed, in its theory and pretensions, and generally in its 
 practice, of a moderate number of the best scholars in the two 
 upper classes. As the selection was made by the undergradu¬ 
 ates themselves, and as a single black-ball excluded the candi¬ 
 date, it was a real distinction ; and Prescott always liked to 
 stand well with his fellows, later in life no less than in youth. 
 From his own experience, therefore, he regarded this old and 
 peculiar society with great favor, and desired at all periods to 
 maintain its privileges and influence in the University . 3 
 
 The honor that he received on his graduation was felt to bb 
 appropriate to his tastes, and was not a little valued by him 
 and by his father, as a proof of diligence in his classical studies. 
 It is a pity that the poem cannot be found; but it seems to be 
 irrecoverably lost. Only a few months before his death, his col¬ 
 lege classmate, Mr. S. D. Bradford, sent him one of a few 
 copies, which he had privately printed for his children and 
 friends, of his own scattered miscellanies, among which was a 
 college exercise in Latin prose. Prescott then said, alluding to 
 his own Latin poem: “ I wish I had taken as good care of it 
 as you have of your exercises. I have hunted for it in every 
 quarter where I supposed I could have mislaid it, but in vain. 
 If I should find it.” he adds, with his accustomed kindliness, 
 “ I shall feel content if the Latin will pass muster as well as 
 in your performance.” 
 
 It was a pleasant little poem, on Hope, “ Ad Spem,” and, if 
 
 8 The B K, it should be remembered, was, at that period, a society of much 
 more dignity and consequence than it is now. It had an anuual public exhi¬ 
 bition, largely attended by such graduates as were its members, and, indeed, 
 by the more cultivated portion of the community generally. The under¬ 
 graduates were in this way associated at once with the prominent and distin¬ 
 guished among their predecessors, who were themselves pleased thus to recall 
 the rank, both as scholars and as gentlemen, which they had early gained, 
 and which they still valued. Membership in such an association was precisely 
 the sort of honor which a young man like Prescott would covet, and he 
 always regretted that its influence among the undergraduates had not been 
 sustained. 
 
GRADUATION. 
 
 25 
 
 I remember rightly, it was in hexameters and pentameters. It 
 was delivered in a hot, clear day of August, 1814, in the old 
 meeting-house at Cambridge, to a crowded audience of the 
 most distinguished people of Boston and the neighborhood, 
 attracted in no small degree by an entertainment which Mr. 
 and Mrs. Prescott were to give the same afternoon in honor of 
 their son's success, — one of the very last of the many large 
 entertainments formerly given at Cambridge on such occasions, 
 and which, hi their day, rendered Commencement a more bril¬ 
 liant festival than it is now. I was there to hear my friend. 
 I could see, by his tremulous motions, that he was a good deal 
 frightened when speaking before so large an assembly; but still 
 his appearance was manly, and his verses were thought well of 
 by those who had a right to judge of their merit. I have no 
 doubt they would do credit to Ins Latinity if they could now 
 be found, for at school he wrote such verses better than any 
 boy there. 
 
 After the literary exercises of the day came, of course, the 
 entertainment to the friends of the family. This was given as 
 a reward to the cherished son, which he valued not a little, and 
 the promise of which had much stimulated his efforts in the 
 latter part of his college life. It was, in fact, a somewhat 
 sumptuous dinner, under a marquee, at which above five hun¬ 
 dred persons of both sexes sat down, and which was thoroughly 
 enjoyed by all who took an interest in the occasion. His 
 mother did not hesitate to express the pleasure her son’s suc¬ 
 cess had given her, and if his father, from the instincts of his 
 nature, was more reserved, he was undoubtedly no less satisfied. 
 William was very gay, as he always was in society, and perfectly 
 natural; dancing and frolicking on the green with great spirit 
 after the more formal part of tiie festivities was over. He was 
 not sorry that his college life was ended, and said so ; but lie 
 parted from a few of his friends with sincere pain, as they left 
 Cambridge to go their several ways in the world, never to 
 meet again as free and careless as they then were. Indeed, on 
 such occasions, notwithstanding the vivacity of his nature, he 
 was forced to yield a little to his feelings, as I have myself 
 sometimes witnessed.' 1 
 
 4 There are some remarks oC Mr. Prescott on college life m his Memoir of 
 ‘i 
 
26 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING TRESCOTT. 
 
 Immediately after leaving college, he entered as a student m 
 his father’s office ; for the law was, in some sort, his natural 
 inheritance, and — with his own talents already sufficiently 
 developed to be recognized, and with the countenance and aid 
 of a lawyer as eminent as his father was — the path to success 
 at the bar seemed both tempting and sure. But his tastes 
 were still for the pursuits which he had always most loved. 
 He entertained, indeed, no doubt what would be his ultimate 
 career in life ; but still he lingered fondly over his Greek and 
 Latin books, and was encouraged in an indulgence of his pref¬ 
 erence by his family and friends, who rightly regarded such 
 studies as the safest means and foundations for forensic emi¬ 
 nence. He talked with me about them occasionally, and I 
 rejoiced to hear his accounts of himself; for, although I had 
 then been myself admitted to the bar, my tastes were the same, 
 and it was pleasant for me to have his sympathy, as he always 
 had mine. 
 
 Four or five months were passed in this way, and then 
 another dark and threatening cloud came over his happy life. 
 In January, 1815, he called one day on his medical adviser, 
 
 Mr. Pickering, written in 1848, not without a recollection of his own early 
 experiences, which may well be added here. “ The four years of college life 
 form, perhaps, the most critical epoch in the existence of the individual. 
 This is especially the case in our country, w T here they occur at the transition 
 period, — when the boy ripens into the man. The University, that little 
 world of itself, shut out by a great barrier, as it were, from the past equally 
 with the future, bounding the visible horizon of the student like the walls of 
 a monastery, still leaves within them scope enough for all the sympathies and 
 the passions of manhood. Taken from the searching eye of parental super¬ 
 vision, the youthful scholar finds the shackles of early discipline fall from 
 him, as he is left to the disposal, in a great degree, of his own hours and the 
 choice of his own associates. His powers are quickened by collision with 
 various minds, and by the bolder range of studies now open to him. He finds 
 the same incentives to ambition as in the wider world, and contends with the 
 same zeal for honors which, to his eye, seem quite as real — and are they not 
 so? — as those in later life. He meets, too, with the same obstacles to success 
 as in the world, the same temptations to idleness, the same gilded seductions, 
 but without the same power of resistance. For in this moming of life his 
 passions are strongest; his animal nature is more sensible to enjoyment; his 
 reasoning faculties less vigorous and mature. Happy the youth who, in this 
 stage of his existence, is so strong in his principles that he can pass through 
 the ordeal without faltering or failing: — on whom the contact of bad com¬ 
 panionship has left no stain for future tears to wash away.” Collections of 
 the Massachusetts Historical Society, Third Scries, Vol. X., (1849,) pp. 206,207 
 
INFLAMMATION IN HIS EYE. 
 
 27 
 
 Dr. Jackson, and consulted him for an inconsiderable inflam¬ 
 mation of his right eye. It was his sole dependence for sight, 
 and therefore, although it had served him tolerably well for 
 above a year and a half since the accident to the other, the 
 slightest affection of its powers inevitably excited anxiety. The 
 inflammation was then wholly on the surface of the organ, but 
 yet he complained of a degree of difficulty and pain in moving 
 it, greater than is commonly noticed in a case of so little gravity 
 as this otherwise seemed to be. Leeches, therefore, were or¬ 
 dered for the temple, and a saturnine lotion, — simple remedies, 
 no doubt, but such as were sufficient for the apparent affection, 
 and quite as active in their nature as was deemed judicious. 
 
 But in the course of the night the pain was greatly increased, 
 and on the following morning the inflammation, which at first 
 had been trifling, was found to be excessive, — greater, indeed, 
 than his physician, down to the present day, after a very wide 
 practice of above sixty years, has, as he informs me, ever wit¬ 
 nessed since. The eye itself was much swollen, the cornea had 
 become opaque, and the power of vision was completely lost. 
 At the same time the patient’s skin was found to be very hot, 
 and his pulse hard and accelerated. The whole system, i' 
 short, was much disturbed, and the case had evidently become 
 one of unusual severity. 
 
 To his calm and wise father, therefore, — to his physician, 
 who was not less his friend than his professional adviser, — and 
 to himself, for he too was consulted, — it seemed that every 
 risk, except that of life, should be run, to save him from the 
 permanent and total blindness with which he was obviously 
 threatened. Copious bleedings and other depletions were con¬ 
 sequently at once resorted to, and seemed, for a few hours, 
 to have made an impression on the disease ; but the suffering 
 returned again with great severity during the subsequent night, 
 and the inflammation raged with such absolute fury for five 
 days, as to resist every form of active treatment that could be 
 devised by his anxious physician, and by Dr. John C. Warren, 
 who had been summoned in consultation. The gloomiest appre¬ 
 hensions, therefore, were necessarily entertained; and even 
 when, on the sixth day, the inflammation began to yield, and, 
 on the morning of the seventh, had almost wholly subsided. 
 
28 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING I’lIESCO'lT. 
 
 little encouragement for a happy result could be felt; for the 
 retina was found to be affected, and the powers of vision were 
 obviously and seriously impaired. 
 
 But in the afternoon of the seventh day the case assumed a 
 new phasis, and the father, much alarmed, hastened in person 
 to Dr. Jackson, telling him that one of the patient’s knees had 
 become painful, and that the pain, accompanied with redness 
 and swelling, was increasing fast. To his surprise, Dr. Jack- 
 son answered very emphatically that he was most happy to 
 hear it. 
 
 The mystery which had hung over the disease, from the first 
 intimation of a peculiar difficulty in moving the organ, was 
 now dispelled. It was a case of acute rheumatism. This had 
 not been foreseen. In fact, an instance in which the acute 
 form of that disease — not the chronic — had seized on the 
 eye was unknown to the books of the profession. Both of 
 his medical attendants, it is true, thought they had, in their 
 previous practice, noticed some evidence of such an affection; 
 and therefore when the assault was made on the knee in the 
 pi-esent case, they had no longer any doubt concerning the 
 matter. As the event proved, they had no sufficient reason 
 for any. In truth, the rheumatism, which had attacked their 
 patient in this mysterious but fierce manner, was the disease 
 which, in its direct and indirect forms, persecuted him during 
 the whole of his life afterwards, and caused him most of the 
 sufferings and privations that he underwent in so many different 
 ways, but, above all, in the impaired vision of his remaining 
 eye. Bad, however, as was this condition of things, it was 
 yet a relief to his anxious advisers to be assured of its real 
 character ; — not, indeed, because they regarded acute rheuma¬ 
 tism in the eye as a slight disease, but because they thought, it 
 less formidable in its nature, and less likely at last to destroy 
 the structure of the organ, than a common inflammation so 
 severe and so unmanageable as this must, in the supposed case, 
 have been. 
 
 The disease now exhibited the usual appearances of acute 
 rheumatism ; affecting chiefly the large joints of the lower 
 extremities, but occasionally showing itself in the neck, and 
 m other parts of the person. Twice, in the course of the next 
 
RHEUMATISM IN HIS EYE. 
 
 29 
 
 three months after the first attack, it recurred in the eye, 
 accompanied each time with total blindness; but, whenever it 
 left the eye, it resorted again to the limbs, and so seveie was it, 
 even when least violent, that, until the beginning of May, a 
 period of sixteen weeks, the patient was unable to walk a step. 
 
 But no tiling was able permanently to affect the natural flow 
 of his spirits, — neither pain, nor the sharp surgical remedies 
 to which he was repeatedly subjected, nor the disheartening 
 darkness in which he was kept, nor the gloomy vista that the 
 future seemed to open before him. His equanimity and cheer¬ 
 fulness were invincible. 
 
 During nearly the whole of this trying period I did not see 
 him ; for I was absent on a journey to Virginia from the begin¬ 
 ning of December to the end of March. But when I did see 
 him, — if seeing it could be called, in a room from which the 
 light was almost entirely excluded, •— I found him quite un¬ 
 changed, either in the tones of his voice or the animation of his 
 manner. He was perfectly natural and very gay; talking 
 unwillingly of*his own troubles, but curious and interested con¬ 
 cerning an absence of several years in Europe which at that 
 time I was about to commence. I found him, in fact, just as 
 his mother afterwards described him to Dr. Frothingham, 
 when she said: “ I never in a single instance, groped my way 
 across the apartment, to take my place at his side, that he did 
 not salute me with some expression of good cheer, — not a 
 single instance, — as if we were the patients, and his place 
 were to comfort us.” 6 
 
 The following summer wore slowly away; not without much 
 anxiety on the part of bis family, as to what might be the end 
 of so much suffering, and whether the patient’s infirmities 
 would not be materially aggravated by one of our rigorous 
 winters. Different plans were agitated. At last, in the early 
 autumn, it was determined that he should pass the next six 
 months with his grandfather Hickling, Consul of the United 
 States at St. Michael’s, and then that he should visit London 
 and Paris for the benefit of such medical advice as he might 
 find in either metropolis ; travelling, perhaps, afterwards on the 
 
 6 Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society. (Boston, 1850,) 
 p. 183. 
 
80 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Continent, to recruit the resources of his constitution, which 
 by such long-continued illness had been somewhat impaired. 
 It was a remedy which was not adopted without pain and mis¬ 
 giving on both sides; but it was evidently the best tiling to be 
 done, and all submitted to it with patience and hope. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 1815-1816, 
 
 Visit to St. Michael’s. — - His Life these. — Suffering in ms Eye,, 
 — His Letters to his Father and Mother ; to his Sister ; and 
 to W. H. Gardiner. 
 
 I N fulfilment of the plan for travel mentioned in the last 
 chapter, he embarked at Boston, on the 26th of September, 
 1815, for the Azores. Besides the usual annoyances of a sea- 
 voyage in one of the small vessels that then carried on our 
 commerce with the Western Islands, he suffered from the es¬ 
 pecial troubles of his own case; — sharp attacks of rheumatism 
 and an inflammation of the eye, for which he had no remedies 
 but the twilight of his miserable cabin, and a diet of rye pud¬ 
 ding, with no sauce but coarse salt. The passage, too, was 
 tediously long. He did not arrive until the twenty-second day. 
 Before he landed, he wrote to his father and mother, with the 
 freedom and affection which always marked his intercourse 
 with them: — 
 
 “ I have been treated,” he said, “ with every attention by the captain 
 and crew, and my situation rendered as comfortable as possible. But this 
 cabin was never designed for rheumatics. The companion-way opens 
 immediately upon deck, and the patent binnacle illuminators, vice windows, 
 are so ingeniously and impartially constructed, that for every ray of light 
 we have half a dozen drops of water. The consequence is, that the orbit 
 of my operations for days together has been very much restricted. I have 
 banished ennui, however, by battling with Democrats and bed-bugs, both 
 of which thrive on board this vessel, and in both of which contests I have 
 been ably seconded by the cook, who has officiated as my valet de chambre, 
 and in whom I find a great congeniality of sentiment.” 
 
 An hour after writing this letter, October 18th, he landed. 
 He was most kindly received by his grandfather, —- a generous, 
 open-handed, open-hearted gentleman, seventy-two years old, 
 who had long before married a lady of the island as his second 
 wife, and was surrounded by a family of interesting children, 
 some of whom were so near the age of their young nephew of 
 
32 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 the half-blood, that they made him most agreeable companions 
 and friends. They were all then residing a few miles from 
 Ponta Delgada, the capital of the island of St. Michael’s, at a 
 place called Rosto de Cuo, from the supposed resemblance of 
 its rocks to the head of a dog. It was a country-house, in the 
 midst of charming gardens and the gayest cultivation. The 
 young American, who had been little from home, and never 
 beyond the influences of the rude climate in which he was 
 born, enjoyed excessively the all but tropical vegetation with 
 which he found himself thus suddenly surrounded ; the laurels 
 and myrtles that everywhere sprang wild ; and the multitudi¬ 
 nous orange-groves which had been cultivated and extended 
 chiefly through hi3 grandfather’s spirit and energy, until their 
 fruit had become the staple of the island, while, more than 
 half the year, their flowers filled large portions of it with a 
 delicious fragrance; “ Hesperian fables true, if true, here 
 only.” 
 
 But his pleasures of this sort were short-lived. He had 
 landed with a slight trouble in his eye, and a fortnight was 
 hardly over before he was obliged to shut himself up with it. 
 From November 1st to February 1st he was in a dark room; — 
 six weeks of the time in such total darkness, that the furniture 
 could not be distinguished ; and all the time living on a spare 
 vegetable diet, and applying blisters to keep down active in¬ 
 flammation. But his spirits were proof alike against pain and 
 abstinence. He has often described to me the exercise he took 
 in Ids large room, — hundreds of miles in all, — walking from 
 corner to corner, and thrusting out his elbows so as to get 
 warning through them of Ids approach to the angles of the 
 wall, whose plastering he absolutely wore away by the constant 
 blows he thus inflicted on it. And all this time, he added, 
 with the exception of a few days of acute suffering, he sang 
 aloud in his darkness and solitude, with unabated cheer. Later, 
 when a little light could be admitted, he carefully covered his 
 eyes, and listened to reading; and, at the worst, lie enjoyed 
 much of the society of his affectionate aunts and cousins. 
 
 But he shall speak for himself, in two or three of the few 
 letters which are preserved from the period of his residence in 
 the Azores and his subsequent travels in Europe. 
 
AT ST. MICHAEL’S. 
 
 33 
 
 TO HIS FATHER AND MOTHER. 
 
 Rosto de Cao, 13 Nov., 1815. 
 
 It is with heart-felt joy, my beloved parents, that I can address you 
 I'rom this blessed little isle. I landed on Wednesday, October 18th, at 
 10 A. M., after a most tedious passage of twenty-two days, although I had 
 made a fixed determination to arrive in ten. I cannot be thankful enough 
 to Heaven that it had not cased in these rheumatic shackles the navigating 
 soul of a Cook or a Columbus, for I am very sure, if a fifth quarter of the 
 globe depended upon me for its exposure, it would remain terra incognita 
 
 forever.I was received on the quay by my Uncles Thomas and 
 
 Ivers, and proceeded immediately to the house of the latter, where I dis¬ 
 posed of a nescio quantum of bread and milk, to the no small astonishment 
 of two or three young cousins, who thought it the usual American appetite. 
 
 The city of l or.ta Delgada, as seen from the roads, presents an appear¬ 
 ance extremely unique, and, to one who has never been beyond the smoke 
 of his own hamlet, seems rather enchantment than reality. The brilliant 
 whiteness of the buildings, situated at the base of lofty hills, whose sides 
 are clothed with fields of yellow corn, and the picturesque, admirably 
 heightened by the turrets which rise from the numerous convents that dis¬ 
 grace and beautify the city, present a coup cl’ceil on which the genius of a 
 Radciiffe, or indeed any one, much less an admirer of the beauties of 
 nature than myself, might expend a folio of sentimentality and nonsense. 
 After breakfast I proceeded to Rosto de Cao, where I have now the good 
 fortune to be domesticated. My dear grandfather is precisely the man I 
 had imagined and wished him to be. Frank and gentlemanly in his de¬ 
 portment, affectionate to his family, and liberal to excess in all his feelings, 
 his hand serves as the conductor of his heart, and when he shakes yours, 
 he communicates all the overflowings of his own benevolent disposition. 
 His bodily virtues are no less inspiring than his mental. He rises every 
 morning at five, takes a remarkable interest in everything that is going 
 forward, and is so alert in his motions, that, at a fair start, I would lay 
 any odds he would distance the whole of his posterity. He plumes himself 
 not a little upon his constitution, and tells me that I am much more de* 
 serving of the title of “ old boy ” than himself. 
 
 I should give you a sort of biography of the whole family, but my aunt, 
 who officiates as secretary, absolutely refuses to write any more encomi¬ 
 ums on them, and, as I have nothing very ill to say of them at present, I 
 shall postpone this until you can receive some official documents sub mea 
 manu. The truth is, I am so lately recovered from a slight inflammation, 
 which the rain water, salt water, and other marine comforts arc so well 
 calculated to produce, that I do not care to exert my eyes at present, for 
 which reason my ideas arc communicated to you by the hand of my aunt. 
 
 We move into town this week, where I have been but seldom since my 
 arrival, and have confined my curiosity to some equestrian excursions 
 round the country. Novelty of tcenery is alone sufficient to interest one 
 who has been accustomed to the productions of Northern climates. It is 
 very curious, my dear parents, to see those plants which cne has been 
 accustomed to see reared in a hot-house, flourishing beneath the open sky, 
 2 * 
 
 0 
 
di 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 and attaining a height and perfection which no artificial heat can com¬ 
 mand. When I wander amid the groves of boxwood, cypress, and myr¬ 
 tle, I feel myself transported back to the ages of Horace and Anacreon, 
 who consecrated their shades to immortality. 
 
 The climate, though very temperate for winter, is much too frigid for 
 summer, and before I could venture a flight of poesy, I should be obliged 
 to thaw out my imagination over a good December fire. The weather is 
 so capricious, that the inhabitants are absolutely amphibious ; — if they 
 are in sunshine one half of the day, they are sure to be in water the other 
 half.. 
 
 Give my best affection to Aunt A-’s charming family, and be par¬ 
 ticular respecting Mrs. H-’s health. Tell my friends, that, when my 
 
 eyes are in trim, I shall not fail to fatigue their patience. 
 
 Remember me to our good people, and think often, my beloved parents, 
 )f your truly affectionate son, 
 
 William. 
 
 TO HIS SISTER. 
 
 St. Michael’s, Ponta Delgada, March 12, 1816. 
 
 I am happy, my darling sister, in an opportunity of declaring how 
 
 much I love, and how often I think of you. 
 
 Since my recovery — to avail myself of a simile not exactly Homeric 
 — I may be compared to bottled beer, which, when it has been imprisoned 
 a long time, bursts forth with tremendous explosion, and evaporates in 
 froth and smoke. Since my emancipation I have made more noise and 
 rattled more nonsense than the ball-rooms of Boston ever witnessed. Two 
 or three times a week we make excursions into the country on jacks, a 
 very agreeable mode of riding, and visit the orangeries, which are now in 
 their prime. What a prospect presents itself for the dead of winter! The 
 country is everywhere in the bloom of vegetation ; — the myrtles, the roses, 
 and laurels are in full bloom, and the dark green of the orange groves is 
 finely contrasted with “ the golden apples ” which glitter through their 
 foliage. Amidst such a scene I feel like a being of another world, new 
 
 lighted on this distant home. 
 
 The houses of this country are built of stone, covered with white lime. 
 They are seldom more than two stories in height, and the lower floors are 
 devoted to the cattle. They are most lavish of expense on their churches, 
 which are profusely ornamented with gilding and carving, which, though 
 poorly executed, produces a wonderful effect by candle-light. They are 
 generally fortified with eight or ten bells, and when a great character walks 
 off the carpet, they keep them in continual jingle, as they have great faith 
 in ringing the soul through Purgatory. When a poor man loses his 
 child, his friends congratulate him on so joyful an occasion; but if his pig 
 dies, they condole with him. I know not but this may be a fair estimate 
 of their relative worth. 
 
 The whole appearance of this country is volcanic. In the environs I 
 have seen acres covered with lava, and incapable of culture, and most of 
 the mountains still retain the vestiges of craters. Scarcely a year passes 
 without an earthquake. I have been so fortunate as to witness the most 
 
AT ST. MICHAEL’S. 
 
 35 
 
 tremendous of these convulsions within the memory of the present inhabi¬ 
 tants. This was on the 1st of February, at midnight. So severe was the 
 shock, that more than forty houses and many of the public edifices were 
 overthrown or injured, and our house cracked in various places from top 
 to bottom. The whole city was thrown into consternation. Our family 
 assembled en chemise in the corridor. I was wise enough to keep quiet in 
 bed, as I considered a cold more dangerous to me than an earthquake. 
 But we were all excessively alarmed. There is no visitation more awful 
 than this. From most dangers there is some refuge, but when nature is 
 convulsed, where can we fly ? An earthquake is commonly past before 
 one has time to estimate the horrors of his situation; but this lasted three 
 ‘minutes and a half, and we had full leisure to summon up the ghosts of 
 Lisbon and Herculaneum, and many other recollections equally soothing, 
 and I confess the idea of terminating my career in this manner was not 
 the most agreeable of my reflections. 
 
 A few weeks since, my dear sister, I visited some hot springs in Ribeira 
 Grande, at the northern part of the island; but, as I have since been to 
 “the Furnace,” where I have seen what is much more wonderful and 
 beautiful in nature, I shall content myself with a description of the latter 
 excursion. 
 
 Our road lay through a mountainous country, abounding in wild and 
 picturesque scenery. Our party consisted of about twenty, and we trav¬ 
 elled upon jacks, which is the pleasantest conveyance in the world, both 
 from its sociability, and the little fatigue which attends it. As we rode 
 irregularly, our cavalcade had a very romantic appearance ; for, while 
 some of us were in the vale, others were on the heights of the mountains, 
 or winding down the declivities, on the brink of precipices two hundred 
 feet perpendicular. 
 
 As my imagination was entirely occupied with the volcanic phenomena 
 for which the Furnace is so celebrated, I had formed no ideas of any milder 
 attractions. What was my surprise, then, when, descending the moun¬ 
 tains at twilight, there burst upon our view a circular valley, ten miles in 
 circumference, bounded on all sides by lofty hills, and in the richest state 
 of cultivation. The evening bell was tolling, as we descended into the plain, 
 to inform the inhabitants of sunset, — the Angelus,—and this, with the 
 whistle of the herdsmen, which in this country is peculiarly plaintive, and 
 the “ sober gray ” of evening, all combined to fill my bosom with senti¬ 
 ments of placid contentment. 
 
 I consider it almost fruitless to attempt to describe the Caldeiras |tne 
 Caldrons], as can I convey no adequate idea of their terrible appearance. 
 There are seven principal ones, the largest about twenty feet in diameter. 
 They are generally circular, but differing both in form and dimensions. 
 They boil with such fervor as to eject the water to the height of twenty 
 feet, and make a noise like distant thunder. 
 
 Grandfather’s house is situated in the centre of this beautiful valley. It 
 has undergone several alterations since mother was here. The entrance 
 is through a long avenue of shady box-trees, and you ascend to it by a 
 flight of fifty stone steps. Near the house is a grove which was not even 
 in embryo when mother was here. In front of it is a pond, with a 
 small island in the middle, connected with the main land by a stone 
 
WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 GO 
 
 bridge. In this delightful spot I had some of the happiest hours which 1 
 have spent since I quitted my native shores. At “Yankee Hail” 1 2 every 
 one is sans souci. The air of the place is remarkably propitious both to 
 good spirits and good appetites. 3 
 
 In my walks I met with many villagers who recollected Donna Cathe- 
 rina, 3 and who testified their affection for her son in such hearty embrassades 
 
 as I am not quite Portuguese enough to relish. 
 
 Adieu, my darling sister I know not how I shall be able to send yoa 
 this letter. I shall probably take it with me to London, where opportuni¬ 
 ties will be much more frequent, and where your patience will be much 
 ol'tener tried by your sincerely aficctiouate 
 
 W 
 
 TO WILLIAM II. GARDINER. 
 
 Poxta Delgada, St. Michael’s, March, 1816. 
 
 I am fortunate, my dear Will, in an opportunity of addressing you from 
 the orange bowers of St. Michael’s, and of acknowledging the receipt of 
 your Gazettes, with their budgets scandalous and philosophical. I must 
 pronounce you, my friend, the optimus editorum, for, in the language of the 
 commentators, you have not left a single desideratum ungratified. It is 
 impossible to be too minute. To one absent from home trifles are of im¬ 
 portance, and the most petty occurrences are the more acceptable, as they 
 transport us into scenes of former happiness, and engage us in the occupa¬ 
 tions of those in whom we are the most interested. I was much distressed 
 by the death of my two friends. R-’s I had anticipated, but the cir¬ 
 
 cumstances which attended it were peculiarly afflicting. Few I belicv* 
 have spent so long a life in so short a period. He certainly had much 
 benevolence of disposition; but there was something uncongenial in his 
 temper, which made him unpopular with the mass of his acquaintance. 
 If, however, the number of his enemies was great, that of his virtues ex¬ 
 ceeded them. Those of us who shared his friendship knew how to appre¬ 
 ciate his worth. 4 P-. with less steadiness of principle, had many social 
 
 qualities which endeared him to his friends. The sprightliness of his fancy 
 has beguiled us of many an hour, and the vivacity of his wit, as you well 
 know, has often set our table in a roar. 
 
 Your letters contain a very alarming list of marriages and matches. If 
 the mania continues much longer, I shall find at my return most of my 
 fair companions converted into sober matrons. I believe I had better adopt 
 your advice, and, to execute it with a little more eclat, persuade some kind 
 nun to scale the walls of her convent with me. 
 
 Apropos of nunneries: the novelty of the thing has induced me to visit 
 them frequently, but I find that they answer very feebly to those romantic 
 notions of purity and simplicity which I had attached to them. Almost 
 
 1 The name of the large house his grandfather had built at the “ Caldei- 
 ras,” remembering his own home. 
 
 2 Elsewhere he calls this visit, “ Elysium, four days.” 
 
 8 His mother’s Christian name. 
 
 * A college friend of great promise who died in England in 1815. 
 
AT ST. MICHAEL’S. 
 
 37 
 
 every nun lias a lover; that is, an innamorato who visits her every day, 
 and swears as many oaths of constancy, and imprints as many kisses on the 
 grates as ever Pyramus and Thisbe did on the unlucky chink which sepa¬ 
 rated them. I was invited the other day to select one of these fair penitents, 
 but, as I have no great relish for such a — correspondence, I declined the 
 politeness, and content myself willi a few ogles and sighs en passant. 
 
 It is an interesting employment for the inhabitants of a free country, 
 flourishing under the influences of a benign religion, to contemplate the 
 degradation to which human nature may be reduced when oppressed by 
 arbitrary power and papal .superstition. My observation of the Portuguese 
 character has half inclined me to credit Mouboddo’s theory, and consider 
 the inhabitants in that stage of the metamorphosis when, having lost the 
 tails of monkeys, they .have not yet acquired the brains of men. In me¬ 
 chanical improvements, and in the common arts and conveniences of life, 
 the Portuguese are at least two centuries behind the English, and as to 
 literary acquisitions, if, as some writers have pretended, “ ignorance is 
 bliss,” they may safely claim to be the happiest people in the world. 
 
 But, if animated nature is so debased, the beauties of the inanimate cre¬ 
 ation cannot be surpassed. During the whole year we have the unruffled 
 serenity of June. Such is the temperature of the climate, that, although 
 but a few degrees south of Boston, most tropical plants will flourish ; and 
 6uch is the extreme salubrity, that nothing venomous can exist. These 
 islands, however, abound in volcanic phenomena. I have seen whole fields 
 covered with lava, and most of the mountains still retain the vestiges of 
 craters. I have, too, had the pleasure of experiencing an earthquake, 
 which shook down a good number of houses, and I hope I shall not soon 
 be gratified with a similar exhibition. 
 
 But the most wonderful of the natural curiosities are the hot wells, which 
 are very numerous, and of which it would be impossible to give you an 
 adequate conception. The fertility of the soil is so great, that they gen¬ 
 erally obtain two crops in a year, and now, while you are looking wofully 
 out of the window waiting for the last stroke of the bell before you en¬ 
 counter the terrific snow-banks which threaten you, with us the myrtle, the 
 rose, the pomegranate, the lemon and orange groves are in perfection, and 
 the whole country glowing in full bloom. Indeed, there is everything 
 which can catch the poet’s eye, but you know, Sine Venere, friget Apollo, 
 and, until some Azorian nymph shall warm my heart into love, the beau- 
 tios of nature will hardly warm my imagination into poesy. 
 
 I must confess, however, that friendship induced me to make an effort 
 this way. I have been confined to my chamber for some time by an indis¬ 
 position ; and while in duress I commenced a poetical effusion to you, and 
 had actually completed a page, when, recovering my liberty, there were so 
 many strange objects to attract the attention, and I thought it so much less 
 trouble to manufacture bad prose than bad poetry, that I dismounted from 
 Pegasus, whom, by the by, I found a confounded hard trotter. Now, as 
 you are professedly one of the genus irritabile, I think you cannot employ 
 your leisure better than in serving me an Horatian dish secundum artem. 
 Give my warmest affection to your father, mother, and sisters, and be 
 assured, my dear Will, whether rhyme or reason, your epistles will ever 
 confer the highest gratification on your friend, 
 
 Wat. II. Pkescott 
 
38 
 
 WILLIAM IlICKLING PKESCOfT. 
 
 TO HIS FATHER AND MOTHER. 
 
 St. Michael’s, March 16, 1816. 
 
 I cannot regret, my beloved parents, that the opportunities of writing 
 have not been more frequent; for, although it would be cruel to inform 
 you of distresses, while actually existing, which it was not in your power 
 to alleviate, yet it is so soothing to the mind to communicate its griefs, that 
 I doubt if I could refrain from it. 
 
 The windows in Rosto de Cao are constructed on much the same prin¬ 
 ciple as our barn-doors. Their uncharitable quantity of light and a slight 
 cold increased the inflammation with which I landed to such a degree, 
 that, as I could not soften the light by means of blinds, which are unknown 
 here, I was obliged to exclude it altogether by closing the shutters. The 
 same cause retarded my recovery; for, as the sun introduced himself sans 
 c&emonie whenever I attempted to admit the light, I was obliged to remain 
 in darkness until we removed to the city, where I was accommodated with 
 a room which had a northern aspect, and, by means of different thicknesses 
 of baize nailed to the windows, I was again restored to the cheering beams 
 of heaven. This confinement lasted from the 1st of November to the 1st 
 of February, and during six weeks of it I was in such total darkness it was 
 impossible to distinguish objects in the room. Much of this time has been 
 beguiled of its tediousness by the attentions of A-and H-, particu¬ 
 
 larly the latter, who is a charming creature, and whom I regard as a second 
 sister. 
 
 I have had an abundance of good prescriptions. Grandfather has strongly 
 urged old Madeira as a universal nostrum, and my good uncle the doctor 
 no less strenuously recommended beef-steak. I took their advice, for it 
 cost me nothing; but, as following it cost me rather too dear, I adhered 
 with Chinese obstinacy to bread and milk, hasty pudding, and gruel. This 
 diet and the application of blisters was the only method I adopted to pre¬ 
 serve my eye from inflammation. 
 
 I have not often, my dear parents, experienced depression of spirits, and 
 there have been but few days in which I could not solace my sorrows with 
 a song. I preserved my health by walking on the piazza with a handker¬ 
 chief tied over a pair of goggles, which were presented to me by a gentle¬ 
 man here, and by walking some hundreds of miles in my room, so that 1 
 emerged from my dungeon, not with the emaciated figure of a prisoner, 
 but in the florid bloom of a bon vivant. Indeed, everything has been done 
 which could promote my health and happiness; but darkness has few 
 charms for those in health, and a long confinement must exhaust the 
 patience of all but those who are immediately interested in us. A person 
 situated as I have been can be really happy nowhere but at home, for 
 where but at home can he experience the affectionate solicitude of parents. 
 But the gloom is now dissipated, and my eyes have nearly recovered their 
 former vigor. I am under no apprehension of a relapse, as I shall soon 
 be wafted to a land where the windows are of Christian dimensions, and 
 the medical advice such as may be relied upon. 
 
 The most unpleasant of my reflections suggested by this late inflamma¬ 
 tion are those arising from the probable necessity of abandoning a profes- 
 
LETTER TO HIS FATHER AND MOTHER. 
 
 39 
 
 sion congenial with my taste, and recommended by such favorable oppor¬ 
 tunities, and adopting one for which I am ill qualified, and have but little 
 inclination. It is some consolation, however, that this latter alternative, 
 should my eyes permit, will afford me more leisure for the pursuit of my 
 favorite studies. But on this subject I shall consult my physician, and 
 will write you his opinion. My mind has not been wholly stagnant dur¬ 
 ing my residence here. By means of the bright eyes of H-I have 
 
 read part of Scott, Shakespeare, Travels through England and Scotland. 
 
 the Iliad, and the Odyssey. A-has read some of the Grecian and 
 
 Koman histories, and I have cheated many a moment of its tedium by 
 composition, which was soon banished from my mind for want of aa 
 amanuensis. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1 SI 6 
 
 utAVKs St. Michael’s.—Arrives in London. — Privations therh. 
 — Pleasures. — Goes to Paris. — Goes to Italy. — Returns to 
 Paris.— Illness there. — Goes again to London. — Travels lit¬ 
 tle in England.— Determines to return Home. — Letter to W. 
 H. Gardiner. 
 
 IS relations to the family of his venerable grandfather 
 
 JLJL at St. Michael's, as the preceding letters show, were of 
 the most agreeable kind, and the effect produced by his charac¬ 
 ter on all its members, old and young, was the same that it 
 produced on everybody. They all loved him. His grand¬ 
 mother, with whom, from the difference of their languages, he 
 could have had a less free intercourse than with the rest, wept 
 bitterly when he left them; and his patriarchal grandfather, 
 who had, during his long life, been called to give up several of 
 his house to the claims of the world, pressed him often in his 
 arms on the beach, and, as the tears rolled down his aged 
 cheeks, cried out, in the bitterness of his heart, “ God knows, it 
 never cost me more to part from any of my own children.” 
 
 On the 8th of April, 1816, he embarked for London. His 
 acute rheumatism and the consequent inflammation in his eye 
 recurred almost of course, from the exposures incident to a sea 
 life with few even of the usual allowances of sea comforts. 
 He was, therefore, heartily glad when, after a passage pro¬ 
 longed to four and twenty days, two and twenty of which he 
 had been confined to his state-room, and kept on the most 
 meagre fare, his suffering eye rested on the green fields of old 
 England. 
 
 In London he placed himself in the hands of Dr. Farre; of 
 Mr. Cooper, afterwards Sir Astley Cooper ; and of Sir William 
 Adams, the oculist. He could not, perhaps, have done better. 
 But his case admitted of no remedy and few alleviations ; for 
 
VISITS ENGLAND. 
 
 41 
 
 it was ascertained, at once, that the eye originally injured was 
 completely paralyzed, and that for the other little could be 
 done except to add to its strength by strengthening the whole 
 physical system. He followed, however, as lie almost always 
 did, even when his hopes were the faintest, all the prescriptions 
 that were given him, and submitted conscientiously to the pri¬ 
 vations that were imposed. He saw few persons that could 
 much interest him, because evening society was forbidden, and 
 he went to public places and exhibitions rarely, and to the 
 theatre never, although he was sorely tempted by the farewell 
 London performances of Mrs. Siddons and Mr. John Kemble. 
 A friend begged him to use an excellent library as if it were 
 his own ; “ but,” he wrote to his father and mother, “ when I 
 look into a Greek or Latin book, I experience much the same 
 sensation one does who looks on the face of a dead friend, and 
 the tears not infrequently steal into my eyes.” He made a 
 single excursion from London. It was to Richmond; visiting 
 at the same time Slough, where he saw Herseliel’s telescopes, 
 Eton, Windsor, and Hampton Court, — all with Mr. John 
 Quincy Adams, then our Minister at the Court of St. James. 
 It was an excursion which he mentions with great pleasure in 
 one of his letters. He could, indeed, hardly have made it 
 more agreeably or more profitably. But this was his only 
 pleasure of the sort. 
 
 A fresh and eager spirit, however, like his, could not stand 
 amidst the resources of a metropolis so magnificent as London 
 without recognizing their power. Enjoyments, therefore, he 
 certainly had, and, if they were rare, they were high. Noth¬ 
 ing in the way of art struck him so much as the Elgin Mar¬ 
 bles and the Cartoons of Raphael. Of the first, which he 
 visited as often as he dared to do so, he says, “ There are few 
 living beings in whose society I have experienced so much real 
 pleasure,” and of the last, that “ they pleased him a great deal 
 more than the Stafford collection.” It may, as it seems to me, 
 be fairly accounted remarkable, that one whose taste in sculp¬ 
 ture and painting could not have been cultivated at home 
 should at once have felt the supremacy of those great works 
 of ancient and modern art, then much less acknowledged 
 than it is now, and even yet, perhaps, not so fully confessed 
 as it w T ill be. 
 
42 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PEESCOTT. 
 
 He went frequently to the public libraries and to the princi¬ 
 pal booksellers’ shops, full of precious editions of the classics 
 which he had found it so difficult to obtain in his own country, 
 and which he so much coveted now. But of everything con¬ 
 nected with books his enjoyment was necessarily imperfect. 
 At this period he rarely opened them. He purchased a few, 
 however, trusting to the future, as he always did. 
 
 Early in August he went over to Paris, and remained there, 
 or in its neighborhood, until October. But Paris could hardly 
 be enjoyed by him so much as London, where his mother 
 tongue made everything seem familiar in a way that nothing 
 else can. He saw, indeed, a good deal of what is external; 
 although, even in this, he was checked by care for his eye, and 
 by at least one decided access of inflammation. Anything, how¬ 
 ever, beyond the most imperfect view of what he visited was 
 out of the question. 
 
 The following winter, which he passed in Italy, was proba¬ 
 bly beneficial to Ins health, so far as his implacable enemy, the 
 rheumatism, was concerned, and certainly it was full of enjoy¬ 
 ment. He travelled with his old schoolfellow and friend, Mr. 
 John Cbipman Gray, who did much to make the journey pleas¬ 
 ant to him. After leaving Paris, they first stopped a day at La 
 Grange to pay their respects to General Lafayette, and then 
 went by Lyons, the Mont Cenis, Turin, Genoa, Milan, Venice, 
 Bologna, and Florence to Rome. In Rome they remained 
 about six weeks ; after which, giving a month to Naples, they 
 returned through Rome to Florence, and, embarking at Leg¬ 
 horn for Marseilles, made a short visit to Nismes, not forget¬ 
 ting Avignon and Vaucluse, and then hastened by Fontaine¬ 
 bleau to Paris, where they arrived on the 30th of March. It 
 was the customary route, and the young travellers saw what all 
 travellers see, neither more nor less, and enjoyed it as all do 
 who have cultivation like theirs and good taste. In a letter 
 written to me the next year, when I was myself in Italy, he 
 6peaks with great interest of his visit there, and seems to regret 
 Naples more than any other portion of that charming country. 
 But twenty and also forty years later, when I was again in 
 Italy, his letters to me were full, not of Naples, but of Rome. 
 * Rome is the place,” he said, “ that lingers longest, I suppose, 
 
TRAVELS IN ITALY. 
 
 43 
 
 in everybody’s recollection ; at least, it is the brightest of all I 
 saw in Europe.” This was natural. It was the result of the 
 different vistas through which, at widely different periods of his 
 life, he looked back upon what he had so much enjoyed. 
 
 One thing, however, in relation to his Italian journeyings, 
 though not remarkable at the time, appears singular now, 
 when it is seen in the light of his subsequent career. He 
 passed over the battle-fields of Gonsalvo de Cordova, and all 
 that made the Spanish arms in Italy so illustrious in the time 
 of Ferdinand and Isabella, without a remark, and, I suppose, 
 without a thought. But, as he often said afterwards, and, 
 indeed, more than once wrote to me, he was then fresh from 
 the classical studies he so much loved; Horace and Livy, I 
 know, were suspended in the net of his travelling-carriage ; 
 and he thought more, I doubt not, of Caesar and Cicero, Virgil 
 and Tacitus, than of all the moderns put together. 
 
 Indeed, the moderns were, in one sense, beyond his reach. 
 He was unable to give any of his time to the language or the 
 literature of Italy, so wholly were his eyes unfitted for use. 
 But he was content with what his condition permitted; — to 
 walk about among the ruins of earlier ages, and occasionally 
 look up a passage in an ancient classic to explain or illustrate 
 them. The genius loci was at his side wherever he went, and 
 showed him things invisible to mortal sight. As he said in one 
 of his letters to me, it was to him “ all a sacred land,” and 
 the mighty men of old stood before him in the place of the 
 living. 
 
 A few days after he reached Paris, April 7, I arrived there 
 from Germany, where I had been passing nearly two years; 
 and, as we both had accidentally the same banker, our lodgings 
 had been engaged for us at the same hotel. In this way he 
 was one of the very first persons I saw when I alighted. His 
 parlor, I found, was darkened, and his eye was still too sensi¬ 
 tive for any healthy use of it; but his spirits were light, and 
 liis enthusiasm about his Italian journey was quite contagious. 
 We walked a little round the city together, and dined that day 
 with our hospitable banker very gayly. But this was the last 
 of his pleasures in Paris. When we reached our hotel, he 
 complained of feeling unwell, and I was so much alarmed by 
 
44 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 the state of lhs pulse that I went personally for liis physician, 
 and brought lain back with me, fearing, as it was already late 
 at night, that there might otherwise be some untoward delay. 
 The result showed that I had not been unreasonably anxious. 
 The most active treatment was instantly adopted, and absolute 
 quiet prescribed. I watched with him that night; and, as I 
 had yet made no acquaintances in Paris, and felt no interest 
 there, so strong as my interest in him, I shut myself up with 
 him, and thought little of what was outside the walls of our 
 hotel till he was better. 
 
 I was, in fact, much alarmed. Nor was he insensible to his 
 position, wliich the severity of the remedies administered left 
 no doubt was a critical one. But he maintained his composure 
 throughout, begging me, however, not to tell him that his 
 illness was dangerous unless I should think it indispensable to 
 do so. In three or four days my apprehensions were relieved. 
 In eight or ten more, during which I was much with him, he 
 was able to go out, and in another week he was restored. But 
 it was in that dark room that I first learned to know him as I 
 have never known any other person beyond the limits of my 
 immediate family; and it was there that was lust formed a 
 mutual regard over which, to the day of his death, — a period 
 of above forty years, — no cloud ever passed. 
 
 In the middle of May, after making a pleasant visit of a 
 week to Mr. Daniel Parker 1 at Draveil, he left Paris, and 
 went, by the way of Brighton, to London, where he remained 
 about six weeks, visiting anew, so far as his infirmities would 
 permit, what was most interesting to him, and listening more 
 than he had done before to debates in the House of Lords and 
 the House of Commons. But the country gave him more 
 pleasure than the city. His eyes suffered less there, and, 
 besides, he was always sensible to what is beautiful in nature. 
 Two excursions that he made gratified him very much. One 
 
 1 Mr. Parker was an American gentleman, who lived very pleasantly on a 
 fine estate at Draveil, near Paris. Mr. Prescott was more than once at his 
 hospitable chateau, and enjoyed his visits there much. It was there he first 
 became acquainted with Mr. Charles King, subsequently distinguished in 
 political life and as the President of Columbia College, who, after the death 
 of the historian, pronounced a just and beautiful eulogium on him before the 
 New-York Historical Society, Feb. 1st, 1869. 
 
IN ENGLAND. 
 
 45 
 
 was to Oxford, Blenheim, and the Wye; in which the Gothie 
 architecture of New-College Chapel and the graceful ruins of 
 Tintern Abbey, with the valley in which they stand, most 
 attracted his admiration, the last “ surpassing,” as he said, 
 “ anything of the sort he had ever seen.” He came back by 
 Salisbury, and then almost immediately went to Cambridge, 
 where he was more interested by the manuscripts of Milton 
 and Newton than by anything else, unless, perhaps, it were 
 King’s College Chapel. But, after all, this visit to England 
 was very unsatisfactory. He spoke to me in one of his letters 
 of being “ invigorated by the rational atmosphere of London,” 
 in comparison with his life on the Continent. But still the 
 state of his eyes, and even of his general health, deprived him 
 of many enjoyments which his visit would otherwise have 
 afforded him. He was, therefore, well pleased to turn his face 
 towards the comforts of home. 
 
 Of all this, pleasant intimations may be found in the follow¬ 
 ing letter to liis friend Gardiner: — 
 
 London, 29th May, 1817. 
 
 I never felt in my life more inclined to scold any one, my dear Gardi¬ 
 ner, than I do to scold you at present, and I should not let you off so ea 
 sily but that my return will prevent the benefits of a reformation. You 
 have ere this received a folio of hieroglyphics which I transmitted to you 
 from Home . 2 To read them, I am aware, is impossible; for, as I was 
 folding them up, I had occasion to refer to something, and found myself 
 utterly unable to decipher my own writing. I preferred, however, to send 
 them, for, although unintelligible, they would at least be a substantial 
 evidence to my friend that I had not forgotten him. As you probably 
 have been made acquainted with my route by my family, I shall not 
 trouble you with the details. 
 
 Notwithstanding the many and various objects which Italy possesses, 
 they are accompanied with so many desagrtfmens, — poor inns, worse roads, 
 and, above all, the mean spirit and dishonesty of its inhabitants, — that 
 we could not regret the termination of our tour. I was disappointed in 
 France, that is to say, the country. That part of it which I have seen, 
 excepting Marseilles, Nismes, Avignon, and Lyons, possesses few beau¬ 
 ties of nature, and little that is curious or worthy of remark. Paris is 
 everything in France. It is certainly unique. With a great parade of 
 science and literary institutions, it unites a constant succession of frivolities 
 and public amusements. I was pleased as long as the novelty lasted, and 
 satiated in less than two months. The most cheerful mind must become 
 dull amidst unintermitted gayety and dissipation, unless it is constructed 
 upon a French anatomy. 
 
 2 Written with his noctograph. 
 
46 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 I left-in a retired part of the city, diligently occupied with the 
 
 transition of the Roman language into the Italian, and with the ancient 
 French Provencal dialect. There are some men who can unravel prob¬ 
 lems in the midst of a ball-room. In the fall-goes down to Italy. 
 
 I have now been a fortnight in London. Its sea-coal atmosphere is 
 extremely favorable to my health. I am convinced, however, that travel¬ 
 ling is pernicious, and, instead of making the long tour of Scotland, shall 
 content myself with excursions to the principal counties and manufactur¬ 
 ing towns in England. In a couple of months I hope to embark, and 
 shall soon have the pleasure of recapitulating with you, my friend, my 
 perils and experiences, and treading in retrospection the classic ground of 
 Italy. I sincerely hope you may one day visit a country which contains 
 
 so much that is interesting to any man of liberal education. 
 
 I anticipate with great pleasure the restoration to my friends; to those 
 domestic and social enjoyments which are little known in the great capi¬ 
 tals of Europe. Pray give my wannest regards to your father, mothei, 
 and sisters, and n’oubliez jamais 
 
 Your sincerely affectionate 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott- 
 
CHAPTER V, 
 
 1817-1824. 
 
 Return from England. — Rheumatism. — First Literary Adven¬ 
 ture. — Decides not to be a Lawyer. — Falls in Love. — Mar¬ 
 ries. — Continues to live with his Father. — Swords of his 
 Grandfather and of the Grandfather of his Wife.— His Per¬ 
 sonal Appearance. — Club of Friends. — The “Club-Room.” — 
 Determines to become a Man of Letters. — Obstacles in his 
 Way. — Efforts to overcome them. — English Studies. — French. 
 — Italian. — Opinion of Petrarch and of Dante. — Further 
 Studies proposed. — Despairs of learning German. 
 
 E embarked from England for home at midsummer, and 
 
 arrived before the heats of our hot season were over. His 
 
 affectionate mother had arranged everything for his reception that 
 could insure the rest he needed, and the alleviations which, for an 
 invalid such as he was, can never be found except in the bosom 
 of his family. Fresh paper and paint were put on his own 
 room, and everything external was made bright and cheerful to 
 welcome his return. But it was all a mistake. His eye, to 
 the great disappointment of his friends, had not been strength¬ 
 ened during his absence, and could ill bear the colors that had 
 been provided to cheer him. The white paint was, therefore, 
 forthwith changed to gray, and the walls and carpet became 
 green. But neither was this thought enough. A charming 
 country-house was procured, since Nature furnishes truer car¬ 
 pets and hangings than the upholsterer; but the house was 
 damp from its cool position, and from the many trees that sur¬ 
 rounded it . 1 His old enemy, the rheumatism, therefore, set in 
 with renewed force; and in three days, just as his father was 
 driving out to dine, tor the first time, in their rural home, he 
 met them all hurrying back to the house in town, where they 
 remained nearly two years, finding it better for the invalid than 
 
 1 This account is taken from the memoranda of his sister, Mrs. Dexter, 
 whose graceful words I have sometimes used both here and elsewhere in the 
 next few pages. 
 
48 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 any other. It was a large, comfortable old mansion in Bedford 
 Street, and stood where the Second Congregational Church now 
 stands. 
 
 The winter of 1817 — 18 he passed wholly at home. As he 
 wrote to me, his “eyes made him a very domestic, retired man.” 
 He avoided strong light as much as he could; and, extravagantly 
 as he loved society, indulged himself in it not at all, because he 
 found, or rather because he thought he found, its excitements in¬ 
 jurious to him. But his old schoolfellow and friend Gardiner, 
 who was then a student-at-law in the elder Mr. Prescott’s office, 
 read some of his favorite classics with him a part of each day; 
 and his sister, three years younger than he was, shut herself up 
 with him the rest of it, in the most devoted and affectionate man¬ 
 ner, reading to him sometimes six or even eight hours consecu¬ 
 tively. On these occasions he used to place himself in the corner 
 of the room, with his face to the angle made by the walls, and his 
 back to the light. Adjusted thus, they read history and poetry, 
 often very far into the night, and, although the reader, as she 
 tells me, sometimes dozed, he never did. It was a great enjoy¬ 
 ment to them both, — to her, one of the greatest of her life; 
 but it was found too much for her strength, and the father and 
 mother interfered to restrain and regulate what was unreason¬ 
 able in the indulgence. 
 
 It was during this period that he made his first literary ad¬ 
 venture. The North-American Review had then been in exist¬ 
 ence two or three years, and was already an extremely respect¬ 
 able journal, with which some of his friends were connected. 
 It offered a tempting opportunity for the exercise of his powers, 
 and he prepared an article for it. The project was a deep 
 secret; and when the article was finished, it was given to his 
 much trusted sister to copy. He felt, she thinks, some misgiv¬ 
 ings, but on the whole looked with favor on his first-born. It 
 was sent anonymously to the club of gentlemen who then man¬ 
 aged the Review, and nothing was heard in reply for a week or 
 more. The two who were in the secret began, therefore, to 
 consider their venture safe, and the dignity of authorship, his 
 sister says, seemed to be creeping over him, when one day he 
 brought back the article to her, saying : “ There ! it is good for 
 nothing. They refuse it. I was a fool to send it.” The sister 
 
DECIDES NOT TO BE A LAWYER. 
 
 49 
 
 was offended. Bat he was not. He only cautioned her not to 
 tell of his failure. 
 
 He was now nearly twenty-two years old, and it was time to 
 consider what should be his course in life. So far as the pro¬ 
 fession of the law was concerned, this question had been sub¬ 
 stantially settled by circumstances over which he had no con¬ 
 trol. His earliest misgivings on the subject seemed to have 
 occurred during his long and painful confinement at St. Mi¬ 
 chael's, and may be found in a letter, before inserted, which 
 was written March 15th, 1816. 
 
 A little later, after consulting eminent members of the medi¬ 
 cal profession in London, he wrote more decisively and more 
 despondingly: “ As to the future, it is too evident I shall never 
 be able to pursue a profession. God knows how poorly I am 
 qualified, and how little inclined, to be a merchant. Indeed, I 
 am sadly puzzled to think how I shall succeed even in this 
 without eyes, and am afraid I shall never be able to draw upon 
 my mind to any large amount,” — a singular prophecy, when we 
 consider that his subsequent life for nearly forty years was a 
 persistent contradiction of it. 
 
 After his return home this important question became, of 
 course, still more pressing, and was debated in the family with 
 constantly increasing anxiety. At the same time he began to 
 doubt whether the purely domestic life he was leading was the 
 best for him. The experiment of a year’s seclusion, he was 
 satisfied, and so were his medical advisers, had resulted in no 
 improvement to his sight, and promised nothing for the future 
 if it should be continued. He began, therefore, to go abroad, 
 gradually and cautiously at first, but afterwards freely. No 
 harm followed, and from this time, except during periods when 
 there was some especial inflammation of the eye, he always 
 mingled freely in a wide range of society, giving and receiving 
 great pleasure. 
 
 The consequence followed that might have been anticipated 
 from a nature at once so susceptible and so attractive. He soon 
 found one to whom he was glad to intrust the happiness of his 
 life. Nor was he disappointed in his hopes ; for, if there was 
 ever a devoted wife, or a tender and grateful husband, they 
 were to be found in the home which this union made happy. 
 
5U 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 As he said in a letter long afterwards, “ Contrary to the asser 
 tion of La Bruyere, — who somewhere says, that the most 
 fortunate husband finds reason to regret Ms condition at least 
 once in twenty-four hours, — I may truly say that I have found 
 no such day in the quarter of a century that Providence has 
 spared us to each other.” And so it continued to the last. I 
 am sure that none who knew them will think me mistaken. 
 The lady was Susan, daughter of Thomas C. Amory, Esq., a 
 successful and cultivated merchant, who died in 1812, and of 
 Hannah Liuzee, his wife, who survived him, enjoying the great 
 happiness of her child, until 1845. 
 
 In the summer of 1819 I returned from Europe, after an 
 absence of more than four years. The first friends who wel¬ 
 comed me in my home, on the day of my arrival, were the 
 Prescott family; and the first house I visited was theirs, in 
 which from that day I was always received as if I were of 
 their kin and blood. William was then in the freshest How 
 
 O 
 
 of a young happiness which it was delightful to witness, and 
 of which he thought for some months much more than he did 
 of anything else. I saw him constantly ; but it was apparent 
 that, although he read a good deal, or rather listened to a good 
 deal of reading, he studied very little, or not at all. Real work 
 was out of the question. He was much too happy for it. 
 
 On the evening of the 4th of May, 1820, which was his 
 twenty-fourth birthday, he was married at the house of Mrs. 
 Amory, in Franklin Place. It was a wedding with a supper, 
 in the old-fashioned style, somewhat solemn and stately at first; 
 many elderly people being of the party, and especially an aged 
 grandmother of the bride, whose presence enforced something 
 of formality. But later in the evening our gayety was free 
 in proportion to the restraints that had previously been laid 
 upon it. 2 
 
 The young couple went immediately to the house of the 
 Prescott family in Bedford Street, — the same house, by a 
 
 2 Prescott always liked puns, and made a good many of them, — generally 
 very bad. But one may be recorded. It was apropos of his mawiage to M : ss 
 Amory, for which, when he was joked by some of his young bachelor frienda 
 as a deserter from their ranks, he shook his finger at them, and repeated tbs 
 adage of Virgil: — 
 
 “ Omnia vincit Amor, et nos cedamus Amori.” 
 
MARRIES. 
 
 51 
 
 pleasant coincidence, in which Miss Linzee, the mother of the 
 bride, had been married to Mr. Amory five and twenty years 
 before ; and there they lived as long as that ample and com¬ 
 fortable old mansion stood. 8 
 
 Another coincidence connected with this marriage should be 
 added, although it was certainly one that augured little of the 
 happiness that followed. The grandfathers of Mr. Prescott 
 and Miss Amory had been engaged on opposite sides during 
 the war for American Independence, and even on opposite 
 sides in the same fight; Colonel Prescott having commanded 
 on Bunker Hill, while Captain Linzee, of the sloop-of-war 
 Falcon, cannonaded him and his redoubt from the waters of 
 Charles River, where the Falcon was moored during the whole 
 of the battle. The swords that had been worn by the soldier 
 and the sailor on that memorable day came down as heirlooms 
 in their respective families, until at last they met in the library 
 of the man of letters, where, quietly crossed above his books, 
 they often excited the notice alike of strangers and of friends. 
 After his death they were transferred, as he had desired, to 
 the Historical Society of Massachusetts, on whose Avails they 
 have become the memorials at once of a hard-fought field and 
 of “ victories no less renowned than those of war.” A more 
 appropriate resting-place for them could not have been found. 
 And there, we trust, they may rest in peace so long as the two 
 nations shall exist, — trophies, indeed, of the past, but warn¬ 
 ings for the future. 4 
 
 At the time of his marriage my friend was one of the finest- 
 looking men I have ever seen ; or, if this should be deemed in 
 some respects a strong expression, I shall be fully justified, by 
 those who remember him at that period, in saying that he was 
 one of the most attractive. He was tall, Avell formed, manly 
 in his bearing but gentle, with light-brown hair that was hardly 
 changed or diminished by years, with a clear complexion and 
 a ruddy flush on his cheek that kept for him to the last an ap¬ 
 pearance of comparative youth, but, above all, with a smile 
 that was the most absolutely contagious I ever looked upon. 
 
 8 It was pulled down in 1845, and we all sorrowed for it, and for the ven¬ 
 erable trees by which it was surrounded. 
 
 * See Appendix B. 
 
52 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 As lie grew older, he stooped a little. His father’s figure was 
 bent at even an earlier age, but it was from an organic in¬ 
 firmity of the chest, unknown to the constitution of the son, who 
 stooped chiefly from a downward inclination which he instinc¬ 
 tively gave to his head so as to protect his eye from the light. 
 But his manly character and air were always, to a remarkable 
 degree, the same. Even in the last months of his life, when 
 he was in some other respects not a little changed, he appeared 
 at least ten years younger than he really was. And as for the 
 gracious, sunny smile that seemed to grow sweeter as he grew 
 older, it was not entirely obliterated even by the touch of 
 death. Indeed, take him for all in all, I think no man ever 
 walked our streets, as he did day by day, that attracted such 
 regard and good-will from so many; for, however few he might 
 know, there were very many that knew him, and watched him 
 with unspoken welcomes as he passed along. 
 
 A little before his marriage he had, with a few friends 
 nearly of his own age and of similar tastes, instituted a club 
 for purposes both social and literary. Their earliest informal 
 gathering was in June, 1818. On the first evening they num¬ 
 bered nine, and on the second, twelve. Soon, the number was 
 still further enlarged ; but only twenty-four were at any time 
 brought within its circle; and of these, after an interval of 
 above forty years, eleven still survive (1862). 6 
 
 6 The names of the members of this 
 ♦Alexander Bliss, 
 
 ♦John Brazer, 
 
 ♦George Augustus Frederic Dawson, 
 ♦Franklin Dexter, 
 
 ♦Samuel Atkins Eliot, 
 
 ♦William Havard Eliot, 
 
 Charles Folsom, 
 
 William Howard Gardiner, 
 
 John Chipman Gray, 
 
 ♦Francis William Pitt Greenwood, 
 ♦Enoch Hale, 
 
 Charles Greely Loring, 
 
 genial, scholarlike little club were, 
 William Powell Mason, 
 
 John Gorham Palfrey, 
 
 Theophilus Parsons, 
 
 Octavius Pickering, 
 
 ♦William Hickling Prescott, 
 Jared Sparks, 
 
 ♦William Jones Spooner, 
 ♦Jonathan Mayhew Wainwright, 
 John Ware, 
 
 Henry Warren, 
 
 ♦Martin Whiting, 
 
 ♦Francis William Winthrop. 
 
 Those marked with an asterisk are dead; but it may be worth notice that, 
 although several of the most promising members of the club died so young 
 that the time for their distinction never came, more than half of the whole 
 number have been known as authors, no one of whom has failed to do 
 credit to the association in which his youth, in part at least, was trained. 
 
HIS CLUB. 
 
 53 
 
 Prescott, from his happy, social nature, as well as from his 
 love of letters, was eminently fitted to be one of the members 
 of such a club, and rarely failed to be present at its meetings, 
 which he always enjoyed. In their earliest days, after the 
 fashion of such youthful societies, they read papers of their 
 own composition, and amused themselves by criticising one 
 another, and sometimes their neighbors. As a natural conse¬ 
 quence of such intercourse, it was not long before they began 
 to think that a part, at least, of what they had written was too 
 good to be confined to their own meetings ; and chiefly, I 
 believe, under Prescott’s leading, they determined to institute 
 a periodical, or rather a work which should appear at uncer¬ 
 tain intervals, and be as little subject to rules and restrictions 
 of any sort as their own gay meetings were. At any rate, if 
 he were not the first to suggest the project, he was the most 
 earnest in promoting it after it was started, and was naturally 
 enough, both from his leisure and his tastes, made editor. 
 
 It was called “ The Club-Room,” and the first number was 
 published February 5th, 1820. But its life, though it seems to 
 have been a merry one, was short; for the fourth and last 
 number appeared on the 19th of July of the same year. Nor 
 was there any especial reason to lament its fate as untimely. 
 It was not better than the average of such publications, perhaps 
 not so good. Prescott, I think, brought but three contributions 
 to it. The first is the leading article in the second number, 
 and gives, not without humor, an account of the way in which 
 the first number had been received when it was ushered into a 
 busy, bustling world, too careless of such claims to its notice. 
 The others were tales; one of which, entitled “ The Yale of 
 Alleriot,” was more sentimental than he would have liked later ; 
 and one, “ Calais,” was a story which Allston, our great artist, 
 used to tell with striking effect. Neither of them had anything 
 characteristic of what afterwards distinguished their author, and 
 neither could be expected to add much to the popular success 
 of such a publication. The best of the contributions to it were, 
 I think, three by Mr. Franklin Dexter, his brother-in-law ; two 
 entitled “ Recollections,” and the other, “ The Ruins of Rome ”; 8 
 the very last being, in fact, a humorous anticipation of the mean 
 • See a notice of him in the account of the Prescott Family, Appendix (A). 
 
54 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 and miserable appearance Boston would make, if its chief edi¬ 
 fices should crumble away, and become what those of the mis¬ 
 tress of the ancient world are now. “And here ended this 
 precious publication,” as its editor, apparently with a slight 
 feeling of vexation, recorded its failure. Not that he could be 
 much mortified at its fate ; for, if it was notliing else, it was an 
 undertaking creditable to the young men who engaged in it so 
 as to accustom themselves to write for the public, and it had, 
 besides, not only enlivened their evenings, but raised the tone 
 of their intercourse with each other. 7 
 
 When the last number of “ The Club-Room ” appeared, its 
 editor had been married two months. The world was before 
 him. Not only was his decision made to give up the law as a 
 profession, but he had become aware that he must find some 
 other serious occupation to take its place; for he was one of those 
 who early discover that labor is the condition of happiness, 
 and even of content, in this world. Ilis selection of a pursuit, 
 however, was not suddenly made. It could not be. Many 
 circumstances in relation to it were to be weighed, and he 
 
 7 I cannot refuse my readers or myself the pleasure of inserting here a 
 faithful account of Prescott’s relations to this club, given to me by one of its 
 original founders and constant supporters, in some sketches already referred 
 to; 1 mean his friend Mr. William H. Gardiner. 
 
 “ The club formed in 1818, for literary and social objects combined, at first 
 a supper and afterwards a dinner club, was, to the end of our friend’s days, 
 — a period of more than forty years, — a source of high enjoyment to him. 
 It came to be a peculiar association, because composed of men of nearly the 
 same age, who grew up together in those habits of easy, familiar intercourse 
 which can hardly exist except where the foundations are laid in very young 
 days. He was, from the first, a leading spirit there, latterly quite the life 
 and soul of the little company, and an object of particular affection as well 
 as pride. He was always distinguished there by some particular sobriquet. 
 At first we used to call him ‘ the gentleman,’ from the circumstance of hia 
 being the only member who had neither profession nor ostensible pursuit. 
 For many years he was called 1 the editor,’ from his having assumed to edit, 
 in its day, the little magazine that has been mentioned, called ‘ The Club- 
 Room.’ Finally, he won the more distinguished title of ‘ the historian,’ and 
 was often so addressed in the familiar talk of the club. It comprised several 
 of Mr. Prescott’s most intimate personal friends. The most perfect freedom 
 prevailed there. All sorts of subjects took their turn of discussion. So that, 
 were it possible to recall particulars of his conversations at these meetings, 
 extending through two thirds of his whole life, the reader would gain a very 
 perfect idea of him as a social man. But the insa Trrepoevra are too fleeting 
 for reproduction; and even their spirit and effect can hardly be gathered 
 from mere general descriptions.” 
 
DETERMINES ON A LIFE OF LETTERS. 
 
 55 
 
 had many misgivings, and hesitated long. But his tastes and 
 employments had always tended in one direction, and therefore, 
 although the decision might be delayed, the result was all but 
 inevitable He chose a life of literary occupation ; and it was 
 well that he chose it so deliberately, for he had time, before 
 he entered on its more serious labors, to make an estimate of the 
 difficulties that he must encounter in the long path stretched out 
 before him. 
 
 In tlxis way he became fully aware, that, owing to the in¬ 
 firmity under which he had now suffered during more than 
 six of the most important years of his life, he had much to do 
 before he could hope even to begin a career that should end 
 with such success as is worth striving for. In many respects, 
 the very foundations were to be laid, and his first thought 
 was that they should be laid deep and sure. He had never 
 neglected his classical studies, and now he gave himself afresh 
 to them during a fixed portion of each day. But his mor Q 
 considerable deficiencies were in all modern literature. Or' 
 the English he had probably read as much as most persons 
 of his age and condition, or rather it had been read to liim; 
 but this had been chiefly for his amusement in hours of pain 
 and darkness, not as a matter of study, and much less upon 
 a regular system. French he had spoken a little, though not 
 well, while he was in France and Italy; but he knew almost 
 nothing of French literature. And of Italian and Spanish, 
 though he had learnt something as a school-boy, it had been 
 in a thoughtless and careless way, and, after the injury to his 
 sight, botli of them had been neglected. The whole, therefore, 
 was not to be relied upon ; and most young men at the age of 
 four or five and twenty would have been disheartened at the 
 prospect of attempting to recover so much lost ground, and to 
 make up for so many opportunities that had gone by never to 
 return. When to this is added the peculiar discouragement 
 that seemed almost to shut out knowledge by its main entrance, 
 it would have been no matter of reproach to his courage or his 
 manhood, if he had turned away from the undertaking as one 
 beyond his strength. 
 
 But it is evident that he only addressed himself to his task 
 with the more earnestness and resolution. He began, I think 
 
56 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT 
 
 wisely, with the English, being willing to go back to the very 
 elements, and on the 30th of October, 1821, made a memoran¬ 
 dum that he would undertake “a course of studies” involving— 
 
 “ 1. Principles of grammar, correct writing, &c.; 
 
 “ 2. Compendious history of North America; 
 
 “ 3. Fine prose-writers of English from Roger Ascham to 
 the present day, principally with reference to their mode of 
 writing, — not including historians, except as far as requisite 
 for an acquaintance with style; 
 
 “ 4. Latin classics one hour a day.” 
 
 The American history he did not immediately touch; but 
 on the rest he entered at once, and carried out his plan vigor¬ 
 ously. He studied, as if he had been a school-boy, Blair’s 
 Rhetoric, Lindley Murray’s Grammar, and the prefatory mat¬ 
 ter to Johnson’s Dictionary, for the grammatical portion of his 
 task ; and then he took up the series of good English writers, 
 beginning with Ascham, Sir Philip Sidney, Bacon, Browne, 
 Raleigh, and Milton, and coming down to our own times,— 
 not often reading the whole of any one author, but enough of 
 each to obtain, wdiat he more especially sought, an idea of liis 
 style and general characteristics. Occasionally he noted down 
 his opinion of them, — not always such an opinion as he w'ould 
 have justified or entertained later in life, but always such as 
 showed a spirit of observation and a purpose of improvement. 
 Thus, under the date of November, 1821, he says : — 
 
 “ Finished Roger Ascham’s ‘ Schoolmaster.’ Style vigorous and pol¬ 
 ished, and even euphonious, considering the period; his language often 
 ungrammatical, inelegant, and with the Latin idiom. He was one of ihe 
 first who were bold and wise enough to write English prose. He dislikes 
 rhyme, and thinks iambics the proper quantity for English verse. Hence 
 blank verse. He was a critical scholar, but too fastidious. 
 
 “ Milton, ‘ Reasons of Church Government.’ Style vigorous, figurative 
 to conceit; a rich and sublime imagination ; often coarse, harsh ; constant 
 use of Latin idiom ; inversion. He is very bold, confident in his own 
 talent, with close, unrelenting argument; upon the whole, giving the reader 
 a higher idea of his sturdy principle than of his affections.” 
 
 In this way he continued nearly a year occupying himself 
 with the good English prose-writers, and, among the rest, with 
 the great preachers, Taylor, Tillotson, and Barrow, but not 
 stopping until he had come down to Jeffrey and Gifford, whom 
 
FRENCH STUDIES. 
 
 57 
 
 he marked as the leading critics of our period. But during 
 all this time, he gave his daily hour to the principal Latin 
 classics, especially Tacitus, Livy, and Cicero; taking care, as 
 he says, to “ observe their characteristic physiognomies, — not 
 style and manner as much as sentiments, &c.” 
 
 Having finished this course, he turned next to the French, 
 going, as he intimates, “ deeper and wider,” because his purpose 
 was not, as in the Latin, to strengthen his knowledge, but to 
 form an acquaintance with the whole of French literature, 
 properly so called. He went back, therefore, as far as Frois¬ 
 sart, and did not stop until he had come down to Chateaubriand. 
 It was a good deal of it read by himself in the forenoons, thus 
 6aving much time ; for in 1822 — 1823, except when occasional 
 inflammation occurred, his eye was in a condition to do him 
 more service than it had done him for many years, and he hus¬ 
 banded its resources so patiently, and with so much care, that 
 he rarely lost anything by imprudence. 
 
 But French literature did not satisfy him as English had 
 done. He found it less rich, vigorous, and original. He, 
 indeed, enjoyed Montaigne, and admired Pascal, whom he 
 preferred to Bossuet or to Fenelon, partly, I think, for the same 
 reasons that led him to prefer Corneille to Racine. But La- 
 fontaine and Moliere stood quite by themselves in his estima¬ 
 tion, although in some respects, and especially in the delineation 
 of a particular humor or folly, he placed Ben Jonson before 
 the great French dramatist. The forms of French poetry, and 
 the rigorous system of rhymes enforced in its tragedies, were 
 more than commonly distasteful to him. 
 
 While, however, he was thus occupied with French litera 
 ture as a matter of serious study during parts of 1822 and 1823, 
 he listened to a good deal of history read to him in a miscel¬ 
 laneous way for his amusement, and went through a somewhat 
 complete course of the old English drama from Heywood to 
 Dryden, accompanying it with the corresponding portions of 
 August Wilhelm Schlegel’s Lectures, which he greatly relished. 
 During the same period, too, we read together, at my house, 
 three or four afternoons in each week, the Northern Antiqui¬ 
 ties, published by Weber, Jamieson, and Scott, in 1815 ; a good 
 many of the old national romances in Ritson and Ellis, Sir 
 
58 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PKESCOTT. 
 
 Tristrem, Percy’s Reliques, and portions of other similar col¬ 
 lections,— all relating either to the very earliest English lit¬ 
 erature or to its connection with the Scandinavian and the Teu¬ 
 tonic It was his first adventure in this direction, and he 
 enjoyed it not a little, — the more, perhaps, because he was 
 then going on with the French, in which he took less interest. 
 
 In the autumn of 1823, following out the same general 
 purpose to which he had now devoted two years, he began 
 the Italian. At first lie only read such books as would soonest 
 make him familiar with the language, and so much of Sis- 
 mondi’s “ Litterature du Midi ’ as would give him an outline 
 of the whole field. Afterwards lie took Ginguene and some¬ 
 times Tiraboschi for his guide, and went over an extraordinary 
 amount of poetry, rather than prose, from Dante, and even from 
 the “ Poeti del Primo Secolo,” to Metastasio, Alfieri, and Monti. 
 It seems quite surprising how much he got through with, and it 
 would he almost incredible, if his notes on it were not full and 
 decisive. He wrote, in fact, more upon Italian literature than 
 he had written upon either the English or the French, and it 
 made apparently a much deeper impression upon him than the 
 last. At different times he even thought of devoting a large 
 part of his life to its study; and, excepting wliat he has done 
 in relation to Spanish history, nothing of all he has published 
 is so matured and satisfactory as two articles in the “ North- 
 American Review ”: one on Italian Narrative Poetry, pub¬ 
 lished in October, 1824, and another on Italian Poetry and 
 Romance, published in July, 1831, both to be noticed hereafter. 
 
 With what spirit and in what tone he carried on at tins time 
 the studies which produced an effect so permanent on his literary 
 tastes and character will be better shown by the following famil¬ 
 ial- notes than by anything more formal: — 
 
 TO MR. TICKNOR. 
 
 Tuesday Morning, 8 o’clock, Dec. 15, 1828 
 
 Dear George, 
 
 I am afraid you will think my study too much like the lion’s den ; the 
 footsteps never turn outwards. I want to borrow more books ; viz. one 
 volume of ancient Italian poetry ; I should like one containing specimens 
 of Ciuo da Pistoia, as I suspect he was the best versifier in Petrarch’s 
 time; also Ginguene'; also, some translation of Dante. 
 
PETRARCH AND LAURA. 
 
 59 
 
 I spoke very rashly of Petrarch the other day. I had only read the 
 first volume, which, though containing some of his best is on the whole, 
 much less moving and powerful than Part II. It is a good way to read 
 him chronologically; that is, to take up each sonnet and canzone in the 
 order, and understanding the peculiar circumstances, in which it was writ¬ 
 ten. Ginguene has pointed out this course. 
 
 On the whole, I have never read a foreign poet that possessed more of 
 the spirit of the best English poetry. In two respects this is very striking 
 in Petrarch; — the tender passion with which he associates every place in 
 the country, the beautiful scenery about Avignon, with the recollections of 
 Laura; and, secondly, the moral influence which his love for her seems to 
 have had upon his character, and which shows itself in the religious senti¬ 
 ment that pervades more or less all his verses. 
 
 How any one could ever doubt her existence who has read Petrarch’s 
 poetry, is a matter of astonishment to me. Setting aside external evi¬ 
 dence, which seems to me conclusive enough, his poetry could not have 
 been addressed to an imaginary object; and one fact, the particular delight 
 which he takes in the belief that she retains in heaven, and that hs shall 
 see her there, with the same countenance, complexion, bodily appearance 
 &c., that she had on earth, is so natural in a real lover, and would be so 
 unlikely to press itself upon a fictitious one, that I think that it is worth no¬ 
 ticing, as affording strong internal evidence of her substantial existence. I 
 believe, however, that it is admitted generally now, from facts respecting 
 his family brought to light by the Abbe de Sade, a descendant of her 
 house. 
 
 The richness and perfection of the Italian in the hands of Petrarch is 
 truly wonderful. After getting over the difficulty of some of his mystical 
 nonsense, and reading a canzone two or three times, he impresses one very 
 much ; and the varied measures of the canzone put the facility and melody 
 of verse-making to the strongest test. Gravina says, there are not two 
 words in Petrarch’s verses obsolete. Voltaire, I remember, says the same 
 thing of the “ Provincial Letters,” writteu three hundred years later. 
 Where is the work we can put our finger on in our own tongue before the 
 eighteenth century and then say the same t Yet from long before Eliza¬ 
 beth’s time there were no invasions or immigrations to new-mould the 
 language. 
 
 I hope you are all well under this awful dispensation oj snow. I ha\o 
 shovelled a stout path this morning, and can report it more than a fool 
 
 deep. A line evening for the party at ——, and I dine at-; so I get 
 
 a morning and a half. Give my condolence to Anna, whom I hope to 
 meet this evening, if the baby is well and we should not be buried alive In 
 the course of the day. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 Being also shut up in the house by the snow-storm referred 
 to, I answered him the same day with a long note entering into 
 the question of the real existence of Laura, and the following 
 rejoinder came the next day close upon the heel of my reply. 
 
fi() 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT 
 
 TO MR. TICKNOR. 
 
 Bedford Street, Dec. 17 , 1833 . 
 
 Dear George, 
 
 I think better of snow-storms than I ever did before ; since, though 
 they keep a man’s body in the house, they bring his mind out. I suppose, 
 if it had been fair weather yesterday, I should not have had your little dis¬ 
 sertation upon Madonna Laura, which interested as well as amused me. 
 As to the question of the real existence of Madonna, I can have but little 
 
 to say.One thing seems to me clear, that the onus probandi is 
 
 with those who would deny the substantiality of Laura; because she is 
 addressed as a living person by Petrarch, and because no contemporary 
 unequivocally states her to have been an ideal one. I say unequivocally, 
 because the remark you refer to of one of the Colonna family seems to 
 have been rather an intimation or a gratuitous supposition, which might well 
 come from one who lived at a distance from the scene of attachment, amour, 
 or whatever you call this Platonic passion of Petrarch’s. The Idealists, 
 nowever, to borrow a metaphysical term, would shift this burden of proof 
 upon their adversaries. On this ground I agree with you, that internal 
 evidence derived from poetry, whose essence, as you truly say, is fiction, 
 is liable to great misinterpretation. Yet I think that, although a novel or 
 a long poem may be written, addressed to, and descriptive of some imag¬ 
 inary goddess, &c. (I take it, there is not much doubt of Beatrice, or of the 
 original of Fiammetta), yet that a long series of separate poems should 
 have been written with great passion, under different circumstances, through 
 a long course of years, from the warm period of boyhood to the cool ret¬ 
 rospective season of gray hairs, would, I think, be, in the highest degree, 
 improbable. But when with this you connect one cr two external facts, 
 e. g. the very memorandum, to which you refer, written in his private 
 manuscript of Virgil, intended only for himself, as he expressly says in it, 
 with such solemn, unequivocal language as this: “In order to preserve 
 the melancholy recollections of this loss, I find a certain satisfaction min¬ 
 gled with my sorrow in noting this in a volume which often falls under my 
 eye, and which thus tells me there is nothing further to delight me in this 
 life, that my strongest tie is broken,” &c., &c. Again, in a treatise “ I)e 
 Contemptu Mundi,” a sort of confession in which he seems to have had a 
 sober communion with his own heart, as I infer from Ginguend, he speaks 
 of his passion for Laura in a very unambiguous manner. These notes or 
 memoranda, intended only for his own eye, would, I think, in any court 
 of justice be admitted as positive evidence of the truth of what they assert. 
 I should be willing to rest the point at issue on these two facts. 
 
 Opening his poetry, one thing struck me in support of his sincerity, in 
 seeing a sonnet, which begins with the name of the friend we refer to. 
 
 “ Rotta e 1* alta Colonna e ’1 verde Lauro.” 
 
 Vilo puns, but he would hardly have mingled the sincere elegy of a friend 
 with that of a fictitious creation of his own brain. This, I admit, is not 
 safe to build upon, and I do not build upon it. I agree that it may be 
 highly probable that investigators, Italian, French, and English, have 
 feigned more than they found, — have gone into details, where only a few 
 
DANTE. 
 
 61 
 
 general facts could be hoped for; but the general basis, the real existence 
 of some woman named Laura, who influenced the heart, the conduct, the 
 intellectual character, of Petrarch, is, I think, not to be resisted. And I 
 believe your decision does not materially differ from this. 
 
 I return the “ Poeti del Primo Secolo.” Though prosaic, they are 
 superior to what I imagined, and give me a much higher notion of the 
 general state of the Italian tongue at that early period than I had imagined 
 it was entitled to. It is not more obsolete than the French in the time of 
 Marot, or the English in the time of Spenser. Petrarch, however, you 
 easily see, infused into it a warmth and richness — a splendor of poetical 
 idiom — which has been taken up and incorporated with the language of 
 succeeding poets. But he is the most musical, most melancholy, of all. 
 Sismondi quotes Malaspina, a Florentine historian, as writing in 1280, 
 with all the purity and elegance of modern Tuscan. But I think you 
 must say, Sat prata biberunt. I have poured forth enough, I think, con¬ 
 sidering how little I know of the controversy. 
 
 I have got a long morning again, as I dine late. So, if you will let me 
 have “ Cary,” 8 I think it may assist me in some very knotty passages, 
 though I am afraid it is too fine [print] to read much. 
 
 Give my love to Anna, who, I hope, is none the worse for last night’s 
 frolicking. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 W. H. Prescott. 
 
 lie soon finished Dante, and of the effect produced, on him 
 by that marvellous genius, at once so colossal and so gentle, the 
 following note will give some idea. It should be added, that 
 the impression thus made was never lost. He never ceased to 
 talk of Dante in the same tone of admiration in which he 
 thus broke forth on the first study of him, — a noteworthy 
 circumstance, because, owing to the imperfect vision that so 
 crippled and curtailed his studies, he was never afterwards able 
 to refresh his first impressions, except, as he did it from time 
 to time, by reading a few favorite passages, or listening to 
 them. 9 
 
 TO MR. TICKNOR. 
 
 Jan. 21, 1824. 
 
 Dear George, 
 
 I shall be obliged to you if you will let me have the “ Arcadia ” of San- 
 nazaro, the “ Pastor Fido,” and the “ Aminta,” — together with the vol¬ 
 umes of Ginguene, containing the criticism of these poems. 
 
 I have finished the Paradiso of Dante, and feel as if I had made a mod 
 
 8 Translation cf Dante. 
 
 * We, however, both listened to the reading of Dante, by an accomplished 
 Italian, a few months later; but this I consider little more than a part of the 
 same study of the altissimopoeta. 
 
62 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 important addition to the small store of my acquisitions. To have read 
 the Inferno, is not to have read Dante ; his genius shows itself under so 
 very different an aspect in each of his three poems. The Inferno will 
 always be the most popular, because it is the most — indeed the only one 
 that is at all — entertaining. Human nature is so delightfully constituted, 
 that it can never derive half the pleasure from any relation of happiness 
 that it does from one of misery and extreme suffering. Then there is a 
 great deal of narrative, of action in the Inferno, and very little in the two 
 other parts. Notwithstanding aLl this, I think the impression produced on 
 the mind of the reader by the two latter portions of the work much the 
 most pleasing. You impute a finer, a more exquisite (I do not mean a 
 more powerful), intellectual character to the poet, and, to my notion, a 
 character more deeply touched with a true poetical feeling. 
 
 The Inferno consists of a series of pictures of the most ingenious, the 
 most acute, and sometimes the most disgusting bodily sufferings. I could 
 wish that Dante had made more use of the mind as a source and a means 
 of anguish. Once he has done it with beautiful effect, in the description 
 of a Barattiere, 1 believe, 10 who compares his miserable state in hell with 
 h'S pleasant residence on the banks of the Arno, and draws additional an¬ 
 guish from the comparison. In general, the sufferings he inflicts arc of a 
 purely physical nature. His devils and bad spirits, until one or two excep¬ 
 tions, which I remember you pointed out, are much inferior in moral 
 grandeur to Milton’s. How inferior that stupendous overgrown Satan of Iris 
 to the sublime spirit of Milton, not yet stript of all its original brightness. 
 I must say that I turn with more delight to the faultless tale of Francesca da 
 l’olenta, than to that of Ugolino, or any other in the poem. Perhaps it is 
 in part from its being in such a dark setting, that it seems so exquisite, by 
 contrast. The long talks in the Purgatorio and the dismal disputations in 
 the Paradiso certainly lie very heavy on these parts of the work ; but then 
 this very inaction brings out some of the most conspicuous beauties in 
 Dante’s composition. 
 
 In the Purgatorio, we have, in the first ten cantos, the most delicious 
 descriptions of natural scenery, and we feel like one who has escaped from 
 a dungeon into a rich and beautiful country. In the latter portions of it 
 he often indulges in a noble tone of moral reflection. I look upon the 
 Purgatorio, full of sober meditation and sweet description, as more a 
 I’Anglaise than any other part of the Commcdia. In the Paradiso his shock¬ 
 ing argumentations are now and then enlivened by the pepper and salt of 
 his political indignation, but at first they both discouraged and disgusted 
 me, and I thought I should make quick work of the business. But upon 
 reading further, — thinking more of it,—I could not help admiring the 
 genius which be has shown in bearing up under so oppressive a subject. 
 It is so much easier to describe gradations of pain than of pleasure, — 
 but more especially when this pleasure must be of a purely intellectual 
 nature. It is like a painter sitting down to paint the soul. The Scrip- 
 
 10 My friend says, with some hesitation, “ a Barattiere, I believe." It was ir 
 fact a “ Falsificatore,” — a counterfeiter , — and not a barrator or peculator 
 The barrators are found in the twenty-first canto of the Inferno; but the 
 beautiful passage here alluded to is in the thirtieth. 
 
DANTE. 
 
 63 
 
 tures hare net done it successfully They paint the physical tortures of 
 hell, fire, brimstone, &c., but in heaven the only joys, i. e. animal joys, are 
 singing and dancing, which to few people convey a notion of high delight, 
 and to many are positively disagreeable. 
 
 Let any one consider how difficult, nay impossible, it is to give an en¬ 
 tertaining picture of purely intellectual delight. The two highest kinds 
 of pure spiritual gratification which, I take it, a man can feel, —at least, I 
 esteem it so, — are that arising from the consciousness of a reciprocated 
 passion (I speak as a lover), and, second, one of a much more philosophic 
 cast, that arising from the successful exertion of his own understanding (as 
 in composition, for instance). Now Dante’s pleasures in the Paradiso are 
 derived from these sources. Not that he pretends to write books there, 
 but then he disputes like a doctor upon his own studies, — subjects most 
 interesting to him, but unfortunately to nobody else. It is comical to see 
 how much he plumes himself upon his successful polemical discussions 
 with St. John, Peter, &c., and how he makes those good saints praise and 
 flatter him. 
 
 As to his passion for Beatrice, I think there is all the internal evidence 
 of its being a genuine passion, though her early death and probably his 
 much musing upon her, exaggerated her good qualities into a sort of mys¬ 
 tical personification of his own, very unlike the original. His drinking in 
 all his celestial intelligence from her eyes, though rather a mystical sen¬ 
 timentalism, is the most glorious tribute that ever was paid to woman. It 
 is lucky, on the whole, that she died when she was young, as, had she 
 lived to marry him, he would very likely have picked a quarrel with her, 
 and his Divine Comedy have lost a great source of its inspiration. 
 
 In all this, however, there was a great want of action, and Dante was 
 forced, as in the Purgatorio, to give vent to his magnificent imagination in 
 other ways. He has therefore, made use of all the meagre hints suggested 
 metaphorically by the Scriptures, and we have the three ingredients, light, 
 music, and dancing, in every possible and impossible degree and diversity. 
 The Inferno is a sort of tragedy, full of action and of characters, all well 
 preserved. The Paradiso is a great melodrama, where little is said, but 
 the chief skill is bestowed upon the machinery, — the getting up, — and 
 certainly, there never was such a getting up, anywhere. Every canto 
 blazes with a new and increased effulgence. The very reading of it by 
 another pained my poor eyes. And yet, you never become tired with 
 these gorgeous illustrations, — it is the descriptions that fatigue. 
 
 Another beauty, in which he indulges more freely in the last than in the 
 other parts, is his unrivalled similes. I should think you might glean 
 from the Paradiso at least one hundred all new and appropriate, fitiing, aa 
 he says, “ like a ring io a finger,” and most beautiful. Where are there 
 any comparisons so beautiful ? 
 
 I must say I was disappointed with the last canto ; but then, as the 
 Irishman said, I expected to be. For what mortal mind could give a por¬ 
 trait of the Deity. The most conspicuous quality in Dante, to my notion, 
 is simplicity. In this I think him superior to any work I ever read, un¬ 
 less it be some parts of the Scriptures. Homer’s allusions, as far as I 
 recollect, are not taken from as simple and familiar, yet not vulgar, objects, 
 as arc Dante’s, — from the most common intimate relations cf domestic 
 
64 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 life, for instance, to which Dante often with great sweetness of nature 
 alludes. 
 
 I think it was a fortunate thing for the world, that the first poem 
 in modern times was founded on a subject growing out of the Christian 
 religion, or more properly on that religion itself, and that it was written 
 by a man deeply penetrated with the spirit of its sternest creed. The 
 religion indeed would have had its influence sooner or later upon literature. 
 But then a work like Dante’s, showing so early the whole extent of its 
 powers, must have had an incalculable influence over the intellectual 
 world, —an influence upon literature almost as remarkable as that exerted 
 by the revelation of Christianity upon the moral world. 
 
 As to Cary, I think Dante would have given him a place in his ninth 
 heaven, if he could have foreseen his Translation. It is most astonishing, 
 giving not only the literal corresponding phrase, but the spirit of the 
 original, the true Dantesque manner. It should be cited as an evidence of 
 the compactness, the pliability, the sweetness of the English tongue. It 
 particularly shows the wealth of the old vocabulary, — it is from this that 
 lie has selected his rich stock of expressions. It is a triumph of our 
 mother tongue that it has given every idea of the most condensed original 
 in the Italian tongue in a smaller compass in this translation, — his can¬ 
 tos, as you have no doubt noticed, are five or six lines shorter generally 
 than Dante's. One defect he has. He does not, indeed he could not, 
 render the na'ive terms of his original. This is often noticeable, but it is 
 the defect of our language, or rather of our use of it One fault he has, 
 one that runs through his whole translation, and makes it tedious ; viz. 
 a too close assimilation to, or rather adoption of, the Italian idiom. This 
 leads him often to take liberties not allowable in English, — to be ungram¬ 
 matical, and so elliptical as to be quite unintelligible. 
 
 Now I have done, and if you ask me what I have been doing all this 
 for, or, if I chose to write it, why I did not put it in my Commonplace, 
 I answer, — 1st. That when I began this epistle, I had no idea of being 
 so lengthy (as we say); 2d. That, in all pursuits, it is a great delight to 
 find a friend to communicate one’s meditations and conclusions to, and 
 that you are the only friend I know in this bustling, money-getting world, 
 who takes an interest in my peculiar pursuits, as well as in myself. So, 
 for this cause, I pour into your unhappy ear what would else have been 
 decently locked up in my esiritoire. 
 
 I return you Petrarca, Tasso, Ginguene, Vols. I.-IV., and shall be 
 obliged to you, in addition to the books first specified, for any translation, 
 &c., if you have any of those books; also for an edition — if you have 
 such — of the Canterbury Tales, Vol. I., that contains a glossary at the 
 bottom of each page below the text; Tyrrwhitt’s being a dictionary. 
 
 Give my love to Anna, and believe me, dear George, now and ever, 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 W. H. Pkescott. 
 
 Pursuing the Italian in this earnest way for about a yeai, 
 lie found that his main purposes in relation to it were accom¬ 
 plished, and he would gladly, at once, have begun the German, 
 
GIVES UP GERMAN. 
 
 65 
 
 of which he knew nothing at all, but which, for a considerable 
 period, he had deemed more important to the general scholar¬ 
 ship at which he then aimed than any other modem language, 
 and certainly more important than any one of which he did not 
 already feel himself sufficiently master. “ I am now,” he re¬ 
 corded, two years earlier, in the spring of 1822, “ twenty-six 
 years of age nearly. By the time I am thirty, God willing, I 
 propose, with what stock I have already on hand, to be a very 
 well read English scholar; to be acquainted with the classical 
 and useful authors, prose and poetry, in Latin, French, and 
 Italian, and especially in history ; I do not mean a critical or 
 profound acquaintance. The two following years I may hope 
 to learn German, and to have read the classical German 
 writers ; and the translations, if my eye continues weak, of 
 the Greek. And this is enough,” he adds quietly, “for general 
 discipline.” 
 
 But the German, as he well knew, was much less easy of 
 acquisition than any of the modern languages to which he had 
 thus far devoted himself, and its literature much more unman¬ 
 ageable, if not more abundant. He was, however, unwilling to 
 abandon it, as it afforded so many important facilities for the 
 pursuits to which he intended to give his life. But the infir¬ 
 mity of his sight decided this, as it had already decided, and 
 was destined later to decide, so many other questions in which 
 he was deeply interested. After much deliberation, therefore, 
 he gave up the German, as a thing either beyond his reach, oi 
 demanding more time for its acquisition than he could reason¬ 
 ably give to it. It seemed, in fact, all but an impossibility to 
 learn it thoroughly; the only way in which he cared to learn 
 anything. 
 
 At the outset he was much discouraged by the conclusion to 
 which he had thus come. The acquisition of the German was, 
 in fact, the first obstacle to his settled literary course which 
 his patience and courage had not been able to surmount, and 
 for a time he became, from this circumstance, less exact and 
 methodical in his studies than he had previously been. He 
 recorded late in the autumn of 1824 : “ I have read with no 
 method and very little diligence or spirit for three months.” 
 This he found an unsatisfactory state of things. He talked 
 
60 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 with me much about it, and seemed, during nearly a year, 
 more unsettled as to his future course, so far as I can now 
 recollect, than he had ever seemed to me earlier; certainly, 
 more than he ever seemed to me afterwards. Indeed, he was 
 <piite unhappy about it. 
 
CtiAFTER, VI. 
 
 1824 - 1828 . 
 
 He studies Spanish instead op German. — First Attempts not 
 
 EARNEST. — MABLY’S “ £tUDE DE L’HlSTOlRE.” — THINKS OF WRITING 
 
 History. — Different Subjects suggested. — Ferdinand and Isa 
 belba. — Doubts long. — Writes to Mr. A. H. Everett. — Delay 
 from Suffering in the Eye. — Orders Books from Spain. — Plan 
 of Study. — Hesitates from the Condition of his Sight. — De¬ 
 termines to go on. — His Reader, Mr. English. — Process of 
 Work. — Estimates and Plans. 
 
 N accident — as is sometimes the case in the life of even 
 
 the most earnest and consistent men — had now an in¬ 
 
 fluence on him not at all anticipated by either of us at the 
 time, and one which, if it ultimately proved a guiding impulse, 
 became such rather from the force of his own character than 
 through any movement imparted to him from without. 
 
 I had, at this period, been almost exclusively occupied for 
 two or three years with Spanish literature, and had completed 
 a course of lectures on Spanish literary history, which I had 
 delivered to the highest class in Harvard College, and which 
 became, many years afterwards, the basis of a work on that 
 subject. Thinking simply to amuse and occupy my friend at 
 a time when he seemed much to need it, I proposed to read 
 him these lectures in the autumn of 1824. For this purpose 
 he came to my house in the early part of a succession of even¬ 
 ings, until the whole was completed; and in November he 
 determined, as a substitute for the German, to undertake the 
 Spanish, which had not previously constituted any part of his 
 plan of study. 1 
 
 He made his arrangements for it at once, and we prepared 
 together a list of hooks that he should read. It was a great 
 
 1 He speaks of this in February, 1841, writing to Don Pascual de Gayangos, 
 one of our mutual Spanish friends; when, referring back to the year 1824, ha 
 says, “I heard Mr. Ticknor’s lectures then with great pleasure.” 
 
68 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 and unexpected pleasure to me to find him launched on a 
 course of study in which I had long been interested, and I 
 certainly encouraged him in it as much as I could without 
 being too selfish. 
 
 Soon after this, however, I left home with my family, and 
 was absent during the greater part of the winter. My house 
 was, of course, shut up, except that servants were left in charge 
 of it; but it had been understood between us, that, as he had 
 no Spanish books of his own, he should carry on his Spanish 
 studies from the resources he would find in my library. On 
 the 1st of December he began a regular drill in the language, 
 with a teacher, and on the same day, by way of announcing it, 
 wrote to me: — 
 
 “ Tour mansion looks gloomy enough, I promise you, and as I pass it 
 sometimes in the evening, with no cheerful light within to relieve it, it 
 frowns doubly dismal on me. As to the interior, I have not set my foot 
 within its precincts since your departure, which, you will think, does not 
 augur well for the Spanish. 1 propose, however, intruding upon the 
 silence of the illustrious dead the latter part of this week, in order to 
 carry off the immortal remains of Don Antonio de Solis, whom you, dear 
 George, recommended me to begin with.” 
 
 This was the opening of the Spanish campaign, which ended 
 only with his life; and it is worth noting that he was already 
 more than twenty-eight years old. A few days afterwards he 
 writes: “ I snatch a fraction of the morning from the interest¬ 
 ing treatise of Monsieur Josse on the Spanish language, 2 and 
 from the ‘ Conquista de Mexico,’ which, notwithstanding the 
 Mine I have been upon it, I am far from having conquered.” 8 
 But he soon became earnest in his work. On the 24th of 
 January, 1825, he wrote to me again: — 
 
 “ I have been much bent upon Spanish the last month, and have un- 
 
 courtcously resisted all invitations.to break in upon my course of 
 
 reading. I begin to feel my way perceptibly in it now. Did you never, 
 in learning a language, after groping about in the dark for a long while, 
 
 2 Jossd, E16mens de la Grammaire de la Langue fispagnole. 
 
 8 In the early part of his Spanish studies, as he here intimates, he was not 
 much interested. At Christmas, 1824, he wrote to bis friend Mr. Bancroft: 
 “ I am battling with the Spaniards this winter, but I have not the heart for it 
 that I had for the Italians. I doubt whether there are many valuable things 
 that the key of knowledge will unlock in that language ”; — an amusing pre¬ 
 diction, when we consider wkat followed. 
 
EARLY SPANISH STUDIES. 
 
 69 
 
 nuddenly seem to turn an angle, where the light breaks upon you all at 
 once 1 The knack seems to have come to me within the last fortnight, in 
 the same manner as the art of swimming comes to those who have been 
 
 splashing about for months in the water in vain.Will you have 
 
 the goodness to inform me in your next, where I can find some simple 
 treatise on Spanish versification, — also in which part of your library is 
 the ‘ Amadis de Gaula.’ 4 For I presume, as Cervantes spared it from 
 the bonfire, you have it among your treasures. I have been accompany¬ 
 ing my course with Sismondi and Boutcrwek, and I have been led more 
 than once to reflect upon the injustice you are doing to yourself in seclud¬ 
 ing your own manuscript Lectures from the world. Neither of these 
 writers has gone into the subject as thoroughly as you have,” &c., &c.“ 
 
 On coming back after my absence, he began to write me 
 notes in Spanish, borrowing or returning books, and sometimes 
 giving his opinion about those he sent home. His style was not, 
 indeed, of the purest Castilian, but it was marked with a clear¬ 
 ness and idiomatic vigor which not a little surprised me. Three 
 of these notes, which he wrote in March and April, 1825, still 
 survive to give proof of lus great industry and success ; and one 
 of them is curious for opinions about Solis, more severe than he 
 afterwards entertained when he came to study that historian's 
 work on the Conquest of Mexico as a part of the materials for 
 his own. 6 
 
 But, during the summer of 1825, his reading was very mis¬ 
 cellaneous, and, excepting “ Doblado’s Letters on Spain,” by 
 Blanco White, no part of it, I think, was connected with his 
 strictly Spanish studies. In the autumn, however, becoming 
 much dissatisfied with this unsettled and irregular sort of life, 
 he began to look round for a subject to which he could give 
 continuous thought and labor. On the 16th of October he 
 
 * He remembered, no doubt, the boyish pleasure he had found in reading 
 Southey’s rifacimenlo of it. See ante, p. 10. 
 
 6 This, with much more like it in the present letter and in other letters, 
 which I do not cite, was founded in a mistake, made by his kindness for me. 
 The Lectures were far from being what he supposed them to be. They 
 needed to be entirely recast, before they could be presented to the public 
 with any decent claims to thoroughness. In fact, “ The History of Spanish 
 Literature” did not appear until a long time afterwards, and then it bore 
 very few traces of its academic origin. 
 
 6 On another occasion, making some remarks about Ercilla’s “ Araucana,” 
 he says, in the same spirit, “ Both Solis and Ercilla disgust the temperate 
 reader by the little value they set upon the sufferings of the heathen.” In 
 this view of the matter 1 heartily concur with him. 
 
70 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 recorded : “ I have been so hesitating and reflecting upon what 
 I shall do, that I have, in fact, done nothing.” And October 
 30th: “ I have passed the last fortnight in examination of a 
 suitable subject for historical composition. 7 8 It is well to deter¬ 
 mine with caution and accurate inspection.” 
 
 At first his thoughts were turned towards American history, 
 on which he had bestowed a good deal of rather idle time dur¬ 
 ing the preceding months, and to which he now gave more.* 
 But Spanish literature began, unexpectedly to him, to have 
 stronger attractions. He read, or rather listened to, the whole 
 of Mariana’s beautiful history, giving careful attention to some 
 parts of it, and passing lightly over the rest. And in connec¬ 
 tion with tins, as his mind became more directed to such sub¬ 
 jects, he listened with great interest to Mably’s “ Etude de 
 l’Histoire,” — a work which had much influence in giving its 
 final direction to his life, and which he always valued both for 
 its acuteness and for its power of setting the reader to think 
 for himself. The result was that, at Christmas, after no little 
 reflection and anxiety, he made the following memorandum: — 
 
 “ I have been hesitating between two topics for historical investiga¬ 
 tion,— Spanish history from the invasion of the Arabs to the consolidation 
 of the monarchy under Charles V., or a history of the revolution of 
 ancient Rome, which converted the republic into a monarchy. A third 
 subject which invites me is a biographical sketch of eminent geniuses, 
 with criticisms on their productions and on the character of their times. 
 I shall probably select the first, as less difficult of execution than the 
 second, and as more novel and entertaining than the last. But I must 
 
 7 As early as 1820, I find that he had been greatly impressed by reading 
 Gibbon’s Autobiography with Lord Sheffield’s additions, — a book which he 
 always regarded with peculiar interest, and which doubtless had its influence 
 in originally determining him to venture on historical composition. In one 
 of his letters written in 1845, he says, he finds memoranda of a tendency to 
 historical studies as early as 1819. 
 
 8 Two or three years earlier than this date — probably in 1822 — I find 
 the following among his private memoranda: — “History has always been 
 a favorite study with me; and I have long looked forward to it, as a subject 
 on which I was one day to exercise my pen. It is not rash, in the dearth of 
 well-written American history, to entertain the hope of throwing light upon 
 this matter. This is my hope. But it requires time, and a long time, before 
 the mind can be prepared for this department of writing.” He took time, as 
 we shall see, for it was seven years, at least, after this passage was written, 
 before he began the composition of his Ferdinand and Isabella. “ I think,” 
 he says, “ thirty-five years of age full soon enough to put pen to paper.” As 
 >t turned out, he began in earnest a little before he had reached thirty-four. 
 
THINKS OF ITALIAN AND SPANISH SUBJECTS. 
 
 71 
 
 discipline my idle fancy, or my meditations will be little better than 
 dreams. I have devoted more than four hours per diem to thinking oi 
 dreaming on these subjects.” 
 
 But this delay was no matter of serious regret to him. He 
 always deliberated long before he undertook anything of conse¬ 
 quence, and, in regard to his examination of this very matter, 
 he had already recorded : “ I care not how long a time I take 
 for it, provided I am diligent in all that time.” 
 
 He was a little distracted, however, at this period, by the 
 1 hought of writing something like a history or general examina¬ 
 tion of Italian literature. As we have noticed, he had in 182? 
 been much occupied with the principal Italian authors, and had 
 found the study more interesting than any he had previously 
 pursued in modern literature. A little later —- that is, in the 
 autumn of 1824 and the spring of 1825 — an accomplished 
 Italian exile was in Boston, and, partly to give him occupation, 
 and partly for the pleasure and improvement to be obtained 
 from it, I invited the unfortunate scholar to come three or four 
 times a week, and read aloud to me from the principal poets 
 of his country. Prescott joined me in it regularly, and some¬ 
 times we had one or two friends with us. In this way we went 
 over large portions of the “ Divina Commedia,” and the whole 
 of the “ Gerusalemme Liberata,” parts of Ariosto’s “ Orlando 
 Furioso,” and several plays of AMeri. The sittings were very 
 agreeable, sometimes protracted to two or three hours, and we 
 not only had earnest and amusing, if not always very profit¬ 
 able, discussions about what we heard, but sometimes we fol¬ 
 lowed them up afterwards with careful inquiries. The pleasure 
 of the meetings, however, was their great attraction. The 
 Italian scholar read well, and we enjoyed it very much. In 
 consequence of this, Prescott now turned again to his Italian 
 studies, and made the following record: — 
 
 “ I have decided to abandon the Roman subject. A work on the revo¬ 
 lutions of Italian literature has invited my consideration this week, — a 
 work which, without giving a chronological and minute analysis of 
 authors, should exhibit in masses the most important periods, revolutions, 
 and characters in the history of Italian letters. The subject would admit 
 of contraction or expansion ad libitum ; and I should be spared — what I 
 detest — hunting up latent, barren antiquities.” 
 
 The last remark is noteworthy, because it is one of the many 
 
72 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 instances in which, after severe consideration, he schooled him¬ 
 self to do well and thoroughly what he much disliked to do, 
 and what was in itself difficult. 
 
 But on the same occasion he wrote further : — 
 
 “ The subject would require a mass of [general] knowledge and a criti¬ 
 cal knowledge of the Ituliau in particular. It would not be new, after 
 the production of Sismondi and the abundant notices in modem Reviews. 
 Literary history is not so amusing as civil. Cannot I contrive to em¬ 
 brace the gift of the Spanish subject, without involving myself in the 
 unwieldy, barbarous records of a thousand years ? What new and in¬ 
 teresting topics may be admitted — not forced — into the reigns of Fer¬ 
 dinand and Isabella ? Can I not indulge in a retrospective picture of the 
 Constitutions of Castile and Aragon, — of the Moorish dynasties, and the 
 causes of their decay and dissolution t Then I have the Inquisition, 
 with its bloody persecutions; the Conquest of Granada, a brilliant pas¬ 
 sage ; the exploits of the Great Captain in Italy, — a proper character for 
 romance as well as history; the discovery of a new world, my own coun¬ 
 try ; the new policy of the monarchs towards the overgrown aristocracy, 
 &c., &c. A Biography will make me responsible for a limited space only; 
 will require much less reading (a great consideration with me); will oiler 
 the deeper interest which always attaches to minute developments of 
 character, and a continuous, closely connected narrative. The subject 
 brings me to the point whence [modern] English history has started, is 
 untried ground, and in my opinion a rich one. The age of Ferdinand is 
 most important, as containing the germs of the modern system of Euro¬ 
 pean politics; and the three sovereigns, Henry VII., Louis XI., and 
 Ferdinand, were important engines in overturning the old system. It 
 is in every respect an interesting and momentous period of history ; the 
 materials authentic, ample. I will chew upon this matter, and decide 
 this week.” 
 
 In May, 1847, above twenty years afterwards, lie noted in 
 pencil on this passage, “ This was the first germ of my concep¬ 
 tion of Ferdinand and Isabella.” 
 
 But he did not, as he hoped he should, decide in a week, 
 although, having advanced well towards a decision, he soon 
 began to act as if it were already made. On the 15th of Jan¬ 
 uary, 1826, when the week had expired, he recorded : — 
 
 “ Still doubting, looked through Hita’s ‘ Guerras de Granada,’ Vol. 1 
 The Italian subject has some advantages over the Spanish. It will save 
 me at least one year’s introductory labor. It is in the regular course of 
 my studies, and I am comparatively at home in literary history, particu¬ 
 larly the Italian. This subject has not only exercised my studies, but my 
 meditations, so that I may fairly estimate my starting ground at one year. 
 Then I have tried this topic in public journals, and know the measure of 
 my own strength in relation to it. I am quite doubtful of my capacity 
 
LETTER TO A. H. EVERETT. 
 
 73 
 
 for doing ju twice to the other subject. I have never exercised my mind 
 upon similar matters, and I have stored it with no materials for compari¬ 
 son. How can I pronounce upon the defects or virtues of the Spanish 
 constitutions, when I am hardly acquainted with those of other nations 1 
 How can I estimate the consequences, moral, political, &c., of laws and 
 institutions, when 1 have, in all my life, scarcely ever looked the subject 
 in the face, or even read the most elementary treatise upon it ? But will 
 not a year’s labor, judiciously directed, put me on another footing ? ” 
 
 After some further discussion in the nature of a soliloquy, he 
 adds:— 
 
 “ I believe the Spanish subject will be more new than the Italian ; 
 more interesting to the majority of readers; more useful to me by open¬ 
 ing another and more practical department of study; and not more labo¬ 
 rious in relation to authorities to be consulted, and not more difficult to be 
 discussed, with the lights already afforded me by judicious treatises on the 
 most intricate parts of the subject, and with the allowance of the introduc¬ 
 tory year for my novitiate in a new walk of letters. The advantages of 
 the Spanish topic, on the whole, overbalance the inconvenience of the 
 requisite preliminary year. For these reasons, I subscribe to the History 
 of the Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, January 19th, 1826.” 
 
 And then follows in pencil, — “A fortunate choice, May, 
 
 1847” 
 
 He therefore began in earnest, and, on the 22d of January, 
 prepared a list of books such as he should require, and wrote a 
 long letter to Mr. Alexander H. Everett, then our Minister at 
 Madrid, an accomplished scholar himself, and one who was 
 always interested in whatever regarded the cause of letters. 
 They had already been in correspondence on the subject, and 
 Mr. Everett had naturally advised his younger friend to come 
 to Spain, and make for himself the collections he needed, at 
 the same time offering to serve him in any way he could. 
 
 “ I entirely agree with you,” Prescott replied, “ that it would be highly 
 advantageous for me to visit Spain, and to dive into the arcana of those 
 libraries which, you say, contain such ample stores of iiistory, and I assure 
 you, that, as I am situated, no consideration of domestic ease would detain 
 me a moment from an expedition, which, after all, would not consume more 
 than four or five months. But the state of my eyes, or rather eye, —- for 
 I have the use of only one half of this valuable apparatus, — precludes the 
 possibility of it. During the last year this one has been sadly plagued 
 with what the physicians are pleased to call a rheumatic inflammation, for 
 which I am now under treatment.1 have always found travel¬ 
 
 ling, with its necessary exposures, to be of infinite disservice to my eyes, 
 and in this state of them particularly I dare not risk it. 
 
 “ You will ask, with these disadvantages, how I can expect to succeed 
 * 
 
74 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 in my enterprise. I answer, that I hope always to have a partial use of 
 my eyes, and, for the rest, an intelligent reader, who is well acquainted 
 with French, Spanish, and Latin, will enable me to effect with my ears 
 what other people do with their eyes. The only material inconvenience 
 will be a necessarily more tedious and prolonged labor. Johnson says, in 
 his Life of Milton, that no man can compile a history who is blind. But 
 although I should lose the use of my vision altogether (an evil not in the 
 least degree probable), by the blessing of God, if my ears are spared me, 
 I will disprove the assertion, and my chronicle, whatever other demerits it 
 may have, shall not be wanting in accuracy and research. 9 If my health 
 continues thus, I shall necessarily be debarred from many of the convivial, 
 not to say social pleasures of life, and consequently must look to literary 
 pursuits as the principal and permanent source of future enjoyment. As 
 with these views I have deliberately taken up this project, and my pro 
 gress, since I have begun to break ground, entirely satisfies me of the 
 feasibility of the undertaking, you will not wonder that I should be ex¬ 
 tremely solicitous to bring within my control an ample quantity of original 
 materials, such as will enable me to achieve my design, and such as will 
 encourage me to pursue it with steady diligence, without fear of compe¬ 
 tition from any quarter.” 
 
 But his courage and patience were put to a new and severe 
 trial, before he could even place his foot upon the threshold of 
 the great undertaking whose difficulties he estimated so justly. 
 A dozen years later, in May, 1838, when the Ferdinand and 
 Isabella was already published, he made a memorandum in 
 pencil on the letter just cited : “ This very letter occasioned the 
 injury to the nerve from which I have never since recovered.” 
 Precisely what this injury may have been, I do not know. 
 He calls it at first “ a stiffness of the right eye,” as if it were a 
 recurrence there of the rheumatism which was always more or 
 less in some part of his person ; but a few months afterwards 
 he speaks of it as “ a new disorder.” It was, I apprehend, 
 only the result of an effort too great for the enfeebled organ, 
 and, whenever any considerable similar exertion during the 
 
 9 “ To compile a history from various authors, when they can only be con¬ 
 sulted by others’ eyes, is not easy, nor possible, without more skilful and at¬ 
 tentive help than can be commonly obtained; and it was probably the difficulty 
 of consulting and comparing, that stopped Milton’s narrative at the Conquest, 
 — a period at which affairs were not very intricate, nor authors very numer¬ 
 ous.”— Johnson’s Works, (London, 1816,) Vol. IX. p. 115. “ This remark of 
 the great critic,” says Prescott, in a note to the Preface of Ferdinand and Isa 
 bella, (1837,) where it is cited, — “ This remark, which first engaged my atten¬ 
 tion in the midst of my embarrassments, although discouraging at first, in the 
 end stimulated my desire to overcome them.” Nitor in adversum might have 
 been his motto. 
 
FLAN OF STUDY FOR FERDINAND AND ISABELLA. 75 
 
 rest of his life was required from it, he used to describe the 
 sensation he experienced as “ a strain of- the nerve.” It was, 
 no doubt, something of the sort on this occasion, and he felt for 
 a time much discouraged by it. 
 
 The letter which it had cost him so much to write, because 
 he thought it necessary to do it with uncommon care, was left 
 in his portfolio to wait the result of this fresh and unexpected 
 attack on the poor resources of his sight. It was a painful 
 interval. Severe remedies were used. The cuppings then 
 made on Ms temples left marks that he carried to his grave. 
 But in his darkened room, where I constantly saw Mm, and 
 sometimes read to him, Ms spirits never failed. He bated “ no 
 jot of heart or hope.” 
 
 At last, after above four weary months, which he passed 
 almost always in a dark room, and during which he made no 
 record, I find an entry among his memoranda dated “ June 4, 
 1826. A melancholy gap,” he says, “ occasioned by tMs new 
 disorder in the eye. It has, however, so much abated this sum¬ 
 mer, that I have sent my orders to Madrid. I trust I may yet 
 be permitted to go on with my original plan. What I can’t 
 read may be read to me. I will secure what I can of the 
 foreign tongues, and leave the English to my secretary. When 
 I can’t get six, get four hours per day. I must not waste time 
 in going too deeply or widely into my subject; or, rather, I 
 must confine myself to what exclusively and directly concerns 
 it. I must abjure manuscript and fine print. I must make 
 memoranda accurate and brief of every book I read for this 
 object. Travelling at this lame gait, I may yet hope in five or 
 six years to reach the goal.” In tliis, however, he was mis¬ 
 taken. It proved to be twice as much. 
 
 As soon as the order for books was despatched, he made Ms 
 plan of work. It was as ample and bold as if nothing had oc¬ 
 curred to cheek Ms hopes. 
 
 “ My general coarse of study,” he says, “must be as follows. 1. Gen¬ 
 eral Laws, &c. of Nations. 2. History and Constitution of England. 
 3. History and Government of other European Nations, — France, Italy 
 to 1550, Germany, Portugal. Under the last two divisions, I am partic¬ 
 ularly to attend to the period intervening between 1400 and 1550. 4. Gen¬ 
 eral History of Spain, — its Geography, its Civil, Ecclesiastical, Statistical 
 Concerns ; particularly from 1400 to 1550. 5, Ferdinand’s Keignen grot- 
 
76 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 6. Whatever concerns such portions of my subject as I am immediately 
 to treat of. The general division of it I will arrange when I have gone 
 through the first five departments. 
 
 “ This order of study I shall pursue, as far as my eyes will allow. When 
 they are too feeble to be used, I must have English writers read to me, and 
 then I will select such works as have the nearest relation to the department 
 of study which I may be investigating.” 
 
 Immediately after this general statement of his plan follows 
 a list of several hundred volumes to be read or consulted, 
 which would have been enough, one would think, to alarm 
 the stoutest heart, and severely tax the best eyes. This, indeed, 
 he sometimes felt to be the case. Circumstances seemed occa¬ 
 sionally to be stronger than his strong will. He tried, for 
 instance, soon after making the last record, to read a little, and, 
 went at the most moderate rate, through half a volume of 
 Montesquieu’s “ Esprit des Lois,” which was to be one of the 
 first stepping-stones to his great fabric. But the trouble in his 
 sig'ht was so seriously aggravated by even this experiment, very 
 cautiously made, that lie recorded it as “ a warning to desist 
 from all further use of his eye for the present, if not for ever.” 
 In fact, for three months and more he did not venture to open 
 a book. 
 
 At the end of that time he began to doubt whether, during 
 the period in which it now seemed all but certain that he 
 could have no use of his eye, and must often be shut up in a 
 darkened room, he had not better, without giving up his main 
 purpose, undertake some other work more manageable than 
 one that involved the use of books in several foreign languages. 
 On the 1st of October, therefore, he records, evidently with 
 great regret: — 
 
 “ As it may probably be some years before I shall be able to use my 
 ,>wu eyes in study, or eveu find a suitable person to read foreign languages 
 to me, 1 have determined to postpone my Spanish subject, and to occupy 
 myself with an Historical Survey of English Literature. The subject has 
 never been discussed as a whole, and therefore would be somewhat new, 
 and, if well conducted, popular. But the great argument with me is, that, 
 while it is a subject with which my previous studies have made me toler¬ 
 ably acquainted and have furnished me with abundance of analogies in 
 foreign literatures, it is one which I may investigate nearly as well with 
 my ears as with my eyes, and it will not be difficult to find good readers 
 in the Euglisli, though extremely difficult in any foreign language. Faux¬ 
 in m sit.” 
 
DIFFICULTIES IN FINDING A READER. 
 
 77 
 
 A month, however, was sufficient to satisfy him that this 
 was a mistake, and that the time which, with his ultimate 
 purpose of writing a large work on Spanish history, he could 
 afford to give to this intercalary project, could do little with a 
 subject so broad as English literature. After looking through 
 Warton’s fragment and Turner’s Anglo-Saxons, he therefore 
 writes, November 5th, 1826 : — 
 
 “ I have again, and I trust finally, determined to prosecute my former 
 subject, the Iieign of Ferdinand and Isabella. In taking a more accurate 
 survey of iny projected English Literary History, I am convinced it will 
 take at least five years to do anything at all satisfactory to myself, and I 
 cannot be content to be so long detained from a favorite subject, and one 
 for which I shall have such rare and valuable materials in my own pos¬ 
 session. But what chiefly influences me is the prospect of obtaining some 
 one, in the space of a year, who, by a competent knowledge of foreign 
 languages, will enable me to pursue my original design with nearly as 
 great facility as I should possess for the investigation of English literature. 
 And I am now fully resolved, that nothing but a disappointment in my 
 expected supplies from Spain shall prevent me from prosecuting my origi¬ 
 nal scheme; where, at any rate, success is more certain, if not more 
 easy.” 
 
 The difficulty that resulted from dhe want of a competent 
 reader was certainly a great one, and he felt it severely. He 
 talked with me much about it, but for a time there seemed no 
 remedy. He went, therefore, courageously through several 
 volumes of Spanish with a person who understood not a word 
 of what he was reading. It was awkward, tedious work,— 
 more disagreeable to the reader, probably, than it was to the 
 listener. But neither of them shrunk from the task, which 
 sometimes, notwithstanding its gravity and importance, seemed 
 ridiculous to both. 10 
 
 At last he was satisfied that his undertaking to write history 
 was certainly practicable, and that he could substantially ma ke 
 his ears do the work of his eyes. It was an important conclu- 
 
 10 In a letter to me written in the summer of 1827, when I happened to be 
 on a journey to Niagara, he says: “ My excellent reader and present scribe 
 reads to me Spanish with a true Castilian accent two hours a day, without 
 understanding a word of it. What do you think of this for the temperature 
 of the dog-days? and which should you rather be, the reader or the readee!” 
 In a letter ten years later—Dec. 20, 1837 — to his friend Mr. Bancroft, he 
 says, that among those readings by a person who did not know the language 
 were seven quarto volumes in Spanish. 
 
78 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 sion, and its date is, therefore, one of the turning points of his 
 life. He came to it about the time he prepared the letter to 
 Mr. Everett, and in consequence provided himself for a few 
 months with a young reader of more accomplishments, who 
 subsequently became known in the world of letters, and was 
 among those who paid a tribute of graceful verse to the histo¬ 
 rian’s memory. 11 
 
 This, however, was only a temporary expedient, and he was 
 desirous to have something which should be permanent. It 
 cost not a little time and labor to fit anybody for duties so 
 peculiar, and he had no time and labor to spare, especially if 
 the embarrassment should recur as often as it had heretofore. 
 Thinking, from my connection with Harvard College, where I 
 was then at the head of the department of Modern Literature, 
 that I might be acquainted with some young man who, on 
 completing his academic career, would be willing to become 
 his secretary for a considerable period, he addressed himself to 
 me. I advised with the instructors in the four modern lan¬ 
 guages, who knew the especial qualifications of their pupils 
 better than I did, and a fortunate result was soon reached. 
 Mr. James L. English, who was then a member of the College, 
 accepted a proposition to study his profession in the office of 
 Mr. Prescott, senior, and of his son-in-law, Mr. Dexter, who 
 was then associated with the elder Mr. Prescott as a counsellor, 
 and at the same time to read and write for the son five or six 
 hours every day. This arrangement did not, however, take 
 effect until after Mr. English was graduated, in 1827 ; and it 
 continued, much to the satisfaction of both parties, for four 
 years. It was the happy beginning of a new order of things 
 for the studies of the liistorian, and one which, with different 
 secretaries or readers, he was able to keep up to the last. 12 
 
 During the interval of almost a year, which immediately pre- 
 
 n Mr. George Lunt. 
 
 12 Mr. Prescott’s different readers and secretaries were, as nearly as I can 
 remember and make out, — George R. M. Withington, for a short period, 
 which I cannot exactly determine; George Lunt, 1825-26; Hamilton Parker, 
 1826-27 ; James Lloyd English, 1827-31; Henry Cheever Siinonds, 1881- 
 35; E. Dwight Williams, 1835-40; George F. Ware, 1840-42; Edmund B. 
 Otis, 1842-46; George F. Ware again, 1846-47; Robert Carter, 1847-48; 
 John Foster Kirk, 1848-59. 
 
STUDIES OF A YEAR. 
 
 79 
 
 ceded the commencement of Mr. English’s services, nothing 
 is more striking than the amount and thoroughness of Mr. 
 Prescott’s studies. It in fact was a broad basis that he now 
 began to lay, in defiance of all the difficulties that beset him, 
 for a superstructure which yet, as he clearly foresaw, could be 
 erected only after a very long interval, if, indeed, he should 
 ever be permitted to erect it. It was, too, a basis laid in the 
 most deliberate manner, slowly and surely; for, as he could not 
 now read at all himself, every page, as it was listened to, had to 
 be carefully considered, and its contents carefully appropriated. 
 Among the books thus read to him were Montesquieu’s “ Spirit 
 of Laws,” Enfield’s “ History of Philosophy,” Smith’s “ Wealth 
 of Nations,” Hallam’s “ Middle Ages,” Blackstone’s “ Commen¬ 
 taries,” Vol. L, Millar’s “ English Government,” the four con¬ 
 cluding volumes of Gibbon, parts of Turner’s “ History of Eng¬ 
 land,” parts of Mosheim’s “Ecclesiastical History” and of John 
 Muller’s “ Universal History,” Mills’s “ History of Chivalry,” 
 the Memoirs of Com mines, Robertson’s “ Charles the Fifth,” 
 and his “ America,” and Watson’s “ Philip the Second.” Be¬ 
 sides all this, he listened to translations of Plato’s “ Phasdo,” of 
 Epictetus, of the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, and of Cice¬ 
 ro’s “ Tusculan Questions ” and “ Letters ”; and, finally, he 
 went in the same way through portions of Sismondi’s “ Rdpub- 
 liques Italiennes ” in the original, as an experiment, and be¬ 
 came persuaded, from the facility with which he understood it 
 when read at the rate of twenty-four pages an hour, that he 
 should meet with no absolutely insurmountable obstacle in the 
 prosecution of any of his historical plans. Everything, there¬ 
 fore, went according to his wish, and seemed propitious ; but 
 his eyes remained in a very bad state. He was often in a dark 
 room, and never able to use them for any of the practical pur¬ 
 poses of study. 13 
 
 18 He makes hardly a note about his opinion on the authors embraced in 
 his manifold studies this year, from want of sight to do it. But what he re¬ 
 cords about Robertson and Watson, brief as it is, is worth notice, because 
 these writers both come upon his chosen track. “ Robertson’s extensive sub¬ 
 ject,” he says, “ is necessarily deficient in connection; but a lively interest is 
 kept up by a perpetual succession of new discoveries and brilliant adventures, 
 seasoned with sagacious reflections, and enriched with a clear and vigorous 
 diction.” In some remarks concerning Charles V., thirty years later, he does 
 Dr. Robertson the homage of calling him “ the illustrious Scottish historian,” 
 
80 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Still, as always, his spirits rose with the occasion, and his 
 courage proved equal to Ids spirits. He had a large part of 
 the Spanish grammar read over to him, that he might feel 
 quite sure-footed in the language, and then, confirming anew 
 Ids determination to write the History of Ferdinand and Isa¬ 
 bella, he pushed vigorously forward with his investigations in 
 that direction. 
 
 He read, or rather listened tc, Koch’s “ Revolutions de 
 l’Europe”; Voltaire’s “ Essai sur les Moeurs”; Gibbon, so far 
 as the Visigoths in Spain are concerned; and Conde’s “ Spanish 
 Arabs.” As he approached Ids main subject more nearly, he 
 went through the reigns of several of the preceding and follow¬ 
 ing Spanish sovereigns in Ferreras’s General History of Spain, 
 as well as in Rabbe, Morales, and Bigland; adding the whole of 
 Gaillard’s “ Rivalite de la France et de l’Espagne,” and of the 
 Abbe Mignot’s meagre “ Ilistoire de Ferdinand et Isabelle.” 
 The geography of the country he had earlier studied on minute 
 maps, when his eyes had for a short time permitted such use 
 of them, and he now endeavored to make himself familiar with 
 the Spanish people and their national character, by listening to 
 such travellers as Bourgoing and Townsend. Finally, he fin¬ 
 ished tins part of his preparation by going afresh over the con¬ 
 cluding portions of Mariana’s eloquent History; thus obtaining 
 from so many different sources, not only a sufficient and more 
 than sufficient mere basis for his own work, but from Mariana 
 the best general outline for it that existing materials could fur¬ 
 nish. It is not easy to see how he could have been more thor¬ 
 ough and careful, even if he had enjoyed the full use of iiis 
 sight, nor how, with such an infirmity, he could deliberately 
 have undertaken and carried out a course of merely preparatory 
 studies so ample and minute. 
 
 But he perceived thb peculiar embarrassments, as well as the 
 great resources, of his subject, and endeavored to provide against 
 them by long consideration and reflection beforehand. In his 
 Memoranda he says : —• 
 
 but enters into no discussion of his peculiar merits. Of Watson, on the con¬ 
 trary, in his private notes of 1S27, he says that he is “ a meagre uuphilosoph- 
 icai chronicler of the richest period of Spanish history an opinion substan¬ 
 tially confirmed in the Preface to his own Philip II., in 1855, where a com¬ 
 pliment is paid to Robertson at Watson’s expense. 
 
VIEW OF HIS SUBJECT. 
 
 81 
 
 “ I must not be too fastidious, nor too anxious to amass every authority 
 that can bear upon the subject. The materials that will naturally offer 
 themselves to me are abundant enough, in all conscience. Whatever I 
 write will have the merit at least of novelty to an English reader. In 
 such parts of the subject, therefore, as have been well treated by French 
 writers, I had better take them pretty closely for my guides, without troub¬ 
 ling myself to hunt more deeply, except only for corroborative authorities, 
 which can be easily done. It is fortunate that this subject is little known 
 to English readers, while many parts of it have been ably discussed by 
 accessible foreign writers, — such as Marina and Sempere for the Consti¬ 
 tution ; Llorente for the Inquisition; the sixth volume of the Historical 
 Transactions of the Spanish Academy for the influence and many details 
 of Isabella’s reign, &c.; Elechier for the life of Ximenes ; Varillas for the 
 foreign policy of Ferdinand; Sismondi for the Italian wars and for the 
 general state of Italian and European politics in that age, while the reflec¬ 
 tions of this historian passim may furnish me with many good hints in an 
 investigation of the Spanish history and politics.” 
 
 This was the view he took of his subject, as he fully con¬ 
 fronted it for the first time, and considered how, with such use 
 of his eyes as he then had, he could best address himself to the 
 necessary examination of his authorities. But he now, and for 
 some time subsequent, contemplated a shorter work than the one 
 he finally wrote, and a work of much less learned pretensions. 
 As, however, he advanced, he found that the most minute 
 investigations, such as he had above considered beyond his 
 reach, would be both necessary and agreeable. He began, 
 therefore, very soon, to examine all the original sources with 
 painstaking perseverance, and to compare them, not only with 
 each other, but with the interpretations that had subsequently 
 been put upon them. He struck much more widely and 
 boldly than he had intended or thought important. In short, 
 he learned — and he learned it soon — that it is necessary for 
 a conscientious author to read everything upon the subject he 
 means to discuss ; the poor and bad books, as well as those 
 upon which his reliance will ultimately be placed. He cannot 
 otherwise feel strong or safe. 
 
 Mr. Prescott had just reached this point in his studies, when, 
 in the autumn of 1827, Mr. English became his reader and 
 secretary. The first collection of books and manuscripts from 
 Madrid had been received a little earlier. But they had not 
 yet been used. They had come at a most unlucky moment, 
 when his eye was in a more than commonly suffering state, and 
 
 4 * F 
 
82 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PKESCOTT. 
 
 they presented anything but a cheerful prospect to him, as they 
 lay unpacked and spread out on the floor of his study. As he 
 said long afterwards, “ In my disabled condition, with my Trans¬ 
 atlantic treasures lying around me, I was like one pining from 
 hunger in the midst of abundance.” 14 
 
 But he went to work in earnest with Ins new secretary. The 
 room in which they sat was an upper one in the back part of 
 the fine old house in Bedford Street, retired and quiet, and 
 every way well fitted for its purpose. Mr. English, in an 
 interesting letter to me, thus truly describes it. 
 
 “ Two sides of the room,” he says, “ were lined with books from floor 
 to ceiling. On the easterly side was a green screen, which darkened that 
 part of the room towards which he turned his face as he sat at his ■writing- 
 table. On the westerly side was one window covered by several curtains 
 of light-blue muslin, so arranged that any one of them could be wholly or 
 partially raised, and thus temper the light exactly to the ability of his eye 
 to bear it, as the sky might happen to be bright or cloudy, or his eye more 
 or less sensitive. In the centre of the room stood his writing-table, at 
 which he sat in a rocking-chair with his back towards the curtained win¬ 
 dow, and sometimes with a green shade over his eyes. When we had a 
 fire, he used only coke in the grate, as giving out no flame, and he fre¬ 
 quently placed a screen between himself and the grate to keep off the 
 glare of the embers. At the northwesterly corner of the room was the only 
 window not partly or wholly darkened. It was set high up in the wall, 
 and under it was my chair. I was thus brought a short distance from his 
 left side, and rather behind him, — as a sailor would say, on his quarter. 
 In this position I read aloud to him regularly every day, from ten o’clock 
 in the forenoon to two in the afternoon, and from about six in the evening 
 to eight.” 
 
 They began by reading portions of Llorente’s “ Histoire de 
 l’lnquisition ” ; but their first serious attack was on the chroni¬ 
 cles of Andres Bemaldez, not then printed, but obtained by 
 him in manuscript from Madrid, — a gossiping, amusing book, 
 whose accounts extend from 1488 to 1513, and are particularly 
 important for the Moorish wars and the life of Columbus. But 
 the young secretary found it very hard reading. 
 
 “ A huge parchment-covered manuscript,” he calls Bcrnaldez, “ my old 
 enemy; from whose pages I read and reread so many hours that I shall 
 never forget him. Mr. Prescott considered the book a great acquisition, 
 and would sit for hours hearing me read it in the Spanish, — at first with 
 great difficulty and until I got familiar with the chirography. How he 
 could understand me at first, as I blundered along, I could not conceive. 
 
 14 Conquest of Peru, (1867), Vol. I. p. xvi. 
 
MODES OF WORK. 
 
 83 
 
 If he was annoyed, — as he well might be, — he never betrayed his feelings 
 to me. 
 
 “ lie seemed fully conscious of the difficulty of the task before him, but 
 resolutely determined to accomplish it, if human patience and perseverance 
 could do so. As I read any passages which he wished to impress on his 
 memory, he would say, ‘ Mark that,’ — that is, draw parallel lines in the 
 margin with a pencil against it. He used also to take a note or memo¬ 
 randum of anything he wished particularly to remember, with a reference 
 to it. His wiiting apparatus always lay open before him on the table, and 
 he usually sat with his ivory style in hand, ready to make his notes of 
 reference . 15 These notes I afterwards copied out in a very large round 
 ihand for his future use, and, when he began actually to write the history, 
 would read them over and verify the reference by the original authority, 
 if he required it. I think, however, he did not very often find it necessary 
 to refer to the book, as he seemed to have cultivated his memory to a very 
 high degree, and had, besides, a habit of reflecting upon and arranging in 
 his mind, or ‘ digesting,’ as he phrased it, the morning’s reading while sit¬ 
 ting alone afterwards in his study. A graphic phrase it was, too, consid¬ 
 ering that he rook in through his ears I don’t know how many pages at a 
 four hours’ session of steady reading. The wonder was, how he could 
 find time to ‘ digest ’ such a load between the sessions. But thus he fixed 
 the substance of what had been read to him in his mind, and impressed the 
 results of the forenoon’s work on his memory. 
 
 “ When I first began to read to Mr. Prescott, his eye was in a very sen¬ 
 sitive state, and he did not attempt to use it at all. After some months, 
 however, it got stronger, and he would sit at the curtained window, with a 
 volume open upon a frame on a stand, and read himself, marking passages 
 as he went along. While so reading, he would frequently raise or lower, 
 wholly or partially, one or more of the blue curtains. Each of them had 
 its separate cord, which he knew as well as a sailor knows his ropes. Every 
 little white cloud that passed across the sky required a change in the ar¬ 
 rangement of these curtains, so sensitive was his eye to a variation of light 
 imperceptible to me. But it was only a portion of the time that he could 
 do this. His eye would give way or he would feel symptoms of return¬ 
 ing trouble, and then, for weeks together, he would be compelled to take 
 his old seat in the rocking-chair, and return to the slow process of listening 
 and marking passages, and having his notes and memoranda read over to 
 him as at first.” 
 
 How sound and practical his general views were can be seen 
 from his plan of work at this moment, when he had deter¬ 
 mined what he would do, but did not think himself nearly 
 ready even to begin the actual composition of the History itself. 
 In October, 1828, when they had been at work for a year 
 in this preparatory reading, but during which his private 
 
 I® His peculiar writing apparatus, already alluded to, will be presently 
 described. It was the noctograph, which he had obtained in England. 
 
84 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 memoranda, owing to the state of his eye, had been very 
 meagre, he says : — 
 
 “ By the intermixture of reading for a given chapter and then writing 
 for it, I shall be able, with the relief which this alternate occupation will 
 give my eyes, to accomplish a good deal with them, I trust. After I have 
 finished Bcmaldez’s manuscript and the few remaining pages of Herreras, 
 and looked through the ‘ Modern Universal History ’ from the accession of 
 the house of Trastamara to the end of the reigns of the Catholic kings, and 
 looked into Marina’s ‘ Theory of the Cortes,’ which will scarcely require 
 more than a fortnight, I shall be prepared to begin to read for my first 
 chapter.” 
 
 He added to this a syllabus of what, from the point of view 
 at which he then stood, he thought might be the arrangement 
 of his materials for the first two chapters of his work; noting 
 the length of time he might need to prepare himself to begin 
 to write, and afterwards the time necessary to complete them. 
 That he was willing to he patient is clear from the fact that 
 he allowed two hundred and fifty-six days, or eight months 
 and a half to this preparatory reading, although he had already 
 been two years, more or less, on the work; and that he was 
 not to be discouraged by slowness of actual progress is equally 
 clear, for, although it was above fourteen months before he 
 finished this part of his task, yet at the end of that time hie 
 courage and hopes were as high as ever. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 1829 - 1837 . 
 
 J>eath of ms Daughter. — Inquiries into the Truth of the Chris¬ 
 tian Religion. — Results. — Examines toe History of the Span¬ 
 ish Arabs. — Reviews Irving’s “Granada.” — Studies for his 
 Work on Ferdinand and Isabella. — Begins to write it. — Re¬ 
 gard for Marly and Clkmencin. — Progress of iiis Work. — Ax 
 Pepperell. — At Naiiant. — Finishes the “ History of Ferdi¬ 
 nand and Isabella.” 
 
 T HE long delay referred to in the last chapter was in 
 part owing to a severe sorrow which fell on him in the 
 winter of 1828 - 9, and stopped him in mid-career. On the 1st 
 of February, the eldest of his two children died. It was a 
 daughter, born on the 23d of September, 1824, and therefore 
 four years and four or five months old, — a charming, gentle 
 child of much promise, who had been named after her grand 
 mother, Catherine Hickling. He had doted on her. His 
 mother said most truly, writing to Mrs. Ticknor in 1825 : “ It 
 is a very nice little girl, and William is one of the happiest 
 fathers you ever saw. All the time he can spare from Italian 
 and Spanish studies is devoted to this little pet.” Mr. English 
 remembers well how she used to be permitted to come into the 
 study, and interrupt whatever work was going on there, much 
 to his own satisfaction as well as to the father’s, for her en¬ 
 gaging ways had won the secretary’s love too. The shock of her 
 death was very great, and was, besides, somewhat sudden. 1 
 have seldom seen sorrow more deep ; and, what was remark¬ 
 able, the grandfather and grandmother were so much overcome 
 by it as to need the consolation they would otherwise have 
 gladly given. It was, indeed, a much distressed house. 1 
 
 1 In a letter dated June 30, 1844, to Don Pascual de Gayangos, who had 
 just suffered from the loss of a young child, Mr. Prescott says, “ A similar 
 calamity befell me some years since. It was my favorite child, taken away 
 at the age of four, when all the loveliness and vivacity of the character is 
 opening upon us. I never can suffer again as I then did. It was my first 
 heavy sorrow; and I suppose we cannot feel twice so bitterly.” 
 
86 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 But the father wrought out consolation for himself in his own 
 way. A fortnight after the death of his child he records: — 
 
 “February 15th, 1829. — The death of my dearest daughter on the 
 first day of this month having made it impossible for me at present to re¬ 
 sume the task of composition, I have been naturally led to more serious 
 reflection than usual, and have occupied myself with reviewing the grounds 
 of the decision which I made in 1819 in favor of the evidences of the 
 Christian revelation. I have endeavored and shall endeavor to prosecute 
 this examination with perfect impartiality, and to guard against the pres¬ 
 ent state of my feelings influencing my mind any further than by leading 
 it to give to the subject a more serious attention. And, so far, such influ¬ 
 ence must be salutary and reasonable, and far more desirable than any 
 counter influence which might be exerted by any engrossing occupation 
 with the cares and dissipation of the world. So far, I believe, I have con¬ 
 ducted the matter with sober impartiality.” 
 
 What he did on this subject, as on all others, he did thor¬ 
 oughly and carefully. His secretary read to him the principal 
 books which it was then considered important to go through 
 when making a fair examination of the supernatural claims of 
 Christianity. Among them, on the one side, were Hume’s 
 “ Essays,” and especially the one on Miracles; Gibbon’s fif¬ 
 teenth chapter, and parts of the sixteenth ; Middleton’s “ Free 
 Inquiry,” which whatever were its author’s real opinions, leans 
 towards unbelief; and Soame Jenyns’s somewhat easy discus¬ 
 sion of the Evidences, which is yet not wanting in hidden skill 
 and acuteness. On the other hand, he took Watson’s “Apol¬ 
 ogy ” ; Brown’s “ Lectures,” so far as they are an amplification 
 of his admirably condensed “ Essay on Cause and Effect ” : 
 several of Waterland’s treatises; Butler’s “Analogy” and Pa- 
 ley’s “ Evidences,” with the portions of Lardner needful to 
 explain and illustrate them. The last three works he valued 
 more than all the others. But I think he relied mainly upon a 
 careful reading of the Four Gospels, and an especial inquiry 
 into each one of the Saviour’s miracles, as related by each of 
 the Evangelists. This investigation he made with his father’s 
 assistance ; and, when it was over, he said that he considered 
 such an examination, made with an old and learned lawyer, was 
 a sufficient pledge for the severity of his scrutiny. He might 
 have added, that it was the safer, because the person who 
 helped him in making it was not only a man of uncommon 
 fairness of mind, perspicacity, and wisdom, but one who was 
 
TRUTH OF CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 87 
 
 very cautious, and, on all matters of evidence, had a tendency 
 to scepticism rather than credulity. 
 
 The conclusions at which he arrived were, that the narra¬ 
 tives of the Gospels were authentic; that, after so careful an 
 examination of them, he ought not to. permit his mind to be 
 disturbed on the same question again, unless he should be able 
 to make an equally faithful revision of the whole subject; and 
 that, even if Christianity were not a divine revelation, no sys¬ 
 tem of morals was so likely to fit him for happiness here and 
 hereafter. But he did not find in the Gospels, or in any part 
 of the New Testament, the doctrines commonly accounted 
 orthodox, and he deliberately recorded his rejection of them. 
 On one minor point, too, he was very explicit. He declared his 
 purpose to avoid all habits of levity on religious topics. And 
 to this purpose, I believe, he adhered rigorously through life. 
 At least, I am satisfied that I never heard him use light expres¬ 
 sions or allusions of any kind when speaking of Christianity, or 
 when referring to the Scriptures. His mind, in fact, was rev¬ 
 erential in its very nature, and so was his father’s. 2 
 
 After a few weeks devoted to these inquiries, he resumed 
 his accustomed studies. At the moment when they had been 
 broken off, he was not employed regularly on his History. He 
 had already stepped aside to write an article for the “ North- 
 American Review.” During eight years he had been in the 
 habit occasionally of contributing what he sometimes called 
 “ his peppercorn ” to that well-established and respectable peri¬ 
 odical ; regarding his contributions as an exercise in writing 
 which could not fail to be useful to him. His first experiments 
 
 2 It was noticed by one of the members of his Club,— Dr. John Ware, 
 whose judgment and acuteness render his observation important, — that Mr. 
 Prescott was much interested whenever the subject of religion, or anything 
 that claimed to be connected with the spiritual world, came up in the familiar 
 discussions of their meetings. “He was always desirous,” says Dr. Ware, 
 u to hear something about magnetism, when that was in vogue, and still more 
 about spiritual manifestations, when they came in fashion.” This falls in 
 with my owu recollections and impressions. He went once certainly, and I 
 think more than once, to witness the exhibitions of a medium. But no effect 
 was produced on his mind. He was always slow of belief. His historical judg¬ 
 ments prove this, and what he saw of “ the manifestations,” as they were 
 called, rested on nothing like the evidence he was accustomed to require. 
 Besides, they offended the sentiment of reverence, which, as I have said 
 was strong in his whole nature. 
 
68 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 of this sort, saving always the youthful failure already recorded, 
 were, I suppose, two short articles, in 1821, on Sprague’s beau¬ 
 tifully prize “ Ode to Shakespeare,” and on Byron’s Letter 
 upon Pope. These had been followed, with the regularity 
 that marked almost everything he did, by a single article on 
 some literary subject every succeeding year. It was an excel¬ 
 lent discipline for him as a beginner, and although, from the slow¬ 
 ness witli which he necessarily worked, it took much time, he 
 never, I think, seriously regretted the sacrifice it implied. 
 
 But now, being engrossed with his inquiries into early Span 
 ish history, he preferred to take a subject immediately con¬ 
 nected with them. He wrote, therefore, an article on Conde's 
 “ History of the Arabs in Spain,” comprising a general view of 
 the Arabian character and civilization. It was prepared with 
 great care. He gave much time to previous reading and study 
 on the subject, — I do not know exactly how much, but cer¬ 
 tainly three months, probably four, — and it was not till nearly 
 seven months after he first began to collect materials for the 
 article that it was completed ; 8 from which, however, should 
 be deducted the sorrowful period of several weeks that preceded 
 and followed his little daughter’s death. But, after all, lie did 
 not send it to the periodical publication for which it had been 
 written. He found, perhaps, that it was too important for his 
 own ulterior purposes; certainly, that it was not fitted for the 
 more popular tone of such a work as the “ North American.” 
 Substituting for it, therefore, a pleasant article on Irving’s 
 “ Conquest of Granada,” which had cost him much less labor, 
 but which was quite as interesting, he laid the one on Coude 
 quietly aside, and finally, with some modifications, used it as 
 the eighth chapter in the First Part of his “ Ferdinand and Isa¬ 
 bella,” where it stands now, an admirable foreground to the 
 brilliant picture of the siege and fall of Granada 4 
 
 8 The manuscript notes for this article, now before me, are extraordinarily 
 elaborate and minute. They fill two hundred and forty-four large foolscap 
 pages, and have an index to them. 
 
 4 Mr. Bancroft, in a review of “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” selects this chap 
 ter as a happy illustration of the faithful industry with which the work is 
 written. “ Let any American scholar,” he says, “ turn, for instance, to the 
 chapter on the literature of the Saracens, and ask himself, how long a period 
 would be required to prepare for writing it.” — Democratic Review, (1838,) 
 Vol. II. p. 1G2. 
 
IRVING’S CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 
 
 89 
 
 It was June, 1829, before be returned to bis regular read¬ 
 ings preparatory to the actual composition of Ferdinand and 
 Isabella. In his more leisure hours, generally in the evening, 
 he went over several works, half biography, half history,— 
 such as Miss Aildn’s “ Queen Elizabeth,” Voltaire’s “ Charles 
 XII.,” and Roscoe’s “Lorenzo de’Medici” and his “Leo X.,”— 
 to see if he could glean from them any ideas for the general 
 management of his subject; while, for easy, finished narrative, 
 he listened to large portions of Barante’s “ Dues de Bour¬ 
 gogne,” and studied with some care Thierry, — the marvellous, 
 blind Thierry, —for whom he always felt a strong sympathy in 
 consequence of their common misfortune, and to whose manner 
 of treating history with a free citation of the old ballads and 
 clironicles he was much inclined. From all this, perhaps, he 
 gained little, except warnings what to avoid. At the same 
 time, however, that he was doing it, he gave his forenoons to 
 the direct, severe study of his subject. He advanced slowly, 
 to be sure; for his eyes were in a very bad state, and he was 
 obliged to depend entirely on his reader when going through 
 even such important works as those of Marina and Sempere 
 on the Cortes, and Palencia’s Chronicle of the time of Henry 
 IV. Still he got on, and, in the course of the summer, pre¬ 
 pared an elaborate synopsis of the chief events to be discussed 
 in his contemplated history ; all chronologically arranged from 
 1454, when John II., Isabella’s father, died, to 1516, the 
 date of Ferdinand’s death, which, of course, would close the 
 work. 
 
 From this synopsis, and especially from the estimate it in¬ 
 volved of the proportions of its different divisions, he, indeed, 
 sometimes varied, as his ample materials were unrolled before 
 him. But the whole plan, as he then digested it, shows that 
 he had mastered the outline of his subject, and comprehended 
 justly the relations and combinations of its various parts. He 
 thought, however, that he could bring it all into two moderate 
 volumes in octavo. In this he was mistaken. The work, from 
 Iris thorough and faithful treatment of it, grew under his 
 hands, and the world is not sorry that at last it was extended 
 to three. 
 
 On the 6th of October, 1829, — three years and a half from 
 
90 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 the time when he had selected his subject, and begun to work 
 upon it, — he finally broke ground with its actual composition. 
 He had then been three months reading and taking notes ex¬ 
 clusively for the first chapter. It was a month before that 
 chapter was finished, and afterwards it was all rewritten. 
 Two months more brought him to the end of the third chap¬ 
 ter ; and, although the space filled by the three so greatly 
 overran the estimate in his synopsis as to alarm him, he still 
 felt that he had made good progress, and took courage. He 
 was, in fact, going on at a rate which would make his History 
 fill five volumes, and yet it was long before he gave up the 
 struggle to keep it down to two. Similar trouble he encoun¬ 
 tered all the way through his work. He was constantly over¬ 
 running his own calculations, and unreasonably dissatisfied 
 with himself for his mistakes and bad reckoning. 
 
 Two things are noteworthy at this stage of his progress, 
 because one of them influenced the whole of his subsequent 
 life as an historian, and the other did much towards giving a 
 direction and tone to his discussion of the characters and reign 
 of Ferdinand and Isabella. 
 
 The first is his increased regard for Mably as a counsellor 
 and guide. In January, 1830, after looking afresh through 
 some of Mably’s works, there occurs the following notice of 
 him, chiefly with reference to his treatise “ Sur l’Etude de 
 1’ Ilistoire,” which, as we have already noticed, had engaged 
 his careful attention five years earlier: 6 “ He takes wide views, 
 and his politics are characterized by directness and good faith. 
 I have marked occasionally passages in the portions I have 
 looked over which will be worth recurring to. I like particu¬ 
 larly his notion of the necessity of giving an interest as well as 
 utility to history, by letting events tend to some obvious point 
 or moral; in short, by paying such attention to the develop¬ 
 ment of events tending to this leading result, as one would in 
 the construction of a romance or a drama.” A few days after¬ 
 wards he records the way in which he proposes to apply this 
 principle to the “ History of Ferdinand and Isabella.” With 
 
 * He calls Mably “ a perspicuous, severe, shrewd, and sensible writer, full 
 of thought, and of such thoughts as set the reader upon thinking fot 
 himself.” 
 
USE OF MABLY. 
 
 yi 
 
 what success he subsequently carried it out in his “ Conquest 
 of Mexico ” need not be told. In each instance he was aware 
 of the direction his work was taking, and cites Mably as the 
 authority for it. The same purpose is plain in the “ Conquest 
 of Peru,” although the conditions of the case did not permit it 
 to be equally applicable. 6 
 
 The other circumstance to which I referred, as worthy of 
 notice at this time, is Mr. Prescott’s increased and increasing 
 sense of the importance of what Don Diego Clemencin had 
 done in his “ Elogio de la Reina Dona Isabel,” for the life of 
 that great sovereign. This remarkable work, which, in an im¬ 
 perfect outline, its author had read to the Spanish Academy of 
 History in 1807, he afterwards enlarged and enriched, until, 
 when it was published in 1821, it filled the whole of the sixth 
 ample volume of the Memoirs of that learned body. Mr. 
 Prescott, above a year earlier, had consulted it, and placed it 
 among the books to be carefully studied, but now he used it 
 constantly. Later, he said it was “ a most rich repository of 
 unpublished facts, to be diligently studied by me at every 
 pausing point in my history.” And in a note at the end of 
 his sixth chapter he pronounces it to be a work of inestimable 
 service to the historian. These tributes to the modest, faithful 
 learning of the Secretary of the Spanish Academy of History, 
 who was afterwards its Director, are alike creditable to him 
 who offered them, and to Don Diego de Clemencin, who was 
 then no longer among the living, and to whom they could not, 
 therefore, be offered in flattery. 
 
 6 In 1841, when he was occupied with the “ Conquest of Mexico,” he says, 
 “ Have read for the tenth time, ‘ Mably sur PEtude de l’Histoire,’ full of ad¬ 
 mirable reflections and hints. Pity that his love of the ancients made him 
 high gravel-blind to the merits of the modems.” This treatise, which Mr. 
 Prescott studied with such care and perseverance, was written by Mably as 
 a part of the course of instruction arranged by Condillac, Mably’s kinsman, 
 for the use of the heir to the dukedom of Parma, and it was printed in 1775. 
 Mably was, no doubt, often extravagant and unsound in his opinions, and is 
 now little regarded. How the author of “ Ferdinand and Isabella ” hit upon a 
 work so generally overlooked, I do not know, except that nothing seemed to 
 escape him that could be made to serve his purpose. On another occasion, 
 when speaking of it, he implies that its precepts may not be applicable 
 to political histories generally, which often require a treatment more philo¬ 
 sophical. But that he consulted it much when writing the “ Ferdinand and 
 Isabella,” and the “ Conquest of Mexico,” is not doubtful. 
 
92 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 But while the historian of Ferdinand and Isabella valued 
 Mably and Clemencin as trustworthy guides, he read every¬ 
 thing, and judged and decided for himself concerning every¬ 
 thing, as he went on. His progress, indeed, was on these and 
 on all accounts slow. His eye at this period was not in a con¬ 
 dition to enable him to use it except with the greatest caution. 
 He sometimes felt obliged to consider the contingency of losing 
 the use of it altogether, and had the courage to determine, even 
 in that event, to go on with his history. How patient he must 
 have been, we may judge from the fact, that, in sixteen months, 
 he was not able to accomplish more than three hundred pages. 
 But neither then, nor at any time afterwards, was he disheart¬ 
 ened by the ditliculties he encountered. On the contrary, al 
 though progress — perceptible progress — was very important 
 to liis happiness, he was content to have it veiy slow. Some¬ 
 times, however, he went on more easily, and then he was much 
 encouraged. In the summer of 1832, when he had been very 
 industrious for two months, he wrote to me, “ I have disposed 
 of three chapters of my work, which is pretty good hammer¬ 
 ing for a Cyclops.” Such intervals of freer labor gave him a 
 great impulse. He enjoyed his own industry and success, and 
 his original good spirits did the rest. 
 
 As he advanced, his subject cleared up before him, and he 
 arranged it at last in two nearly equal divisions; the first illus¬ 
 trating more particularly the domestic policy of the sovereigns, 
 and bringing Isabella into the foreground ; and the second mak¬ 
 ing their foreign policy and the influence and management of 
 Ferdinand more prominent. In each he felt more and more 
 the importance of giving interest to his work by preserving for 
 it a character of unity, and keeping in view some pervading 
 moral purpose. One thing, however, disappointed him. He 
 perceived certainly that it must be extended to three volumes. 
 This he regretted. But he resolved that in no event would 
 he exceed tliis estimate, and he was happily able to keep his 
 resolution, although it cost him much self-denial to do it. He 
 was constantly exceeding his allowance of space, and as con¬ 
 stantly condensing and abridging his work afterwards, so as to 
 come within it. To this part of his labor he gave full two 
 years. It was a long time; but, as he advanced with a step 
 
GEORGE BANCROFT, 
 
PROGRESS AND DIFFICULTIES. 
 
 93 
 
 assured by experience, his progress became at least more even 
 and easy, if not faster. 
 
 The early part of the summer of 1835, which he passed at 
 Pepperell, was peculiarly agreeable and happy. He felt that 
 his work was at last completely within his control, and was 
 approaching its termination. He even began to be impatient, 
 which he had never been before. 
 
 In a pleasant letter to his friend Mr. Bancroft, dated Pep¬ 
 perell, June 17, 1835, he says : — 
 
 “ I find the country, as usual, favorable to the historic Muse. I am so 
 near the term of my labors, that, if I were to remain here six months 
 longer, I should be ready to launch my cock-boat, or rather gondola, — for 
 it is a heavy three-volume affair,—into the world. A winter’s campaign¬ 
 ing in the metropolis, however, will throw me back, I suppose, six months 
 further. I have little more to do than bury and write the epitaphs of the 
 Great Captain, Ximenes, and Ferdinand. Columbus and Isabella are 
 already sent to their account. So my present occupation seems to be that 
 of a sexton, and I begin to weary of it.” 7 
 
 A month later he went, as usual, to the sea-shore for the hot 
 season. But, before he left the spot always so dear to him, 
 he recorded the following characteristic reflections and reso¬ 
 lutions : — 
 
 “July 12th, 1835. — In three days, the 15th, we leave Pepperell, hav¬ 
 ing been here nearly ten weeks. We found the country in its barren 
 spring, and leave it in the prime dress of summer. I have enjoyed the 
 time, and may look back on it with some satisfaction, for I have not 
 misspent it, as the record will show. 
 
 “ On the whole, there is no happiness so great as that of a permanent 
 and lively interest in some intellectual labor. I, at least, could never be 
 tolerably contented without it. When, therefore, I get so absorbed by 
 pleasures — particularly exciting pleasures — as to feel apathy, in any 
 degree, in my literary pursuits, just in that degree I am less happy. No 
 other enjoyment can compensate, or approach to, the steady satisfaction 
 and constantly increasing interest of active literary labor, — the subject of 
 meditation when I am out of my study, of diligent stimulating activity 
 within, — to say nothing of the comfortable consciousness of directing my 
 
 1 The mother of the future historian and statesman was an early friend of 
 the elder Mrs. Prescott, and the attachment of the parents was betimes trans¬ 
 ferred to the children. From the period of Mr. Bancroft’s return home, after 
 several years spent in Europe, where his academic course was completed, 
 this attachment was cemented by constant intercourse and intimacy with the 
 Prescott family, and was never broken until it was broken by death. Some 
 allusions to this friendship have already been made. More will be found 
 hereafter. 
 
94 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING TRESCOTT. 
 
 powers in some channel worthy of them, and of contributing something to 
 the stock of useful knowledge in the world. As this must be my princi¬ 
 pal material for happiness, I should cultivate those habits and amusements 
 most congenial with it, and these will be the quiet domestic duties — 
 which will also be my greatest pleasures — and temperate social enjoy¬ 
 ments, not too frequent and without excess; for the excess of to-day will 
 be a draft on health and spirits to-morrow. Above all, observe if my in¬ 
 terest be weakened in any degree in my pursuits. If so, be sure I am 
 pursuing a wrong course somewhere, — wrong even in an Epicurean sense 
 for my happiness, — and reform it at once. 
 
 “With these occupations and temperate amusement, seek to do son 
 good to society by an interest in obviously useful and benevolent objects 
 Preserve a calm, philosophical, elevated way of thinking on all subjects 
 connected with the action of life. Think more seriously of the conse¬ 
 quences of conduct. Cherish devotional feelings of reliance on the Deity. 
 Discard a habit of sneering or scepticism. Do not attempt impossibilities, 
 or, in other words, to arrive at certainty [as if] on questions of historic 
 evidence ; but be content that there is evidence enough to influence a 
 wise man in the course of his conduct, — enough to produce an assent, if 
 not a mathematical demonstration to his mind, — and that the great laws 
 for our moral government are laid down with undeniable, unimpeachable 
 tru.h.” 
 
 A week after the date of these last reflections, he was quietly 
 established at Nahant, having remained, as usual, two or three 
 days in Boston to look after affairs that could not be attended 
 to in the country. But he always disliked these periodical 
 changes and removals. They broke up his habits, and made 
 a return to his regular occupations more or less difficult and 
 unsatisfactory. On this occasion, coming from the tranquil¬ 
 lizing influences of Pepperell, where he had been more than 
 commonly industrious and happy, he makes an amusing rec¬ 
 ord of a fit of low spirits and impatience, which is worth 
 notice, because it is the only one to be found in all his memo¬ 
 randa : — 
 
 “July 19th. — Moved to Nahant yesterday. A most consumed fit ot 
 vapors. The place looks dreary enough after the green fields of Pep¬ 
 perell. Don’t like the air as well either, — too chilly, — find I bear and 
 like hot weather better than I used to. Begin to study, — that is the best 
 way of restoring equanimity. Be careful of my eyes at first, till accom¬ 
 modated to the glare. Hope I shall find this good working-ground, — 
 have generally found it so. This ink is too pale to write further. Every¬ 
 thing goes wrong here.” 
 
 But he had a good season for work at Nahant, after all. He 
 wrote there, not only the troublesome account of the Conquest 
 
FINISHES “ FERDINAND AND ISABELLA.' 
 
 95 
 
 of Navarre, but the brilliant chapters on the deaths of Gon- 
 salvo de Cdrdova and Ferdinand, leaving only the administra¬ 
 tion and fall of Cardinal Ximenes for a dignified close to the 
 whole narrative part of the history, and thus giving a sort of 
 tragical denouement to it, such as he desired. This he com¬ 
 pleted in Boston, about the middle of November. 
 
 A chapter to review the whole of his subject, and point it 
 with its appropriate moral, was, however, still wanted. It was 
 
 jitlicult task, and he knew it; for, among other things, it in¬ 
 volved a general and careful examination of the entire legis¬ 
 lation of a period in which great changes had taken place, and 
 permanent reforms had been introduced. He allowed five 
 months for it. It took above seven, but it is an admirable part 
 of his work, and worth all the time and labor it cost him. 
 
 At last, on the 25th of June, 1886, he finished the conclud¬ 
 ing note of the concluding chapter to the History of Ferdinand 
 and Isabella. Reckoning from the time when he wrote the 
 first page, or from a period a little earlier, when he prepared a 
 review of Conde on the Spanish Arabs, which he subsequently 
 made a chapter in his work, the whole had been on his hands 
 a little more than seven years and a half; and, deducting nine 
 months for illness and literary occupations not connected with 
 his History, he made out that he had written, during that time, 
 at the rate of two hundred and thirty-four printed pages a year. 
 But he had read and labored on the subject much in the two 
 or three years that preceded the beginning of its absolute 
 composition, and another year of corrections in the proof-sheets 
 followed before it was fairly delivered to the world at Christ¬ 
 mas, 1837. He was, therefore, exact, even after making all 
 the deductions that can belong to the case, when, in his general 
 estimate, he said that he had given to the work ten of the best 
 years of his Hfe. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 1837-1838. 
 
 Doubts about publishing the “ History op Ferdinand and Isabel¬ 
 la.”— Four Copies printed as it was written. — Opinions op 
 Friends. — The Author’s own Opinion of his Work. — Publishes 
 it. — His Letters about it. — Its Success. — Its Publication in 
 London. — Reviews of it in the United States and in Europe. 
 
 TRANGE as it may seem, it is nevertheless true, that 
 
 after these ten years of labor on the Ferdinand and Isa¬ 
 bella, and with the full happiness he felt on completing that 
 work, Mr. Prescott yet hesitated at last whether he should 
 publish it or not. As early as 1833, and from that time for¬ 
 ward, while the composition was going on, he had caused four 
 copies of it to be printed in large type on one side only of the 
 leaf. For this he had two reasons. If he should determine 
 to publish the work in London, he could send a fair, plain copy 
 to be printed from ; — and, at any rate, from such a copy he 
 might himself, whenever his eye could endure the task, revise 
 the whole personally, making on the blank pages such correc¬ 
 tions and alterations as he might find desirable. This task 
 was already accomplished. He had gone over the whole, a 
 little at a time, with care. Some portions he had rewritten. 
 The first chapter he wrote out three times, and printed it 
 twice, before it was finally put in stereotype, and adjusted to 
 its place as it now stands. 
 
 Still he hesitated. He consulted with his father, as he al¬ 
 ways did when he doubted in relation to matters of conse¬ 
 quence. His father not only advised the publication, but told 
 him that “ the man who writes a book which he is afraid to 
 publish is a coward.” This stirred the blood of his grandfather 
 in his veins, and decided him. 1 
 
 He had, however, the concurrent testimony of judicious and 
 
 1 Griswold's Prose Writers of America, 1847, p. 372. 
 
THE AUTHOR’S OWN OPINION. 
 
 97 
 
 faithful friends. Mr. Sparks, the historian, in a note dated 
 February 24th, 1837, says: “ I have read several chapters, 
 and am reading more. The book will be successful, — bought, 
 read, and praised.” And Mr. Pickering, the modest, learned, 
 philosophical philologist, to whom he submitted it a little later, 
 sent him more decisive encouragement under date of May 1st. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Being uninterrupted last evening, I had an opportunity to finish the few 
 pages that remained of your work, and I now return the volumes with 
 many thanks. I cannot, however, take leave of them without again ex¬ 
 pressing the high satisfaction I feel that our country should have produced 
 such a work,— a work which, unless I am much mistaken, will live as 
 long as any one produced by your contemporaries either here or in Eng¬ 
 land. 
 
 I am, my dear sir, with the warmest regard, 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 John Pickering. 
 
 His friend Mr. Gardiner had alieady gone over the whole 
 of the three volumes with his accustomed faithfulness, and with 
 a critical judgment which few possess. He had suggested an 
 important alteration in the arrangement of some of the early 
 chapters, which was gladly adopted, and had offered minor 
 corrections and verbal criticism of all sorts, with the freedom 
 which their old friendship demanded, but a considerable part 
 of which were, with the same freedom, rejected ; the author 
 maintaining, as he always did, a perfect independence of judg¬ 
 ment in all such matters. 
 
 How he himself looked upon his ten years’ labor may be 
 seen by the following extracts from his memoranda, before he 
 passed the final, fatal bourn of the press. After giving some 
 account of his slow progress and its causes, he says, under date 
 of June 26th, 1836, when he had recorded the absolute com¬ 
 pletion of the History : -— 
 
 “ Pursuing the work in this quiet, leisurely way, without over-exertion 
 or fatigue, or any sense of obligation to complete it in a given time, I have 
 found it a continual source of pleasure. It has furnished food for my 
 meditations, has given a direction and object to my scattered reading, and 
 supplied me with regular occupation for hours that would otherwise have 
 filled me with ennui. I have found infinite variety in the study, moreover, 
 which might at first sight seem monotonous. No historical labors, rightly 
 conducted, can be monotonous, sinoe they afford all the variety of pursu¬ 
 ing a chain of tacts to unforeseen consequences, of comparing doubtful and 
 
 5 G 
 
98 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 contradictory testimony, of picturesque delineations of incident, and of 
 analysis and dramatic exhibition of character. The plain narrative may 
 be sometimes relieved by general views or critical discussions, and the 
 story and the actors, as they grow under the hands, acquire constantly 
 additional interest. It may seem dreary work to plod through barbarous 
 old manuscript chronicles of monks and pedants, but this takes up but a 
 small portion of the time, and even here, read aloud to, as I have been, 
 required such close attention as always made the time pass glibly. In 
 short, although I have sometimes been obliged to whip myself up to the 
 work, I have never fairly got into it without deriving pleasure from it, and 
 I have most generally gone to it with pleasure, and left it with regret. 
 
 “ What do I expect from it, now it is done ? And may it not be all in 
 vain and labor lost, after all ? My expectations are not such, if I know 
 myself, as to expose me to any serious disappointment. I do not flatter 
 myself with the idea that I have achieved anything very profound, or, on 
 the other hand, that will be very popular. I know myself too well to 
 suppose the former for a moment. I know the public too well, and the 
 subject I have chosen, to expect the latter. But I have made a book 
 illustrating an unexplored and important period, from authentic materials, 
 obtained with much difficulty, and probably in the possession of no one 
 library, public or private, in Europe. As a plain, veracious record of 
 facts, the work, therefore, till some one else shall be found to make a 
 better one, will fill up a gap in literature which, I should hope, would give 
 it a permanent value, — a value founded on its utility, though bringing no 
 great fame or gain to its author. 
 
 “ Come to the worst, and suppose the thing a dead failure, and the book 
 born ouly to be damned. Still it will not be all in vain, since it has en¬ 
 couraged me in forming systematic habits of intellectual occupation, and 
 proved to me that my greatest happiness is to be the result of such. It is 
 no little matter to be possessed of this conviction from experience.” 
 
 And again, in the following October, when he had entirely 
 prepared his work for the press, he writes : — 
 
 “ Thus ends the labor of ten years, for I have been occupied more or 
 less with it, in general or particular readings, since the summer of 1826, 
 when, indeed, from the disabled state of my eyes, I studied with little spirit 
 and very little expectation of reaching this result. But what result? 
 Three solid octavos of facts, important in themselves, new in an English 
 dress, and which, therefore, however poor may be the execution of the 
 work, must have some value in an historic view. With the confidence in 
 its having such a value, however humble it maybe, I must rest contented. 
 And I now part with the companion of so many years with the cheering 
 conviction, that, however great or little good it may render the public, it 
 has done much to me, by the hours it has helped to lighten, and the habits 
 of application it has helped to form.” 
 
 He caused the whole to be stereotyped without delay. This 
 mode he preferred, because it was one which left him a more 
 complete control of his own work than he could obtain in 
 
PUBLICATION OF THE WORK. 
 
 99 
 
 any other way, and because, if it rendered corrections and 
 alterations more difficult, it yet insured greater typographical 
 accuracy at the outset. Mr. Charles Folsom, a member of 
 the pleasant club that had been formed many years before, 
 superintended its publication with an absolute fidelity, good 
 taste, and kindness that left nothing to desire; although, as 
 the author, when referring to his friend’s criticisms and sug¬ 
 gestions, says, they made his own final revision anything but a 
 sinecure. It was, I suppose, as carefully carried through the 
 press as any work ever was in this country. The pains that 
 had been taken with its preparation from the first were contin¬ 
 ued to the last. 
 
 That it was worth the many years of patient, conscientious 
 labor bestowed upon it, the world was not slow to acknowledge. 
 It was published in Boston by the American Stationers’ Com¬ 
 pany,— a corporate body that had a short time before been 
 organized under favorable auspices, but which troubles in the 
 financial condition of the country and other causes did not per¬ 
 mit long to continue its operations. The contract with them 
 was a very modest one. It was dated April 10th, 1837, and 
 stipulated on their part, for the use of the stereotype plates and 
 of the engravings, already prepared at the author’s charge. 
 From these, twelve hundred and fifty copies might be struck 
 off at the expense of the Company, Avho were to have five 
 years to dispose of them. The bargain, however, was not, in 
 one point of view, unfavorable. It insured the zealous and 
 interested co-operation of a large and somewhat influential body 
 in the sale and distribution of the work, — a matter of much 
 more importance at that time than it would be now, when book¬ 
 selling as a business and profession in the United States is so 
 much more advanced. Otherwise, as a contract, it was cer¬ 
 tainly not brilliant in its promise. But the author thought 
 well of it; and, since profit had not been his object, he was 
 entirely satisfied. 
 
 I was then in Italy, having been away from home with my 
 family nearly two years, during which I had constantly received 
 letters from him concerning the progress of his work. On this 
 occasion he wrote to me, April 11th, 1837, the very day after 
 the date of his contract, as follows : — 
 
100 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 “ If your eyes are ever greeted with the aspect of the old North [Amer¬ 
 ican Review] in your pilgrimage, you may see announced the ‘ History of 
 Ferdinand and Isabella, 3 vols. 8vo,’ as in press, which means, will be out 
 in October. The American Stationers’ Company — a company got up 
 with a considerable capital for the publication of expensive works — have 
 contracted for an edition of twelve hundred and fifty copies. I find the 
 stereotype plates, which cost not a great deal more than the ordinary mode 
 of composition, and they the paper and all other materials, and pay me a 
 thousand dollars. The offer was a liberal one, and entirely answers my 
 purpose of introducing the work into the channels of circulation, which I 
 could not have effected by so small an inducement as a commission to a 
 publisher. The Company, as proprietors of the edition, have every 
 motive to disseminate it, and they have their agencies diffused through 
 every part of the United States. What has given me most satisfaction is 
 the very handsome terms in which the book has been recommended by 
 Messrs. Pickering and Sparks, two of the committee for determining on 
 the publication by the Company, and the former of whom before perusal, 
 expressed himself, as I know, unfavorably to the work as a marketable con¬ 
 cern, from the nature of the subject. My ambition will be fully satisfied, 
 if the judgments of the few whose good opinion I covet are but half so 
 favorable as those publicly expressed by these gentlemen. 
 
 “ I must confess I feel some disquietude at the prospect of coming in full 
 bodily presence, as it were, before the public. I have always shrank from 
 such an exhibition, and, during the ten years I have been occupied with 
 the work, few of my friends have heard me say as many words about it. 
 When I saw my name — harmonious ‘ Hickting ’ and all — blazoned in 
 
 the North American, it gave me, as S-would say, ‘quite a turn,’—■ 
 
 anything but agreeable. But I am in for it. Of one thing I feel confi¬ 
 dent, — that the book has been compiled from materials, and with a fidel¬ 
 ity, which must make it fill a hiatus deflendas in Spanish liistory. For the 
 same reasons, I cannot think that I have much to fear from criticism ; not 
 to add, that the rarity of my materials is such, that I doubt if any but a 
 Spaniard possesses the previous knowledge of the whole ground for a fair 
 and competent judgment of my historical accuracy. But enough and too 
 much of this egotism ; though I know you and Anna love me too well to 
 call it egotism, and will feel it to be only the unreserved communication 
 made around one’s own fireside.” 
 
 A great surprise to all the parties concerned followed the 
 publication. Five hundred copies only were struck off at first; 
 that number being thought quite sufficient for an experiment 
 so doubtful as tliis was believed to be. No urgency was used 
 to have the whole even of this inconsiderable edition ready 
 for early distribution and sale. But during several days the 
 demand was so great, that copies could not be prepared by the 
 bookbinder as fast as they were called for. Three fifths of 
 the whole number were disposed of in Boston before any could 
 be spared to go elsewhere, and all disappeared in five weeks. 
 
IMMEDIATE SUCCESS OF THE FERDINAND AND ISABELLA. 101 
 
 In a few months, more copies were sold than by the contract it 
 had been assumed could be disposed of in five years ; and from 
 the beginning of May, 1838, — that is, in the course of four 
 months from its first publication, — the History itself stood 
 before the public in the position it has maintained ever since. 
 A success so brilliant had never before been reached in so short 
 a time by any work of equal size and gravity on this side of the 
 Atlantic. Indeed, nothing of the sort had approached it. 
 
 “But,” as his friend Mr. Gardiner has truly said, “ this wonderfully 
 rapid sale of a work so grave, beginning in his own town, was due in the 
 first instance largely to its author’s great persona! popularity in society, 
 and may be taken as a signal proof of it. For Mr. Prescott had acquired 
 earlier no marked reputation as an author. As a mere man of letters, his 
 substantial merits were known only by a few intimate friends ; perhaps not 
 fully appreciated by them. To the public he was little known in any way. 
 But he was a prodigious favorite with whatever was most cultivated in 
 the society of Boston. Few men ever had so many warmly attached per¬ 
 sonal friends. Still fewer — without more or less previous distinction 01 
 fame — had ever been sought as companions by young and old of both 
 sexes as he had been. When, therefore, it came to be known that the 
 same person who had so attracted them by an extraordinary combination 
 of charming personal qualities was about to publish a book, — and it was 
 known only a very short time before the book itself appeared, — the fact 
 excited the greatest surprise, curiosity, and interest. 
 
 “ The day of its appearance was looked forward to and talked of. It 
 came, and there was a perfect rush to get copies. A convivial friend, for 
 instance, who was far from being a man of letters, — indeed, a person 
 who rarely read a book, — got up early in the morning, and went to wait 
 for the opening of the publisher’s shop, so as to secure the first copy. It 
 came out at Christmas, and was at once adopted as the fashionable Christ¬ 
 mas andNew Year’s presenlof the season. Thosewhoknew the authorread 
 it from interest in him. No one read it without surprise and delight. Mr. 
 Daniel Webster, the statesman, who knew Prescott well in society, was as 
 much surprised as the rest, and spoke of him as a comet which had sud¬ 
 denly blazed out upon the world in full splendor. 
 
 “ Such is the history of this remarkable sale at its outbreak. Love of 
 the author gave the first impetus. That given, the extraordinary merits 
 of the work did all the rest.” 
 
 Meantime negotiations had been going on for its publication 
 in London. My friend had written to me repeatedly about 
 them, and so unreasonably moderate were his hopes, that, at 
 one time, he had thought either not to publish it at all in the 
 United States, or to give away the work here, and make his 
 chief venture in England. As early as the 29th of Decem¬ 
 ber, 1835, he had written to me in Dresden, where I then 
 
 was: 
 
102 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 “ Before closing my letter, I shall detain you a little about my own 
 affairs. I have nearly closed my magnum opus, — that is, I shall close it, 
 and have a copy of it printed, I trust, early next autumn. I print, you 
 know, only four copies, designing, whether I publish it here or not, to 
 have it printed in England. 
 
 “ Although the subject has nothing in it to touch the times and present 
 topics of interest and excitement particularly, yet, as filling up a blank of 
 importance in modern history, I cannot but think, if decently executed, 
 that it will not be difficult to find some publisher in London who would 
 be interested in it. You know that lucre is n<A my object. I wish, if 
 possible, to give the work a fair chance under fair auspices. As to the 
 merits of the work, it will be easy to form a judgment, since the book¬ 
 seller will have the advantage of a fair printed copy. Now I wish your 
 advice, how I had best proceed ? If you should be in London next win¬ 
 ter, my course would be clear. I would send the book to you, and doubt 
 not you would put it in a train for getting it into the world, if any 
 respectable accoucheur could be found to take charge of it. If you 
 should not be there, as is most probable, can you advise me what to do 
 next 1 . 
 
 “ I think it possible I may print the book here simultaneously. -of¬ 
 
 fered the other day to take the concern off my hands, if I would give him 
 the first impression of a certain number of copies. As I have no illusory 
 hopes of a second, I don’t know that I can do better. But I am persuaded 
 the work, if worth anything, is suited to a European market, — at least, 
 enough to indemnify the publisher. Else ten years nearly of my life have 
 been thrown away indeed. I hope you will not lose your patience with 
 this long-winded prosing, and will excuse this egotism, from the impor¬ 
 tance of the subject to myself. As to the trouble I occasion you, I know 
 you too well to think you will require an apology.” 
 
 To this I replied from Dresden, February 8th, 1836 : — 
 
 “ You speak more fully about your opus magnum, and therefore I answer 
 more fully than I did before. It must be a proud thought to you that 
 you are so near the end of it; and yet I think you will leave it with the 
 same feeling of regret with which Gibbon left his Decline and Fall. What, 
 then, will you do to fill up the first void 1 Is it out of the question that 
 you should fetch out your copy yourself, and get the peace of conscience 
 that would follow making the arrangements for its publication in person ? 
 I hope not. For we could easily manage to meet you in England two 
 years hence, and I assure you, my own experience leads me to think it no 
 very grave matter to travel with wife and children. But let us suppose 
 you do not. What then 1 I remain by the suggestion in my last letter, 
 that Colonel Aspinwall is the man to take charge of it, provided neither 
 you nor I should be in London, although, if both of us were on the spot, 
 he would be the man with whom I think we should earliest advise in all 
 publishing arrangements. His place as our Consul-General in London is 
 something in talking to publishers. His character, prompt, business-like, 
 firm, and honorable, is still more. And then, if I mistake not, he has a 
 good deal of practice with these people; for he certainly makes Irving’s 
 
 bargains, and, I believe, has managed for-and others. This practice. 
 
 too, is a matter of moment.” 
 
PUBLICATION IN ENGLAND. 
 
 lUo 
 
 Very fortunately for the author of Ferdinand and Isabella. 
 Colonel Aspinwall was soon afterwards in Boston, which is his 
 proper home, and in whose neighborhood he was bom. He at 
 once undertook in the pleasantest manner the pleasant com¬ 
 mission which was offered liim, and a mutual regard was the 
 consequence of the connection then formed, which was never 
 afterwards broken or impaired ; so much was there in common 
 between the characters of the two high-minded and cultivated 
 men. 
 
 In the autumn of 1836, one of the four printed copies, care¬ 
 fully corrected, was therefore, sent to Colonel Aspinwall, 
 accompanied by a letter dated October 28th, in which the 
 author says : — 
 
 “ With regard to the arrangements for publication, which you have 
 been kind enough to allow me to trust to you, I can only say that I shall 
 abide entirely by your judgment. I certainly should not disdain any 
 profits which might flow from it, though I believe you will do me the 
 justice to think that I have been influenced by higher motives in the com¬ 
 position of the work. If I have succeeded, 1 have supplied an important 
 desideratum in history, but one which, I fear, has too little in it of a tem¬ 
 porary or local interest to win its way into public favor very speedily. 
 But if the bookseller can wait, I am sure I can.” 
 
 The first attempts with the trade in London were not en¬ 
 couraging. Murray, the elder, to whom the book was at once 
 offered, declined promptly to become its publisher; probably 
 without an examination of its merits, and certainly without a 
 thorough one. Longman took more time, but came to the 
 same conclusion. The author, as might have been expected, 
 was chagrined, and, with the openness of his nature, said so, in 
 his letters both to Colonel Aspinwall and to me. 
 
 “ Murray’s decision,” he wrote to the former, “ was too prompt to bo 
 final with me; but Longman has examined the matter so deliberately, 
 that I am convinced there is little reason to suppose the book can be 
 regarded as a profitable concern for a London publisher. It will un¬ 
 doubtedly prejudice the work to go a-bcgging for a patron, and my 
 ill-success will thns acquire a disagreeable notoriety not only there, but 
 here, where nothing is known of my foreign negotiations. I think it best, 
 therefore, to take Uncle Toby’s advice on the occasion, and say nothing 
 about it to any one. For the copy in your possession, you had best put 
 it out of sight. It will soon be replaced by one of the Boston edition in 
 a more comely garb. If you should have proposed the work before re¬ 
 ceiving this to any other person, I shall not care to hear of its refusal 
 from you, as it will disgust me with the book before it is fairly born.” 
 
104 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Similar feelings he expressed even more strongly two days 
 later. But this state of things was not destined to last long. 
 Before the letter which was intended to discourage any further 
 proposition in London had reached Colonel Aspinwall, Mr. 
 Richard Bentley had accepted an offer of the book. A few 
 days after learning this, the author wrote to me in a very 
 different state of mind from that in which he had written his 
 hist letters. 
 
 Boston, May 16, 1837. 
 
 Mr dearest Friend, 
 
 I told you iu my last that no arrangement for the publication had 
 been made in England. I was mistaken, however, as I soon afterwards 
 received a letter hom Colonel Aspinwall, informing me of one with 
 Bentley, by which he becomes proprietor of one half of the copyright, 
 and engages to publish forthwith an edition at his own cost and risk, and 
 divide with me the profits. He says, “ It will be an object for him to get 
 out the work in elegant style, with engravings, vignettes, &c.” This is 
 certainly much better, considering the obscurity of the author and the 
 absence of all temporary allusion or interest in the subject, than I had a 
 right to expect. My object is now attained. I shall bring out the book 
 in the form I desired, and under the most respectable auspices on both 
 sides of the water, and in a way which must interest the publisher so 
 deeply as to secure his exertions to circulate the work. My bark will be 
 fairly launched, and if it should be doomed to encounter a spiteful puff or 
 two of criticism, I trust it may weather it. 
 
 But lie encountered no such adverse blasts. Immediately 
 after the appearance of the book at Christmas, 1837, but with 
 the imprint of 1838, a very long and able article on it by his 
 friend Mr. Gardiner, who, as we have seen, had just assisted in 
 preparing it for the press, was published in the “ North-Ameri¬ 
 can Review.” 2 A little later, another friend, the Rev. Mr. 
 Greenwood, — whose name it is not possible to mention with¬ 
 out remembering what sorrow followed the early loss of one 
 whose genius was at once so brilliant and so tender, — wrote a 
 review for the “ Christian Examiner,” no less favorable than 
 that of Mr. Gardiner. 8 Others followed. An excellent notice 
 by Mr. John Pickering appeared in the “ New York Re¬ 
 view,”— true, careful, and discriminating. 4 And the series 
 of the more elaborate American discussions was closed in the 
 “ Democratic Review ” of the next month by Mr. Bancroft, — 
 himself an historian already of no mean note, and destined to 
 
 3 January, 1S38. 
 
 8 March, 1838. 
 
 4 April, 18S8 
 
REVIEWS IN ENGLAND. 
 
 105 
 
 yet more distinction on both sides of the Atlantic. Of course, 
 there were many other notices in periodical publications of less 
 grave pretensions, and still more in the newspapers ; for the 
 work excited an interest which had not been at all foreseen. 
 It was read by great numbers who seldom looked into anything 
 so solid and serious. It was talked of by all who ever talked 
 of books. Whatever was written or said about it was in one 
 tone and temper; so that, as far as the United States were con¬ 
 cerned, it may be regarded as successful from the moment of 
 its appearance. 
 
 Nor did the notices which at the same time came from Eng¬ 
 land show anything but good-will towards the unknown and 
 unheralded claimant for the higher class of literary honors. 
 They were written, of course, by persons who had never before 
 heard of him, but their spirit was almost as kindly as if they 
 had been dictated by personal friendship. The “ Athenaeum ” 
 led off with a short laudatory article, which I believe, was from 
 the pen of Dr. Dunham, who wrote the summary History of 
 Spain and Portugal in Lardner’s Cabinet Cyclopaedia. 6 An 
 article, however, in the “ Edinburgh Review,” a little later, was 
 much more satisfactory. 8 It was the first examination that the 
 work obtained in England from one whose previous special 
 knowledge of the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella enabled him 
 to do it thoroughly. Its author was Don Pascual de Gayangos, 
 a learned and accomplished Spanish gentleman, then resident 
 in London, who wrote the Castilian and the English with equal 
 purity and elegance, and of whose kindly connection with Mr. 
 Prescott it will be necessary for me to speak often hereafter. 
 He made in his article on the “ Ferdinand and Isabella ” a faithful 
 and real review of the work, going over its several divisions 
 with care, and giving a distinct opinion on each. It was more 
 truly an examination of the work, and less a dissertation on 
 the subject, than is common in such articles, and on this account 
 it will always have its value. 
 
 To this succeeded in June an article in the “ Quarterly Re 
 view,” by an English gentleman familiar with everything Span¬ 
 ish ; I mean Mr. Richai’d Ford, who wrote the “ Handbook of 
 Spain,” — a brilliant work, not without marks of prejudice, 
 
 • 1838, pp. 42-44. • January, 1839. 
 
 5* 
 
106 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 but full of a singularly minute and curious local knowledge 
 of Spain, and of Spanish history and manners. His article 
 on “Ferdinand and Isabella” 7 is marked with the same char¬ 
 acteristics and similar prejudices. He is obviously a little 
 unwilling to think that a book written with learning, judg¬ 
 ment, and good taste can come from such a Nazareth as the 
 United States ; but lie admits it at last. Perhaps his reluctant 
 testimony was hardly less gratifying to the author than one 
 more cordial would have been. 
 
 A series of articles, however, which appeared in the “ Bi- 
 bliotheque Universelle de Geneve” between July, 1838, and 
 January, 1840, — five in number, and making together above 
 a hundred and eighty pages, — gave Mr. Prescott more satis¬ 
 faction than any other review of his work. And well they 
 might, for no other review of the “ Ferdinand and Isabella” 
 can be compared to it in amplitude or elaborateness. It was 
 written by Count Adolphe de Circourt, a person whom Lamar¬ 
 tine has called “ a living chart of human knowledge.” 8 It 
 
 7 June, 1839. 
 
 8 Speaking of the peculiar fitness of the appointment of this gentleman to 
 the very important mission at the Court of Berlin, immediately after the fall 
 of Louis-Philippe, in 1848, Lamartine says: “ Cet homrne, peu connu jusques- 
 la hors du monde aristocratiqne, littdraire, et savant, se nommait Mons. de 
 Circourt. II avait servi sous la Rdstauration dans la diplomatie. La revolu¬ 
 tion de Juillet l’avait rejetd dans 1’isolement et dans l’opposition, plus prfes du 
 legitimisme que de la democratic. II avait profits de ces aunties pour se 
 livrer a des etudes, qui aurient absorb^ plusieurs vies d’hommes, et qui n’etai- 
 ent que des distractions de la sienne. Langues, races, gdographie, histoire, 
 philosophic, voyages, constitutions, religions des peuples depuis l’enfance du 
 monde jusqu’a nos jours, depuis le Thibet jusqu’aux Alpes, il avait tout incor- 
 pordenlui; tout rbfiechi; tout retenu. On pouvait l’interroger sur l’univer- 
 salitd des faits ou des iddes, dont se compose le monde, sans qu’il eftt besoin, 
 pour rdpondre, d'interroger d’autres livres que sa rndmoire, dtendue, surface 
 et profondeur immense des notions, dont jamais on ne rencontrait ni le fond, 
 ni les limites, — mappemonde vivante des connaissances humaines, homme 
 oil tout etait tete et dont la tete etait a la hauteur de toutes les v^ritds; im¬ 
 partial du reste; indifferent entre les systhraes comme un etre qui ne serait 
 qu’intelligence, et qui ne tiendrait a la nature humaine que par le regard et 
 par la curiosite. Mons. de Circourt avait epousd une jeune femme Russe, de 
 race aristocratiqne et d’un esprit Europden. II tenait par elle a tout ce qu'il 
 y avait d’bminent dans les lettres et dans les cours de 1’AUemagne et du Nord. 
 Lui-meme avait reside a Berlin, et il s’y etait lid avec les hommes d’etat. Le 
 Roi de Prusse, souverain lettrd et liberal, 1’avait honore de quelque intimite 
 a sa cour. Mons. de Circourt, sans etre republicain de coeur, etait assez 
 frappe des grands horizons au'une Republique Franqaise—dclose du genie 
 
REVIEW BY COUNT CIRCOURT. 
 
 107 
 
 goes in the most thorough manner over the whole subject, and 
 examines the difficult and doubtful points in the history of the 
 period with a remarkable knowledge of the original sources and 
 authorities. Sometimes the reviewer differs from the author ; 
 maintaining, for instance, that the union of the crowns of Cas¬ 
 tile and Aragon was not a benefit to Spain, and that the war 
 against Granada is not to be justified by the code of a Christian 
 civilization. And sometimes he makes additions to the History 
 itself, as in the case of the conquest of Navarre. But what¬ 
 ever he says is said in a philosophical spirit, and with a gener¬ 
 ous purpose ; and, coming in a foreign language from one who 
 knew the author only in his book, it sounds more like the voice 
 of posterity than either the American or the English reviews 
 that were contemporary with it. 
 
 progressif, et pacifique de la France nouvelle — pouvait ouvrir a l’esprit hu- 
 main, pour la saluer et la servir. II comprenait, corame Lamartine, que la 
 liberty avait besoin de la paix, et que la paix dtait a Berlin et a Londres.”— 
 Revolution de 1848, Livre xi. c. 13. 
 
 I have inserted these striking remarks of Lamartine on Mons. and Mad. de 
 Circourt, because they will appear hereafter as the friends of Mr. Prescott. 
 They will also be remembered by many of my readers as the intimate friaads 
 and correspondents of De Tocqueville and Count Gavour. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1838 . 
 
 The Author’s Feelings on the Success op “ Ferdinand and Isabel¬ 
 la.”— Illness of his Mother, and her Recovery. — Opinions in 
 Europe concerning his History. 
 
 iASSING over the multitude of notices that appeared con 
 
 I cerning the “ History of Ferdinand and Isabella,” it will 
 be pleasant to see how the author himself felt in the first flush 
 of his unexpected honors. I was then in Paris, and ten days 
 after the book was published in Boston he wrote to me as 
 follows: — 
 
 “ Boston, Jan. 6, 1838. 
 
 “ My dear Friend, 
 
 “ It is long since I have seen your handwriting; though only a few 
 weeks since I received a most kind and welcome epistle from Anna. Your 
 friends here say your are not going to hold out your four years, and I could 
 not help thinking that the complexion of Anna’s sentiments looked rather 
 homeish . 1 I wish it may prove so. You will, at least, be spared, by your 
 return, sundry long communications from me, with a plentiful dash of 
 egodsm in them. 
 
 “ There is some excuse for this, however, just now, which is a sort of 
 epoch in my life, — my literary life at least. Their Catholic Highnesses 
 have just been ushered into the world in three royal octavos. The bant¬ 
 ling appeared on a Christmas morning, and certainly has not fallen still¬ 
 born, but is alive and kicking merrily. How long its life may last is 
 another question. Within the first ten days half the first edition of five 
 hundred copies (for the publishers were afraid to risk a larger one for our 
 market) has been disposed of, and they are now making preparations for a 
 second edition, having bought of me twelve hundred and fifty copies. The 
 sale, indeed, seems quite ridiculous, and I fancy many a poor soul thinks 
 so by this time. Not a single copy has been sent South, — the publishers 
 not choosing to strip the market while they can find such demand here. 
 
 “ In the mean time the book has got summer-puffs in plenty, and a gale 
 to the tune of ninety pages from the old ‘ North American.’ S-face¬ 
 
 tiously remarked, that ‘ the article should be called the fourth volume of the 
 
 1 I went abroad, with my family, for Sirs. Ticknor’s health, in 1835, intend¬ 
 ing to stay abroad four years, if, as her physicians feared, so much time 
 might be necessary for her restoration. She was well in three, and we gladly 
 came home a few mouths after the date of this letter. 
 
THE AUTHOR’S FEELINGS OF SUCCESS. 
 
 109 
 
 History.’ It was written by Gardiner, after several months’ industrious 
 application, — though eventually concocted in the very short space of ten 
 days , 2 which has given occasion to some oversights. It is an able, learned, 
 and most partial review; and I doubt if more knowledge of the particular 
 subject can easily be supplied by the craft on the other side of the water, 
 — at least without the aid of a library as germane to the matter as mine, 
 which, I think, will not readily be met with. I feel half inclined to send 
 you a beautiful critique from the pen of your friend Hillard, as much to 
 my taste as anything that has appeared. But pudor vetat. 
 
 “ In the mean time the small journals have opened quite a cry in my 
 favor, and while one of yesterday claims me as a Bostonian, a Salem paper 
 asserts that distinguished honor for the witch-town. So you see I am ex¬ 
 periencing the fate of the Great Obscure, even in my own lifetime. And 
 a clergyman told me yesterday, he intended to make my case — the obsta¬ 
 cles I have encountered and overcome — the subject of a sermon. I told 
 him it would help to sell the book, at all events. 
 
 “ ‘Poor fellow ! ’ — I hear you exclaim by this time, — ‘his wits are 
 actually turned by this flurry in his native village, — the Yankee Athens ! ’ 
 Not a whit, I assure you. Am I not writing to two dear friends, to whom 
 I can talk as freely and foolishly as to one of my own household, and who, 
 I am sure, will not misunderstand me t The effect of all this — which a 
 boy at Dr. Gardiner’s school, I remember, called fungum popularitatem — 
 
 has been rather to depress me, and S-was saying yesterday, that she 
 
 had never known me so out of spirits as since the book has coine out. 
 The truth is, I appreciate, more than my critics can do, the difficulty of 
 doing justice to my subject, and the immeasurable distance between me 
 and the models with which they have been pleased to compare me. 
 
 “ From two things I have derived unfeigned satisfaction ; one, the de¬ 
 light of my good father, who seems disposed to swallow — without the 
 requisite allowance of salt — all the good-natured things which are said of 
 the book, and the other, the hearty and active kindness of the few whom 
 I have thought and now find to be my friends. I feel little doubt that 
 the work, owing to their exertions, when it gets to the Southern cities 
 where I am not known, will find a fair reception, — though, of course, I 
 cannot expect anything like the welcome it has met here . 3 I feel relieved, 
 however, as well as the publishers, from all apprehensions that the book 
 will burn their fingers, whatever it may do to the author’s. 
 
 “ I have sent a copy for you to Rich [London], who will forward it ac¬ 
 cording to your directions. I suppose there will be no difficulty in send¬ 
 ing it over to Paris, if you remain there. Only advise him thereof.. 
 
 A favorable notice in a Parisian journal of respectability would be w r orth 
 a good deal. But, after all, my market and my reputation rest principally 
 with England, and if your influence can secure me, not a friendly, but a 
 
 a He had, as has been noticed, gone over the whole work before it was pub¬ 
 lished, and had done it with a continual consultation of the authorities on 
 which its facts and statements were founded. He was, therefore, completely 
 master of the subject, and wrote with an authority that few reviewers can 
 claim. 
 
 8 See ante, p. 100. 
 
no 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 fair notice there, in any of the three or four leading journals, it would be 
 the Lest thing you ever did for me, — and that is no small thing to say. 
 But I am asking what you will do without asking, if any foreigner could 
 hope to have such influence. I know that the fiat of criticism now-a-days 
 depends quite as much on the temper and character of the reviewer as the 
 reviewed, and, in a work filled with facts dug out of barbarous and obso¬ 
 lete idioms, it will be easy to pick flaws and serve them up as a sample 
 of the whole. But I will spare you further twaddle about their Catholic 
 Highnesses.” 
 
 A little later, April 30, 1838, in his private Memoranda, 
 after giving a detailed account of the circumstances attending 
 its publication, the contracts for printing, and the printing 
 itself, — all which he thus laid up for future use, — he goes 
 on : — 
 
 “"Well, now for the result in America and England thus far. My 
 work appeared here on the 25th of December, 1837. Its birth had been 
 prepared for by the favorable opinions, en avarice, of the few friends who 
 in its progress through the press had seen it. It was corrected previously 
 as to style, &c., by my friend Gardiner, who bestowed some weeks, and I 
 may say months, on its careful revision, and who suggested many impor¬ 
 tant alterations in the form. Simonds 4 had previously suggested throw¬ 
 ing the introductory 1 Section 2 ’ on Aragon into its present place, it first 
 having occupied the place after Chapter III. The work was indefatigably 
 corrected, and the references most elaborately and systematically revised 
 by Eolsom. 
 
 “ Erom the time of its appearance to the present date, it has been the 
 subject of notices, more or less elaborate, in the principal reviews and 
 periodicals of the country, and in the mass of criticism I have not met 
 ivith one unkind, or sarcastic, or censorious sentence; and my critics have 
 been of all sorts, from stiff conservatives to levelling loco-focos. Much 
 of all this success is to be attributed to the influence and exertions of per¬ 
 sonal friends, — much to the beautiful dress and mechanical execution of 
 the book, — and much to the novelty, in our country, of a work of research 
 in various foreign languages. The topics, too, though not connected with 
 the times, have novelty and importance in them. Whatever is the cause, 
 the book has found a degree of favor not dreamed of by me certainly, nor 
 by its warmest friends. It will, I have reason to hope, secure me an 
 honest fame, and — what never entered into my imagination in writing 
 it — put, in the long run, some money in my pocket. 
 
 “ In Europe things wear also a very auspicious aspect so far. The 
 weekly periodicals — the lesser lights of criticism — contain the most 
 ample commendations on the book ; several of the articles being written 
 with spirit and beauty. How extensively the trade winds may have 
 helped me along, I cannot say. But so far the course has been smooth 
 
 * Mr. Henry C. Simonds, who was Mr. Prescott’s reader and secretary for 
 four years, — an accomplished young scholar, for whom he felt a very sincere 
 regard. Mr. Simonds died two years after this date, in 1S40. 
 
RESULTS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 and rapid. Bentley speaks to my friends in extravagant terms of the 
 book, and states that nearly half the edition, which was of seven hundred 
 and fifty copies, had been sold by the end of March. 5 In France, thanks 
 to my friend Ticknor, it has been put into the hands of the principal savans 
 in the Castilian. Copies have also been sent to some eminent scholars in 
 Germany. Thus far, therefore, we run before the wind.” 
 
 I will not refuse myself the pleasure of inserting what I had 
 already written to him from Paris, February 20th, when, the 
 London copy he had sent me having failed to come to hand, 
 I had read the first volume of “ Ferdinand and Isabella” in an 
 American copy which had reached a friend in that city: — 
 
 “ I have got hold of the first volume, and may, perchance, have the luck 
 to see the others. It has satisfied all my expectations ; and when I tell 
 you that I wrote to Colonel Aspinwall from Berlin, nearly two years ago, 
 placing you quite at the side of Irving, you will understand how I feel 
 about it. I spoke conscientiously when I wrote to Aspinwall, and I do 
 the same now. You have written a book that will not be forgotten. The 
 Dedication to your father was entirely anticipated by me, — its tone and 
 its spirit, — everything except its beautiful words. He is happy to have 
 received a tribute so true and so due, — so worthy of him and so rarely 
 to be had of any.” 
 
 But in the midst of the happiness which his success naturally 
 produced, trouble came upon him. The family had gone, as 
 usual, to Pepperell early in the summer of 1838, when a severe 
 illness of his mother brought them suddenly back to town, and 
 kept them there above two months, at the end of which she 
 was happily restored, or nearly so. 
 
 “ Moved from Pepperell,” lie says in his private Memoranda, “ prema¬ 
 turely, June 26th, on account of the distressing illness of my mother, which 
 still, July 16th, detains us in this pestilent place, amidst heats which would 
 do credit to the tropics. The same cause has prevented me from giving 
 nearly as many hours to my studies as I should otherwise have done, being 
 in rather an industrious mood. My mother's health, apparently improv¬ 
 ing, may permit me to do this.” 
 
 But the next notice, July 27th, is more comfortable : — 
 
 “Been a month now in Boston, which I find more tolerable than at first. 
 The heat has much abated, and, indeed, a summer residence here has maDy 
 alleviations. But I should never prefer it to a summer at Naliant. Have 
 received an English copy of ‘ Ferdinand and Isabella.’ Better paper, 
 
 6 Mr. Bentley nad requested me to tell Mr. Prescott that he was proud of 
 having published such a book, and that he thought it would prove the best 
 he had ever brought out. 
 
112 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 blacker ink, more showy pages, but, on the whole, not so good type, and, 
 as the printer did not receive the corrections in season for the last three 
 chapters, there are many verbal inaccuracies. The plates are good, — the 
 portrait of Columbus exquisite, and about as much like him, I suppose, 
 as any other. On the whole, Bentley has done fairly by the work. My 
 friend Tieknor brings me home a very favorable report of the opinions 
 expressed of the work by French and English scholars. If this report is 
 not colored by his own friendship, the book will take some rank on the 
 other side of the water.” 
 
 As he intimates, I was just then returned from Europe after 
 an absence of tiiree years. He met me at the cars on my 
 arrival from New York, where I had landed ; but his counte¬ 
 nance was sad and troubled with the dangerous illness of his 
 mother, then at its height. I saw him, however, daily, and 
 talked with him in the freest and fullest manner about his 
 literary position and prospects ; giving him, without exaggera¬ 
 tion, an account of the opinions held in England and France 
 concerning his work, which he could not choose but find very 
 gratifying. 
 
 I had, in fact, received the book itself before I left Pari* 
 and had given copies of it to M. Guizot, M. Mignet, Count 
 Adolphe de Circourt, and M. Charles Fauriel. The last three, 
 as well as some other friends, had expressed to me their high 
 estimation of it, in terms very little measured, which were, in 
 their substance, repeated to me later by M. Guizot, when he 
 had had leisure to read it. Four persons better qualified to 
 judge the merits of such a work could not, I suppose, have 
 then been found in France; and the opinion of Count Circourt. 
 set forth in the learned and admirable review already alluded 
 to, would, I think, subsequently have been accepted by any one 
 of them as substantially his own. 
 
 In England, where I passed the spring and early summer. 
 I found the same judgment was pronounced and pronouncing. 
 At Holland House, then the highest tribunal in London on the 
 subject of Spanish history and literature, Lord Holland and 
 Mr. John Allen, who were both just finishing its perusal, did 
 not conceal from me the high value they placed upon it; Mr 
 Allen telling me that he regarded the introductory sections on 
 the constitutional history of Aragon and Castile — which, it 
 will be remembered, were three times written over, and twice 
 
OPINION IN ENGLAND AND FRANCE. 
 
 113 
 
 printed, before they were finally given to the press for publica¬ 
 tion — as possessing a very high merit as statesmanlike discus¬ 
 sions, and as better than anything else extant on the same 
 subject. 6 Southey, whom I afterwards saw at Keswick, and 
 from whose judgment on anything relating to Spanish history 
 few would venture to appeal, volunteered to me an opinion no 
 less decisive. 7 
 
 The more important Reviews had not yet spoken; but, re¬ 
 membering the wish expressed by my friend in a letter to me 
 already cited, — though, as he intimated, not needing such an 
 expression, — I made, through the ready kindness of Lord 
 Holland, arrangements with Mr. McVey Napier, the editor of 
 the “ Edinburgh Review,” for the article in that journal by 
 Don Pascual de Gayangos, of which an account has already 
 been given. Mr. Lockhart, the Aristarch of the “ Quarterly 
 Review,” had not read the book when I spoke to him about it, 
 but he told me he had heard from good authority that “ it was 
 one that would last ”; and the result of his own examination 
 of it was Mr. Ford’s review, Mr. Ford himself having been, 
 I suppose, the authority referred to. Mr. Hallam, to whom I 
 sent a copy in the author’s name, acknowledged its receipt in 
 a manner the most gratifying, and so did Mr. Milman; both 
 of these distinguished and admirable men becoming afterwards 
 personally attached to Mr. Prescott, and corresponding with 
 him, from time to time, until his death. These, and some 
 others like them, were the suffrages that I bore to my friend 
 on my return home early in July, and to which, in the pas¬ 
 sages I have cited from his Memoranda, he alludes. They 
 were all of one temper and in one tone. I had heard of no 
 others, and had, therefore, no others to give him. At home 
 
 * I ought, perhaps, to add here, that, by common consent of the scholars of 
 the time, the opinion of no man in England, on such a point, would have 
 been placed before Mr. Allen’s. 
 
 1 Mr. Prescott was especially gratified with this opinion of Mr. Southey, 
 because he had much feared that the rejection of his book by the Longmans 
 was the result of advice from Southey, whose publishers they were, and who 
 was often consulted by them respecting the publication of 6uch works. But 
 the Longmans declined it, as Southey himself told me, only because they did 
 not, at the time, wish to increase their list of new publications. The same 
 cause, I subsequently understood, had governed the decision of Murray, who 
 did not even give the book to anybody for getting a judgment on its merits. 
 
114 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 its success, I found, was already fully assured. As Dr. Chan- 
 ning had told him, “ Your book has been received here with 
 acclamation.” 8 
 
 8 A year after its publication, the author records very naturally, among 
 his private Memoranda: “ Dec. 25, 1838. The anniversary of the appearance 
 of their Catholic Highnesses Ferdinand and Isabella, God bless them! What 
 would I have given'last year to know they would have run off so glibly? ” 
 I think about twenty-eight hundred copies had been sold in the United States 
 when this record was made, — only a foretaste of the subsequent success. 
 On the 1st of January, 1860, the aggregate sales in the United States and 
 England amounted to seventeen thousand seven hundred and thirty-one. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 1837-1838. 
 
 Ms. Prescott’s Character at this Period.—Effect of arts Infirm¬ 
 ity of Sight in forming it. — Noctograph. — Distribution of his 
 Day. — Contrivances for regulating the Light in his Room. — 
 Premature Decay of Sight. — Exact System of Exercise and 
 Life generally. — Firm Will in carrying it out. 
 
 W HEN the “Ferdinand and Isabella” was published, 
 in the winter of 1837 -8, its author was nearly forty- 
 two years old. His character, some of whose traits had been 
 prominent from childhood, while others had been slowly devel¬ 
 oped, was fully formed. Iiis habits were settled for life. He 
 had a perfectly well-defined individuality, as everybody knew 
 who knew anything about his occupations and ways. 
 
 Much of what went to constitute this individuality was the 
 result of his infirmity of sight, and of the unceasing struggle 
 he had made to overcome the difficulties it entailed upon 
 him. For, as we shall see hereafter, the thought of this 
 infirmity, and of the embarrassments it brought with it, was 
 ever before him. It colored, and in many respects it controlled, 
 his whole life. 
 
 The violent inflammation that resulted from the fierce attack 
 of rheumatism in the early months of 1815 first startled him, 
 I think, with the apprehension that he might possibly be 
 deprived of sight altogether, and that thus his future years 
 would be left in “ total eclipse, without all hope of day.” 
 But from this dreary apprehension, his recovery, slow, and 
 partial as it was, and the buoyant spirits that entered so largely 
 into his constitution, at last relieved him. He even, from time 
 to time, as the disease fluctuated to and fro, had hopes of an 
 entire restoration of his sight. 
 
 But before long, he began to judge things more exactly as 
 they were, and saw plainly that anything like a full recovery 
 
116 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 of his sight was improbable, if not impossible. He turned his 
 thoughts, therefore, to the resources that would still remain 
 to him. The prospect was by no means a pleasant one, but 
 he looked at it steadily and calmly. All thought of the profes¬ 
 sion which had long been so tempting to him he gave up. He 
 saw that he could never fulfil its duties. But intellectual 
 occupation he could not give up. It was a gratification and 
 resource which his nature demanded, and would not be refused. 
 The difficulty was to find out how it could be obtained. During 
 the three months of his confinement in total darkness at St. 
 Michael’s, he first began to discipline his thoughts to such 
 orderly composition in his memory as he might have written 
 down on paper, if his sight had permitted it. “ I have cheated,” 
 he says, in a letter to his family written at the end of that dis¬ 
 couraging period, — “I have cheated many a moment of tedium 
 by compositions which were soon banished from my min d for 
 want of an amanuensis.” 
 
 Among these compositions was a Latin ode to his friend 
 Gardiner, which was prepared wholly without books, but 
 which, though now lost, like the rest of his Latin verses, he 
 repeated years afterwards to his Club, who did not fail to think 
 it good. It is evident, however, that, for a considerable time, 
 he resorted to such mental occupations and exercises rather as 
 an amusement than as anything more serious. Nor did he at 
 first go far with them even as a light and transient relief from 
 idleness; for, though he never gave them up altogether, and 
 though they at last became a very important element in his 
 success as an author, he soon found an agreeable substitute for 
 them, at least so far as his immediate, every-day wants were 
 concerned. 
 
 The substitute to which I refer, but which itself implied 
 much previous reflection and thought upon what he should 
 commit to paper, was an apparatus to enable the blind to 
 write. He heard of it in London during his first residence 
 there in the summer of 1816. A lady, at whose house he 
 visited frequently, and who became interested in his misfortune, 
 “ told him,” as he says in a letter to his mother, “ of a newly 
 invented machine by which blind people are enabled to write 
 I have,” he adds, “ before been indebted to Mrs. Delafield for 
 
NOCTOGRAPH. 
 
 117 
 
 an ingenious candle-screen. If tliis machine can be procured, 
 you will be sure to feel the effects of it.” 
 
 He obtained it at once; bat he did not use it until nearly a 
 month afterwards, when, on the 24th of August, at Paris, he 
 wrote home his first letter with it, saying, “ It is a very happy 
 invention for me.” And such it certainly proved to be, for he 
 never ceased to use it from that day; nor does it now seem 
 possible that, without the facilities it afforded him, he ever 
 would have ventured to undertake any of the works which 
 have made his name what it is. 1 
 
 The machine — if machine it can properly be called — is 
 an apparatus invented by one of the well-known Wedgewood 
 family, and is very simple both in its structure and use. It 
 looks, as it lies folded up on the table, like a clumsy portfolio, 
 bound in morocco, and measures about ten inches by nine 
 when unopened. Sixteen stout parallel brass wires fastened on 
 the right-hand side into a frame of the same size with the cover, 
 much like the frame of a school-bov’s slate, and crossing it 
 from side to side, mark the number of lines that can be written 
 on a page, and guide the hand in its blind motions. This 
 framework of wires is folded down upon a sheet of paper 
 thoroughly impregnated with a black substance, especially on 
 its under surface, beneath which lies the sheet of common 
 paper that is to receive the writing. There are thus, when 
 it is in use, three layers on the right-hand side of the opened 
 apparatus ; viz. the wires, the blackened sheet of paper, and 
 the white sheet, •— all lying successively in contact with each 
 other, the two that are underneath being held firmly in their 
 places by the framework of wires which is uppermost. The 
 whole apparatus is called a noctograph. 
 
 When it has been adjusted, as above described, the person 
 using it writes with an ivory style, or with a style made of 
 some harder substance, like agate, on the upper surface of the 
 blackened paper, which, wherever the style presses on it, trans- 
 
 1 This very apparatus, the first he ever had, it still extant. Indeed, he never 
 possessed but one other, and that was its exact duplicate. The oldest is 
 nearly used up. But, although he never had more than two for himself, he 
 caused others to be made for persons suffering under infirmities like his own, 
 — not unfrequently sending them to those who were known to him only as 
 needing such help. 
 
118 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 fere the coloring matter of its under surface to the white paper 
 beneath it, — the writing thus produced looking much like that 
 done with a common black-lead pencil. 
 
 The chief difficulty in the use of such an apparatus is obvi¬ 
 ous. The person employing it never looks upon his work ; 
 never sees one of the marks he is making. He trusts wholly 
 to the wires for the direction of his hand. He makes his 
 letters and words only from mechanical habit. He must, 
 therefore, write straight forward, without any opportunity for 
 correction, however gross may be the mistakes he has made, or 
 however sure he may be that he has made them; for, if he 
 were to go back in order to correct an error, he would only 
 make his page still more confused, and probably render it quite 
 illegible. When, therefore, he has made a mistake, great or 
 small, all he can do is to go forward, and rewrite further on 
 the woi'd or phrase he first intended to write, rarely attempt¬ 
 ing to strike out what was wrong, or to insert, in its proper 
 place, anything that may have been omitted. It is plain, 
 therefore, that the person who resorts to this apparatus as a 
 substitute for sight ought previously to prepare and settle in 
 his memory what he wishes to write, so as to make as few 
 mistakes as possible. With the best care, his manuscript will 
 not be veiy legible. Without it, he may be sure it can hardly 
 be deciphered at all. 
 
 That Mr. Prescott, under his disheartening infirmities, — I 
 refer not only to his imperfect sight, but to the rheumatism 
 from which he was seldom wholly free, — should, at the age 
 of five-and-twenty or thirty, with no help but this simple 
 apparatus, have aspired to the character of an historian dealing 
 with events that happened in times and countries far distant 
 from his own, and that are recorded chiefly in foreign languages 
 and by authors whose conflicting testimony was often to be 
 reconciled by laborious comparison, is a remarkable fact in 
 literary history. It is a problem the solution of which was, 
 I believe, never before undertaken; certainly never before 
 accomplished. Nor do I conceive that he himself could have 
 accomplished it, unless to his uncommon intellectual gifts had 
 been added great animal spirits, a strong, persistent will, and a 
 moral courage which was to be daunted by no obstacle that 
 
ADVENTUROUS SPIRIT. 
 
 119 
 
 he might deem it possible to remove by almost any amount of 
 effort. 2 
 
 That he was not insensible to the difficulties of his under¬ 
 taking, we have partly seen, as we have witnessed how his hopes 
 fluctuated while he was struggling through the arrangements 
 for beginning to write his “Ferdinand and Isabella,” and, in 
 fact, during the whole period of its composition. But he 
 showed the same character, the same fertility of resource, every 
 day of his life, and provided, both by forecast and self-sacrifice, 
 against the embarrassments of his condition as they successively 
 presented themselves. 
 
 The first thing to be done, and the thing always to be re¬ 
 peated day by day, was to strengthen, as much as possible, what 
 remained of his sight, and at any rate, to do nothing that should 
 tend to exhaust its impaired powers. In 1821, when he was 
 still not without some hope of its recovery, he made this mem¬ 
 orandum. “ I will make it my principal purpose to restore 
 my eye to its primitive vigor, and will do nothing habitually 
 that can seriously injure it.” To this end he regulated his 
 life with an exactness that I have never known equalled. 
 Especially in whatever related to the daily distribution of his 
 time, whether in regard to his intellectual labors, to his social 
 enjoyments, or to the care of his physical powers, including his 
 diet, he was severely exact, — managing himself, indeed, in t his 
 last respect, under the general directions of his wise medical 
 adviser, Dr. Jackson, but carrying out these directions with an 
 ingenuity and fidelity all his own. 
 
 He was an early riser, although it was a great effort for him 
 to be such. From boyhood it seemed to be contrary to his 
 nature to get up betimes in the morning. He was, therefore, 
 always awaked, and after silently, and sometimes slowly and 
 with reluctance, counting twenty, so as fairly to arouse himself, 
 
 a The case of Thierry —- the nearest known to me — was different. His 
 great work, “ Histoire de la Conquete de 1’Angleterre par les Normands,” 
 was written before he became blind. What he published afterward was dic¬ 
 tated, — wonderful, indeed, all of it, but especially all that relates to what he 
 did for the commission of the government concerning the Tiers Etat, to be 
 found in that grand collection of “ Documents inddits sur 1’Histoire de France,” 
 begun under the auspices and influence of M. Guizot, v hen he was minister 
 of Louis-Philippe. 
 
120 
 
 WILLIAM HICKL1NG PRESCOTT. 
 
 he resolutely sprang out of bed; or, if he failed, he paid a for¬ 
 feit, as a memento of his weakness, to the servant who had 
 knocked at his chamber-door. 8 His failures, however, were rare. 
 When he was called, he was told the state of the weather and 
 of the thermometer. This was important, as he was compelled 
 by his rheumatism — almost always present, and, when not 
 so, always apprehended — to regulate his dress with care ; and, 
 finding it difficult to do so in any other way, he caused each 
 of its heavier external portions to he marked by his tailor 
 with the number of ounces it weighed, and then put them on 
 according to the temperature, sure that their weight would 
 indicate the measure of warmth and protection they would 
 afford. 4 
 
 As soon as he was dressed, he took his early exercise in the 
 open air. This, for many years, was done on horseback, and, 
 as he loved a spirited home and was often thinking more of his 
 intellectual pursuits than of anything else while he was riding, 
 he sometimes caught a fall. But he was a good rider, and was 
 sorry to give up this form of exercise and resort to walking or 
 driving, as he did, by order of his physician, in the last dozen 
 years of his life. Ho weather, except a severe storm, pre¬ 
 vented him at any period from thus, as he called it, “ winding 
 himself up.” Even in the coldest of our very cold winter 
 mornings, it was his habit, so long as he could ride, to see the 
 sun rise on a particular spot three or four miles from town. In 
 a letter to Mis. Ticknor, who was then in Germany, dated 
 March, 1836, — at the end of a winter memorable for its ex¬ 
 treme severity, — he says, “ You will give me credit for some 
 spunk when I tell you that I have not been frightened by the 
 cold a single morning from a ride on horseback to Jamaica 
 Plain and back again before breakfast. My mark has been 
 
 8 When he was a bachelor, the servant, after waiting a certain number of 
 minutes at the door without receiving an answer, went in and took away the 
 bed-clothes. This was, at that period, the office of faithful Nathan Webster, 
 who was remembered kindly in Mr. Prescott’s will, and who was for nearly 
 thirty years in the family, a true and valued friend of all its members. 
 
 4 As in the case of the use of wine, hereafter to be noticed, he made, from 
 year to year, the most minute memoranda about the use of clothes, finding it 
 necessary to be exact on account of the rheumatism which, besides almost 
 constantly infesting his limbs, always aff» -ted his sight when it became 
 severe. 
 
SYSTEMATIC EXERCISE. 
 
 121 
 
 to see the sun rise by Mr. Greene's school, if you remember 
 where that is.” When the rides here referred to were taken, 
 the thermometer was often below zero of Fahrenheit. 
 
 On his return home, after adjusting his dress anew, with ref¬ 
 erence to the temperature within doors, he sat down, almost 
 always in a very gay humor, to a moderate and even spare 
 breakfast, — a meal he much liked, because, as he said, he 
 could then have his family with him in a quiet way, and so 
 begin the day happily. From the breakfast-table he went at 
 once to his study. There, while busied with what remained of 
 his toilet, or with the needful arrangements for his regular oc¬ 
 cupations, Mrs. Prescott read to him, generally from the morn¬ 
 ing papers, but sometimes from the current literature of the 
 day. At a fixed hour — seldom later than ten — his reader, 
 or secretary, came. In this, as in everything, he required 
 punctuality; but he noted tardiness only by looking significantly 
 at his watch; for it is the testimony of all his surviving secre¬ 
 taries, that he never spoke a severe word to either of them in 
 the many years of their familiar intercourse. 
 
 When they had met in the study, there was no thought but 
 of active work for about three hours. 5 His infirmities, how¬ 
 ever, Avere always present to warn him how cautiously it must 
 be done, and he was extremely ingenious in the means he de¬ 
 vised for doing it without increasing them. The shades and 
 shutters for regulating the exact amount of light which should 
 be admitted; his own position relatively to its direct rays, and 
 to those that were reflected from surrounding objects; the 
 adaptation of his dress and of the temperature of the room 
 to his rheumatic affections; and the different contrivances for 
 taking notes from the books that were read to him, and for 
 impressing on his memory, with the least possible use of his 
 sight, such portions of each as were needful for his imme- 
 
 ® I speak here of the time during which he was busy with his Histories. In 
 the intervals between them, as, for instance, between the “ Ferdinand and 
 Isabella” and the “ Mexico,” between the “Mexico” and “Peru,” &c., his 
 habits were very different. At these periods he indulged, sometimes for 
 many months, in a great deal of light, miscellaneous reading, which he used 
 to call “ literary loafing.” This he thought not only agreeable, but refreshing 
 and useful; though sometimes he complained bitterly of himself for carryintf 
 his indulgences of this sort too far. 
 
122 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 diate purpose, — were all of them the result of painstaking 
 experiments, skilfully and patiently made. But their inge¬ 
 nuity and adaptation were less remarkable than the conscien¬ 
 tious consistency with which they were employed from day to 
 day for forty years. 
 
 In relation to all such arrangements, two circumstances 
 should be noted. 
 
 The first is, that the resources of his eye were always very 
 small and uncertain, except for a few years, beginning in 1840, 
 when, from his long-continued prudence or from some inscruta¬ 
 ble cause, there seemed to be either an increase of strength 
 in the organ, or else such a diminution of its sensibility as en¬ 
 abled him to use it more, though its strength might really be 
 diminished. 
 
 Thus, for instance, he -was able to use his eye very little in 
 the preparation of the “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” not looking 
 into a book sometimes for weeks and even months together, 
 and yet occasionally he could read several hours in a day if he 
 carefully divided the whole into short portions, so as to avoid 
 fatigue. While engaged in the composition of the “ Conquest 
 of Mexico,” on the contrary, he was able to read with consider¬ 
 able regularity, and so he was while working on the “ Conquest 
 of Peru,” though, on the whole, with less. 8 
 
 But he had, during nearly all tins time, another difficulty to 
 encounter. There had come on prematurely that gradual 
 alteration of the eye which is the consequence of advancing 
 years, and for which the common remedy is spectacles. Even 
 when he was using what remained to him of sight on the 
 
 6 How uncertain was the state of his eye, even when it was strongest, may 
 be seen from memoranda made at different times within less than two years 
 of each other. The first is in January, 1829, when he was full of grateful 
 feelings for an unexpected increase of his powers of sight. “ By the blessing 
 of Heaven,” he says, “ I have been enabled to have the free use of my eye 
 in the daytime during the last weeks, without the exception of a single 
 day, although deprived, for nearly a fortnight, of my accustomed exercise. 
 I hope I have not abused this great privilege.” But this condition of 
 things did not last long. Great fluctuations followed. In August and Sep¬ 
 tember he was much discouraged by severe inflammations; and in October, 
 1830, when he had been slowly writing the “Ferdinand and Isabella” for 
 about a year, his sight for a time became so much impaired that he was 
 brought — I use his own words — “ seriously to consider what steps he should 
 take in relation to that work, if his sight should fail him altogether.” 
 
UNCERTAIN CONDITION OF HIS SIGHT. 
 
 123 
 
 “ Conquest of Mexico ” with a freedom which not a little ani¬ 
 mated him in his pursuits, he perceived this discouraging 
 change. In July, 1841, he says: “ My eye, for some days, 
 feels dim. ‘I guess.and fear,’ as Burns says.” And in June, 
 1842, when our families were spending together at Lebanon 
 Springs a few days which he has recorded as otherwise very 
 happy, he spoke to me more than once in a tone of absolute 
 grief, that he should never again enjoy the magnificent specta¬ 
 cle of the starry heavens. To this sad deprivation he, in fact, 
 alludes himself in his Memoranda of that period, where, in re¬ 
 lation to his eyes, he says: “ I find a misty veil increasing 
 over them, quite annoying when reading. The other evening 
 
 B- said, ‘ How beautiful the heavens are with so many 
 
 stars! ’ I could hardly see two. It made me sad.” 
 
 Spectacles, however, although they brought their appropriate 
 relief, brought also an inevitable inconvenience. They fatigued 
 his eye. He could use it, therefore, less and less, or if he used 
 it at all, beyond a nicely adjusted amount, the excess was 
 followed by a sort of irritability, weakness, and pain in the 
 organ which he had not felt for many years. This went on 
 increasing with sad regularity. But he knew that it was 
 inevitable, and submitted to it patiently. In the latter part of 
 his life he was able to use his eye very little indeed for the 
 purpose of reading, — in the last year, hardly at all. Even in 
 several of the years preceding, he used it only thirty-five minutes 
 in each day, divided exactly by the watch into portions of five 
 minutes each, with at least half an hour between, and always 
 stopping the moment pain was felt, even if it were felt at the 
 first instant of opening the book. I doubt whether a more per¬ 
 sistent, conscientious care was ever taken of an impaired physi¬ 
 cal power. Indeed, I do not see how it could have been made 
 more thorough. But all care was unavailing, and he at last 
 knew that it was so. The decay could not be arrested. He 
 spoke of it rarely, but when he perceived that in the evening 
 twilight he could no longer walk about the streets that were 
 familiar to him with his accustomed assurance, he felt it 
 deeply. Still he persevered, and was as watchful of what 
 remained of his sight as if his hopes of its restoration had 
 continued unchecked. Indeed, I think he always trusted that 
 
124 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 he was saving something by his anxious care ; he always be¬ 
 lieved that great prudence on one day would enable him to do 
 a little more work on the next than he should be able to do 
 without so much caution. 
 
 The other circumstance that should be noticed in relation 
 to the arrangements for his pursuits is, the continually in 
 creased amount of light he was obliged to use, and which he 
 could use without apparent injury. 
 
 In Bedford Street, where he first began Iris experiments, 
 he could, from the extreme sensitiveness of his eye, bear very 
 little light. But, even before he left that quiet old mansion, 
 he cut out a new window in his working-room, arranging it so 
 that the light should fall more strongly and more exclusively 
 upon the book lie might be using. This did very well for 
 a time. But when he removed to Beacon Street, the room 
 he built expressly for his own use contained six contiguous 
 windows; two of which, though large, were glazed each with a 
 single sheet of the finest plate-glass, nicely protected by several 
 curtains of delicate fabric and of a light-blue color, one or 
 more of which could be drawn up over each window to tem¬ 
 per the light while the whole light that was admitted through 
 any one opening could be excluded by solid wooden shutters. 
 At first, though much light was commonly used, these appli¬ 
 ances for diminishing it were all more or less required. But, 
 gradually, one alter another of them was given up, and, at last, 
 I observed that none was found important. He needed and 
 used all the light he could get. 
 
 The change was a sad one, and he did not like to allude to 
 it. But during the last year of his life, after the first slight 
 access of paralysis, which much disturbed the organ for a time, 
 and rendered its action very irregular, he spoke plainly to me. 
 He said he must soon cease to use his eye for any purpose 
 of study, but fondly trusted that he should always be able to 
 recognize the features of his friends, and should never become 
 a burden to those he loved by needing to be led about. His 
 hopes were, indeed, fulfilled, but not without the sorrow of 
 all. The day before his sudden death he walked the streets as 
 freely as he had done for years. 
 
 Still, whatever may have been the condition of Vj’S eye at 
 
CHANGE IN THE STATE OE THE EYE. 
 
 125 
 
 any period, — from the fierce attack of 1815 to the very end 
 of his life, — it was always a paramount subject of anxiety 
 with him. He never ceased to think of it, and to regulate 
 the hours, and almost the minutes, of his daily life by it. 
 Even in its best estate he felt that it must be spared; in its 
 worst, he was anxious to save something by care and abstinence. 
 He said, “ he reckoned time by eyesight, as distances on rail¬ 
 roads are reckoned by hours.” 
 
 One thing in this connection may be noted as remarkable. 
 He knew that, if he would give up literary labor altogether, 
 his eye would be better at once, and would last longer. His 
 physicians all told him so, and their opinion was rendered 
 certain by his own experience; for whenever he ceased to 
 work for some time, as during a visit to New York in 1842 
 and a visit to Europe in 1850, — in short, whenever he took a 
 journey or indulged himself in holidays of such a sort as pre¬ 
 vented him from looking into books at all or thinking much 
 about them, — his general health immediately became more 
 vigorous than might have been expected from a relief so tran¬ 
 sient, and his sight was always improved; sometimes materially 
 improved. But he would not pay the price. He preferred to 
 submit, if it should be inevitable, to the penalty of ultimate 
 blindness, rather than give up his literary pursuits. 
 
 He never liked to work more than three hours consecutively. 
 At one o’clock, therefore, he took a walk of about two miles, 
 and attended to any little business abroad that was incumbent 
 on him, coming home generally refreshed and exhilarated, and 
 ready to lounge a little and gossip. Dinner followed, for the 
 greater part of his life about three o’clock, although, during a 
 few years, he dined in winter at five or six, which he preferred, 
 and which he gave up only because his health demanded the 
 change. In the summer he always dined early, so as to have the 
 late afternoon for driving and exercise during our hot season. 
 
 He enjoyed the pleasures of the table, and even its luxuries, 
 more than most men. But he restricted himself carefully in 
 the use of them, adjusting everything with reference to its 
 effect on the power of using his eye immediately afterwards, and 
 especially on his power of using it the next day. Occasional 
 indulgence when dining out or with friends at home he found 
 
126 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 useful, or at least not injurious, and was encouraged in it by Ins 
 medical counsel. But lie dined abroad, as lie did everything 
 of the sort, at regulated intervals, and not only determined be¬ 
 forehand in what he should deviate from his settled habits, but 
 often made a record of the result for his future government. 
 
 The most embarrassing question, however, as to diet, regard¬ 
 ed the use of wine, which, if at first it sometimes seemed to be 
 followed by bad consequences, was yet, on the whole, found use¬ 
 ful, and was prescribed to him. To make everything certain, 
 and settle the precise point to which he should go, lie instituted 
 a series of experiments, and between March, 1818, and Novem¬ 
 ber 1820, — a period of two years and nine months, he re¬ 
 corded the exact quantity of wine that he took every day, 
 except the few days when he entirely abstained. It was 
 Sherry or Madeira. In the great majority of cases — lour 
 fifths, I should think —it ranged from one to two glasses, 
 but went up sometimes to four or five, and even to six. lie 
 settled at last, upon two or two and a half as the quantity best 
 suited to his case, and persevered in this as Ins daily habit, un i 
 the last year of his life, during which a peculiar regimen was 
 imposed upon him from the peculiar circumstances of his health 
 In all this I wish to be understood that he was rigorous with 
 himself, — much more so than persons thought who saw him 
 only when he was dining with friends, and when, but equally 
 upon system and principle, he was much more free. 
 
 1 He generally smoked a single weak cigar after dinner, and 
 listened at the same time to light reading from Mrs. Prescott. 
 A walk of two miles —more or less — followed; but always 
 enough, after the habit of riding was given up, to make tne 
 full amount of six miles’ walking for the day’s exercise, an 
 then, between five and eight, he took a cup of tea, and had his 
 reader with him for work two hours more. 
 
 The labors of the day were now definitively ended. He 
 came down from his study to his library, and either sat there 
 or walked about while Mrs. Prescott read to him from some 
 amusing book, generally a novel, and, above all other nove s, 
 those of Scott and Miss Edgeworth. In all this he took great 
 solace. He enjoyed the room as well as the reading, and, as he 
 moved about, would often stop before the books, — especially 
 
HABITS. 
 
 127 
 
 his favorite books, ■— and be sure that they were all in their 
 proper places, drawn up exactly to the front of their respective 
 shelves, like soldiers on a dress-parade, — sometimes speaking 
 of them, and almost to them, as if they were personal friends. 
 
 At half past ten, having first taken nearly another glass of 
 wine, he went to bed, fell asleep quickly, and slept soundly and 
 well. Suppers he early gave up, although they were a form of 
 social intercourse much liked in his father’s house, and common 
 thirty or forty years ago in the circle to which he belonged. 
 Besides all other reasons against them, he found that the lights 
 oommonly on the table shot their horizontal rays so as to in¬ 
 jure his suffering organ. Larger evening parties, which were 
 not so liable to this objection, he liked rather for their social in¬ 
 fluences than for the pleasure they gave him ; but he was seen 
 in them to the last, though rarely and only for a short time in 
 each. Earlier in life, when he enjoyed them more and stayed 
 later, he would, in the coldest winter nights, after going home, 
 run up and down on a plank walk, so arranged in the garden 
 of the Bedford-Street house that he could do it with his eyes 
 shut, for twenty minutes or more, in order that his system might 
 be refreshed, and his sight invigorated, for the next morning’s 
 work. 7 Later, unhappily, this was not needful. His eye had 
 lost the sensibility that gave its value to such a habit. 
 
 In his exercise, at all its assigned hours, he was faithful and 
 exact. If a violent storm prevented him from going out, 
 or if the bright snow on sunny days in winter rendered it dan¬ 
 gerous for him to expose his eye to its brilliant reflection, he 
 would dress himself as for the street and walk vigorously 
 about the colder parts of the house, or he would saw and chop 
 fire-wood, under cover, being, in the latter case, read to all the 
 while. 
 
 The result he sought, and generally obtained, by these efforts 
 was not, however, always to be had without suffering. The 
 
 1 Some persons may think this to have been a fancy of my friend, or an 
 over-nice estimate of the value of the open air. But others have found the 
 same benefit who needed it less. Sir Charles Bell says, in his journal, that he 
 used to sit in the open air a great deal, and read or draw, because on the fol¬ 
 lowing day, he found himself so much better able to work. Some of the best 
 passages in his great treatises were, he says, written under these circum¬ 
 stances. 
 
128 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 first mile or two of his walk often cost him pain — sometimes 
 sharp pain — in consequence of the rheumatism, which seldom 
 deserted his limbs ; but he never on this account gave it up; 
 for regular exercise in the open air was, as he well knew, 
 indispensable to the preservation of whatever remained of his 
 decaying sight. He persevered, therefore, through the last 
 two suffering years of his life, when it was peculiarly irksome 
 and difficult for him to move; and even in the days imme¬ 
 diately preceding his first attack of paralysis, when he was 
 very feeble, he was out at his usual hours. His will, in truth, 
 was always stronger than the bodily ills that beset him, and 
 prevailed over them to the last. 8 
 
 8 On one occasion, when he was employed npon a work that interested him 
 because it related to a friend, he was attacked with pains that made a sitting 
 posture impossible. But he would not yield. He took his noctograph to a 
 sofa, and knelt before it so as to be able to continue his work. This resource, 
 however, failed, and then he laid himself down flat upon the floor. This 
 extraordinary operation went on during portions of nine successive days. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 1837-1838, 
 
 Mb. Pkescott’s Social Character. — Remarks on ir by Mr. Oabdp 
 nek and Mu. Parsons. 
 
 TRUE and sufficient understanding of Mr. Prescott s 
 
 inodes of life cannot be obtained without a more de¬ 
 
 tailed account than has been thus far given of his social 
 relations, and of the exactness with which he controlled and 
 governed them. 
 
 “Never was there,” says his friend Mr. Gardiner, in an interesting paper 
 addressed to me, on this side of our friend’s character, — “Never was there 
 a man, who, by natural constitution, had a keener zest of social enjoyment 
 in all its varieties. His friend Mr. Parsons says of him, that one of the 
 ‘ most remarkable traits of this remarkable man was his singular capacity 
 of enjoyment. He could be happy in more ways, and more happy in 
 every one of them, than any other person I have ever known.’ This may 
 be a strong manner of stating the characteristic referred to ; but so far as 
 respects one of his chief sources of happiness, — social enjoyment, — the 
 idea would seem to be exemplified by the very different kinds of society 
 from which he appeared to derive almost equal pleasure. 
 
 “ So, in regard to his capacity of imparting pleasure to others, Mr. 
 Parsons makes an equally strong statement; but it is one I fully concur 
 in. ‘ If I were asked,’ he says, ‘ to name the man, whom I have known, 
 whose coming was most stive to be hailed as a pleasant event by all whom 
 he approached, I should not only place Prescott at the head of the list, but 
 I could not place any other man near him.’ I also must bear testimony, 
 that I never have known any other man whose company was so univer¬ 
 sally attractive, — equally so to men and to women, to young and to old, 
 and to all classes that he mingled with. 
 
 “ With these capacities for both giving and receiving the highest degree 
 of pleasure in social entertainment, there is no cause for wonder that this 
 should have been with him a favorite pursuit. The wonder is, rather, that 
 he should always — at least after the first effervescence of youth — have 
 kept it in such perfect subordination to those more important pursuits 
 which were the business, and at the same time, on the whole, the highest 
 enjoyment, of his life. I use the term pursuit, applying it to the one ob¬ 
 ject no less than the other ; for this it is which constitutes the peculiarity. 
 Both were pursued at the same time, ardently and systematically. Noither 
 was sacrificed to the other for any great length of time. He felt that a due 
 
130 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING FRESCO! T. 
 
 proportion of each — literary labor and social amusement — was essential 
 to his happiness, and he studied the philosophy of life, both theoretically 
 and practically, with teferonce to his own natural temper and constitution, 
 to ascertain in what proportions they could best be combined to answer his 
 whole purpose. 
 
 “ These proportions varied certainly at different times. There was a 
 natural tendency of the graver pursuits to predominate more and more as 
 ne advanced in age, but never to the entire exclusion of a perfectly youth¬ 
 ful enjoyment of whatever society he sought. There were, too, periods 
 of close retirement, — chiefly during his villegiaturas as he used to call his 
 country life, — when he devoted himself, for a time almost exclusively, to 
 bis studies and compositions, with little addition to the agreeable social 
 circle and quiet domestic life of his own and his father’s family. But there 
 were also corresponding periods of great relaxation, — what he used to call 
 bis ‘ loafing times,’ — not always of short duration either, — especially in 
 the interval between one long labor finished and the beginning of another. 
 At these periods he gave himself up to a long holiday, dividing his time 
 almost wholly between the lightest literature and a great deal of social 
 amusement. There was usually something of this, though for a shorter 
 term, when he first returned to the city, after a summer or autumn cam¬ 
 paign at Pepperell. And seldom, when away from Pepperell, was he so 
 hard at work as not to enjoy an ample allowance of social pleasure. Nay, 
 at the period of his life when he used to pass a long summer, as well as 
 autumn, at Pepperell, — that is, before either he or his father had a house 
 on the sca-shore, — it was his custom to find an excuse for an occasional 
 visit of a day or two to the city, when Ire always arranged for, and counted 
 upon, at least one gay meeting of old friends at the dinner-table. After 
 he became a summer inhabitant of Nahant, living in the unavoidable pub¬ 
 licity of a fashionable watering-place, the difficulty was to guard against 
 the intrusion of too much company, rather than to get the quantum he 
 required. This was among the causes which led him, in later years, to 
 forsake Nahant for his more quiet sea-shore residence at Lynn. But, 
 wherever Iris residence was, frequent recreations of society — domestic, 
 fashionable, literary, and convivial — were as much a part of his plan of 
 life as the steady continuance of historical studies and labors of authorship. 
 
 “ Yet, both before and after the publication of his 1 Perdinand and Isa¬ 
 bella,’— the first notice, be it remembered, even to his personal friends, 
 of his extraordinary merits as a man of letters, — he was scrupulously 
 observant of hours. Though indulging so freely, and with such a zest, in 
 this round of various society, he would never allow himself to be drawn 
 by it into very late sittings. This was partly, no doubt, from domestic 
 considerations regarding the general habit of his father’s household, con¬ 
 tinued afterwards in his own, but mainly because he began the day early, 
 and chose to keep his study hours of the morrow unimpaired. Except, 
 therefore, on some extraordinary and foreseen occasions of his earlier days, 
 carefully arranged for beforehand, he used to make a point of quitting the 
 company, of whatever kind, and whatever might be its attractions, at his 
 hour. This was, for a long time, ten o’clock. It did not mean ten o’clock 
 or thereabouts, as most men would have made it; but at ten precisely he 
 would insist on going, in spite of all entreaty, as if to an engagement of 
 the last importance. 
 
SOCIAL CHARACTER. 
 
 131 
 
 “ I remember particularly one instance to illustrate this. It occurred at 
 some time while he was yet a member of his father’s family, but, I think, 
 after his marriage, and certainly before he had published himself to the 
 world as an author, — that is, while he was scarcely known to many persons 
 as one engaged in any serious occupation. The case left an impression, 
 because on this occasion Mr. Prescott, though not in his own house, was 
 not a guest, but the entertainer, at a restaurateur’s, of an invited company 
 of young men, chiefly of the bon-vivant order. He took that mode some¬ 
 times of giving a return dinner to avoid intruding too much on the hospi¬ 
 tality of his father’s roof, as well as to put at ease the sort of company 
 which promised exuberant mirth. His dinner hour was set early; pur¬ 
 posely, no doubt, that all might be well over in good season. But it 
 proved to be a prolonged festivity. Under the brilliant auspices of their 
 host, who was never in higher spirits, the company became very gay, and 
 not at all disposed to abridge their gayety, even after a reasonable number 
 of hours. As the hour of ten drew near, I noticed that Prescott was be¬ 
 ginning to get a little fidgety, and to drop some hints, which no one seemed 
 willing to take, — for no one present, unless it were myself, was aware that 
 time was of any more importance to our host than it was to many of his 
 guests. Presently, to the general surprise, the host himself got up abruptly, 
 and addressed the company nearly as follows : ‘ Really, my friends, I am 
 very sorry to be obliged to tear myself from you at so very unreasonable 
 an hour; but you seem to have got your sitting-breeches on for the night. 
 I left mine at home, and must go. But I am sure you will be very soon 
 in no condition to miss me, — especially as I leave behind that excellent 
 representative,’ — pointing to a basket of several yet uncorked bottles, 
 which stood in a corner. * Then you know,’ he added, ‘ you are just as 
 much at home in this house as I am. You can call for what you like. 
 Don’t be alarmed, — I mean on my account. I abandon to you, without 
 reserve, all my best wine, my credit with the house, and my reputation to 
 boot. Make free with them all, I beg of you, — and, if you don’t go home 
 till morning, I wish you a merry night of it.’ With this he was off, and 
 the Old South clock, hard by, was heard to strike ten at the instant.” 
 
 Mr. Gardiner, in the preceding remarks, refers more than 
 once to the opinions of Professor Theophilus Parsons on Mr. 
 Prescott’s social character. They are contained in a paper 
 wliicli this early and intimate friend of the historian was good 
 enough to give me , hut there are other portions of the same 
 paper so true, and so happily expressed, that I should be un¬ 
 just to my readers, if I were not to give them more than the 
 glimpses afforded in Mr. Gardiner’s remarks. 
 
 Speaking of Mr. Prescott’s “ marvellous popularity,” Mr. 
 Parsons goes on : — 
 
 “ I do not speak of this as his success in society, for that would imply 
 that he sought lor popularity and aimed at it, and this would be wholly 
 untrue. It was not perhaps undesired, and it certainly was neither ud 
 
WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 I -j2 
 
 known nor unwelcome to him. But it came, not because he made any 
 effort to procure it, but simply because it was inevitable, by which I mean 
 that it was the necessary effect of the combination of certain qualities in 
 his character. Foremost among these, undoubtedly, was his universal, 
 constant, and extreme kindness of heart, and its fitting exponent in as 
 sweet a temper as ever man had. But even these would not have sufficed, 
 but for his capacity for sympathy, a quality which is not always the com¬ 
 panion of a real benevolence.If Prescott never demanded or desired 
 
 that others should stand around and bow to him, it was not because he 
 could have no reason for claiming this. For all whom lie came near felt, 
 what he never seemed to feel, that there was, if not some renunciation of 
 right, at least a charming forgetfulness of self, in the way in which he 
 asserted no superiority over any, but gave himself up to the companion of 
 the moment, with the evident desire to make him as happy as he could. 
 And his own prompt and active sympathy awoke the sympathy of others. 
 His gayety became theirs. He came, always bringing the gift of cheerful¬ 
 ness, and always offering it with such genuine cordiality, that it was sure 
 to be accepted, and returned with increase. No wonder that he was just 
 as welcome everywhere as sunshine. If I were asked to name the man 
 whom I have known, whose coming was most sure to be hailed as a pleas¬ 
 ant event by all whom he approached, I should not only place Prescott at 
 the head of the list, but I could not place any other man near him. And 
 with all tins universal sympathy there was never any sacrifice or loss of 
 himself. He did not go willingly to others because his mind had no home 
 of its own. When we see one seeking society often, and enjoying it with 
 peculiar relish, we can hardly forbear thinking that he thus comes abroad 
 to find necessary recreation, and that, even if he be content at home, his 
 joys are elsewhere. Nothing could be less true of Prescott. It would 
 have been equally difficult for one who knew him only in his home activi¬ 
 ties and his home happiness, or only in the full glow of his social pleas¬ 
 ures, to believe that he knew but half of the man, and that the other half 
 was quite as full of its own life, and its own thorough enjoyment, as the 
 naif he saw.” 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 1837. 
 
 Mb. Prescott’s Industry and general Character based on Prin¬ 
 ciple and on Self-sacrifice. — Temptations. — Expedients to 
 overcome them. — Experiments. — Notes of what is read to him. 
 — Composes without writing. — Severe Discipline of his Moral 
 and Religious Character. — Dislikes to have his Habits inter¬ 
 fered with. — Never shows Constraint. —- Freedom of Manner 
 in his Family and in Society. — His Influence on Others. — His 
 Charity to the Poor. — Instance of it. 
 
 M R. PRESCOTT early discovered what many, whose 
 social position makes no severe demand on them for 
 exertion, fail to discover until it is too late, — I mean, that 
 industry of some sort and an earnest use of whatever faculties 
 God has given us, are essential to even a moderate amount of 
 happiness in this world. He did not, however, come to this 
 conclusion through his relations with society. On the contrary, 
 these relations during the most exposed period of his youth 
 were tempting him in exactly the opposite direction, and thus 
 rendering his position dangerous to his character. He was 
 handsome, gay, uncommonly entertaining, and a great favorite 
 wherever he went. The accident to his sight obviously ex¬ 
 cluded him from the professions open to persons of his own 
 age and condition, and his father’s fortune, if not great, was 
 at least such as to relieve the son, with whose misfortune his 
 whole family felt the tenderest sympathy, from the necessity of 
 devoting himself to any occupation as a means of subsistence. 
 A life of dainty, elegant idleness was, therefore, as freely open 
 to him as it was to any young man of his time; and his in¬ 
 firmities would no doubt have excused him before his friends 
 and the world, if he had given himself up to it. Has personal 
 relations, in fact, no less than his keen relish of social enjoy¬ 
 ments and M3 attractive qualities as a mere man of society, all 
 Beemed to solicit him to a life of self-indulgence. 
 
134 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Bat he perceived betimes that such a life would be only 
 one long mistake, — that it might satisfy the years of youth, 
 when the spirits are fresh, and the pursuit of pleasure has been 
 checked neither by sorrow nor by disappointment, but that it 
 must leave the graver period of manhood without its appro¬ 
 priate interests, and old age without its appropriate respect. 
 “ It is of little moment,” he therefore recorded, for his own 
 warning and government, as early as 1822, — “it is of little 
 moment whether I succeed in this or that thing, but it is of 
 great moment that I am habitually industrious.” This con¬ 
 clusion was reached by him three years before he began his 
 search for a subject to which lie could devote serious and con¬ 
 secutive labor. But it was eight years after the occurrence 
 of the accident that had shut him out from the field of adven¬ 
 ture in which most of those who had been his companions and 
 friends were already advancing and prosperous. 1 
 
 And these eight years had been full of silent, earnest teach¬ 
 ings. The darkness in which he had so often been immured 
 for weeks and months together had given him leisure for 
 thoughts which might otherwise never have come to him, or 
 which would have come with much less power. Notwith¬ 
 standing his exuberant spirits, he had suffered hours of ennui , 
 which, in a free and active life, and amidst the pleasures of 
 society, would have been spared to him. The result, there¬ 
 fore, to which he was brought by the workings of his own mind, 
 was, that, to be happy, he must lead a life of continuous, useful 
 industry, — such as he would at last enjoy if it were faithfully 
 persisted in, and if it tended to the benefit of others. 
 
 We have seen how ingenious he was in inventing for him 
 self the mechanical contrivances indispensable to the labor and 
 study on which, with his imperfect sight, he so much depended. 
 But there was another obstacle in his way of a different sort, 
 and one still more difficult and disagreeable to encounter. He 
 did not love work. He could do it, and had done it often, but 
 
 1 The same thought is often repeated in his Memoranda, but nowhere in 
 stronger terms than in a paper written twenty-seven years later, and show¬ 
 ing that he adhered to his conviction on the subject through life. “ I am 
 convinced,” he says, “ that whether clairvoyant or stone-blind, intellectual 
 occupation — steady, regular literary occupation — is the only true vocation 
 for me,— indispensable to my happiness.” 
 
INDUSTRY ON PRINCIPLE. 
 
 135 
 
 only under some strong stimulus. He had, for instance, com¬ 
 monly learned his lessons well in boyhood, because he respected 
 Dr. Gardiner, and was sure to be punished, if he had neglected 
 them. At college, he considered a certain moderate amount 
 of scholarship necessary to the character of a gentleman, and 
 came up to his own not very high standard with a good degree 
 of alacrity. And he had always desired to satisfy and gratify 
 his father, whose authority he felt to be gentle as well as just, 
 and whose wishes were almost always obeyed, even in his 
 earlier and more thoughtless years. But the present purpose 
 of his life demanded a different foundation from all this, — 
 one much deeper and much more solid. He was now to be a 
 scholar, and to work not only faithfully, but gladly, — almost 
 disinterestedly; for without such work, as he well knew, no 
 permanent and worthy result could be obtained, — no ultimate 
 intellectual success achieved. “ Be occupied always he there¬ 
 fore recoi'ded firmly at the outset of his new life. 
 
 But his nature — buoyant, frolicsome, and simple-hearted — 
 and his temperament — strong, active, and wilful — long con¬ 
 tended against his wise determination. While he was engaged 
 with his French and Italian studies, he did not, indeed, find 
 industry difficult; for such studies were botli pleasant and light. 
 But when they were over, and he was persuaded that German 
 was inaccessible to him, his exertions relaxed. “ I have read 
 with no method, and very little diligence or spirit, for three 
 months,” he said in 1824. “ To the end of my life, I trust, 
 I shall be more avaricious of time, and never put up with a 
 smaller average than seven hours of intellectual occupation per 
 diem. Less than that cannot discharge my duties to mankind, 
 satisfy my own feelings, or give me a rank in the community of 
 letters.” But a few months afterwards he finds it needful to 
 adopt new resolutions of reform. He complains bitterly that he 
 “ really works less than an hour a day,” and determines that it 
 shall at any rate be five hours, — a determination, however, 
 which he makes only to be mortified again and again, that he 
 can, with much effort, hardly come up to three or four. And 
 so it went on for two years of alternating struggles and failures. 
 Even after he had entered on the composition of' the “ Ferdi¬ 
 nand and Isabella,” it was not much better. The habit of 
 
136 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 industry indispensable to success was bard to be acquired. 
 Resolutions, such as he had been long in the habit of making, 
 but which, from their nature, should rather have been called 
 good purposes, would not do it. He broke them continually. 
 Some other expedient, therefore, — one more absolute and of 
 more stringent authority, — must be resorted to, or he must 
 fail. 2 
 
 A good deal annoyed with himself, he turned to what had 
 earlier been a favorite mode of compelling himself to keep 
 his own good resolutions, — I mean a system of pecuniary 
 mulcts and penalties. In college, he began this practice, which 
 he continued through his whole life, by punishing himself 
 with a moderate fine, to be paid, after certain neglects or 
 offences, to some charity. But this had not quite enough of the 
 essential character of punishment in it, since he was liberally 
 supplied with money, and loved to give it away almost as well 
 as his mother did. He therefore adopted another mode, that 
 proved a little more effectual. He made bets, of some con¬ 
 sequence, with such of his college friends as would take them, 
 to the effect that he would avoid or would do certain things, 
 in relation to which he was sure he should be mortified to have 
 them know he had failed. But it was a whimsical peculiarity 
 of these bets, to be on such subjects, or in such forms, that 
 commonly nobody but himself could know whether he had 
 lost or won. The decision was left to his own honor. It 
 should be added, therefore, that, as such bets were made wholly 
 for his own improvement, he was never at this period known 
 to exact a forfeit when his adversary had lost. He considered 
 his success as his true winning, and had no wish that any¬ 
 body should be punished for it. He desired only to punish 
 himself, and therefore, when he had lost was sure to proclaim 
 himself the loser and pay the bet. When he had won, he said 
 nothing. 
 
 It was to this last form of stimulus or punishment, there¬ 
 fore, that he resorted, when he found his industry in relation 
 
 2 There is ft characteristic allusion to this frailty in his notice of a good 
 resolution which he made at the end of one of his memorandum-books, ana 
 to which he refers in the first words of the next: “ I ended the last book with 
 a good resolution. I shall never be too old to make them. See if I shall ever 
 be old enough to keep them.” 
 
BOND AND PENALTIES. 
 
 137 
 
 to tlio composition of the “ Ferdinand and Isabella” not only 
 flagging, but so seriously foiling off that he began to be alarmed 
 for the final result. In September, 1828, he gave a bond to 
 Mr. English, then acting as his reader and secretary, to pay 
 him a thousand dollars, if, within one year from that date, he 
 had not written two hundred and fifty pages of his history, 
 “ the object being,” as he said, “ to prevent further vacillation 
 until he had written so much as would secure his interest in 
 going through with it.” He did not incur the penalty, and 
 thirteen years afterwards he recorded his conviction that the 
 arrangement had been wise. “I judged right,” he said, “that 
 when I had made so large an investment of time and labor, I 
 should not flag again.” 
 
 But Mi*. English’s account of the affair is more minute, and 
 is not a little curious as an expression of Mr. Prescott’s char¬ 
 acter. 
 
 “ The bond or agreement made,” he writes to me, “ bound each of us 
 to take from the other the amount Mr. Prescott should himself decide to 
 be won on certain wagers written by himself and sealed up. I never saw 
 them, and do not, to tliis day, know the subject of the bets. I took 
 liis word that they were made to gratify some fancy of his own, and that 
 they were so proportioned that the odds were much in my favor, — for 
 instance, that he risked in the proportion of one hundred to my twenty. 
 This contract, I suppose, continued to his death; at any rate, he never 
 notified me that it had ceased. lie often added new wagers, or in¬ 
 creased the amount of the old oues, as we have written our signatures 
 with fresh dates over and over again on the bottom and margins of the 
 sheets at numerous times since 1831, 3 down to within a few years of his 
 death. He would bring the paper to my office so folded that I could not 
 read what was written in it, and, with a smile, ask me to sign again. I 
 always did so at his request, without knowing what I signed, having the 
 most implicit confidence that it was only a harmless affair, and leaving it 
 wholly to him to decide whether I lost or won. I remember his paying 
 me two winnings, — one, several years ago, of twenty or thirty dollars, — 
 the other, somewhere about ten yearn ago, of one hundred. He afterwards 
 called on me to pay a loss of twenty or thirty, I forget which. He would 
 come into my office with a smile, lay down his money, and say, ‘ You re¬ 
 member that bond 1 you have won that, and go out with a laugh. On 
 the other occasion, * You have lost this time, and must pay me twenty or 
 thirty dollars,’ whichever it was. I handed him the money without re¬ 
 mark. He laughed and said, that, on the whole, I was in pocket so far, 
 but he could not tell how it would be next time, and went out without 
 anything more said on either side.” 
 
 * In 1831, Mr. English ceased to act as Mr. Prescott’s secretary. 
 
WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT 
 
 i as 
 
 Tltis document is lost, but another, not unlike it, and, what 
 is remarkable, made with another friend, while the first bond 
 was yet in full force, is preserved, and is very minute and 
 stringent. Both prove that work was often painfully unwel¬ 
 come to him, even when he had been long accustomed to it, 
 and that not unfrequently, in order to rouse himself to a proper 
 exertion of Ids faculties, he was willing to call in the aid of 
 some foreign, direct stimulus. And tlds he did from a delib¬ 
 erate persuasion that it was a duty he owed to himself, to em¬ 
 ploy the talents that had been given to him “ as ever in the 
 great Taskmaster's eye.” His literary memoranda afford abun¬ 
 dant proof of this. Indeed, they are throughout a sort of mon¬ 
 ument of it, for they were made in a great degree to record his 
 shortcomings, and to stimulate his uncertain industry. They 
 contain many scores of phrases, like these, scattered over more 
 tnan twenty years of the most active and important part of his 
 life. 
 
 “ I have worked lazily enough, latterly, or, rather, have been too lazy 
 to work at all. — Ended the old year [1834] very badly. The last four 
 weeks absolute annihilation. —Another three months, since the last entry, 
 and three months of dolce Jar nicnte. Not so dolce either. Fortunately 
 for the good economy and progress of the species, activity — activity, 
 mental or physical — is indispeusable to happiness.” 
 
 On another occasion, after enumerating the work he had 
 done during the preceding six months, he says : — 
 
 “ There is the sum total of what I have done in this dizzy-paled. winter, 
 which has left me in worse health and spirits, and with less to show in 
 any other way, than any past winter for ten years, — nay, twenty, — 
 vroh pudor ! ” 
 
 And again, in 1845 : — 
 
 “I find it as hard to get under way as a crazy hulk that has been 
 naulcd up for repairs. But I will mend, and, that I may do so, will make 
 hebdomadal entries of my laziness. I think I can’t stand the repetition 
 of such records long.” 
 
 But the very next week, in reference to the “ Conquest of 
 Peru,” which he was then writing, he says : — 
 
 “ Horresco referens! I have actually done nothing since last entry. 
 
 .... If I can ouce get in harness and at work, I shall do well enough. 
 But my joints are stiff I think, as I grow old. So, to give myself a start, 
 I have made a wager with Mr. Otis, 4 that I will reel off - at least one page 
 
 4 Mr. Edmund B. Otis, who was then acting as his secretary. 
 
NOTES FROM BOOKS. 
 
 139 
 
 per diem, barring certain contingencies. If I can’t do this, it must be a 
 gone case, and Pizarro may look to have his misdeeds shown up by a 
 better pen.” 
 
 No doubt, in these passages of his private Memoranda, and 
 in many more, both earlier and later, of the same sort, there is 
 high coloring. But it was intentional. The main object of 
 the whole record for nearly forty years was to stimulate his 
 industry, and to prevent himself from relapsing into the idle¬ 
 ness, or into the light and pleasant occupations, that constantly 
 tempted him from his proper studies. As he intimates in the 
 last extract, when he was well entered on a subject and the im¬ 
 petus was obtained, he generally enjoyed his work, and felt the 
 happiness and peace of conscience which he knew he could get 
 in no other way. But the difficulty was, to obtain the impetus. 
 After finishing one work, he did not like to begin another, and, 
 even when he had completed a single chapter, he was often 
 unwilling to take up the next. When he moved from the town 
 to the country, or from the country to the town, he did not 
 naturally or easily fall into his usual train of occupations. In 
 short, whenever there was a pause, he wanted to turn aside 
 into some other path, rather than to continue in the difficult 
 one right before him ; but he very rarely went far astray, be¬ 
 fore he had the courage to punish himself and come back. 
 
 But, besides being intended for a rebuke to the idle and 
 light-hearted tendencies of his nature, his Memoranda were 
 designed to record the various experiments he made to over¬ 
 come the peculiar difficulties in his way, and thus assist him to 
 encounter others more successfully. Some of these bear the 
 same marks of ingenuity and adaptation which characterized 
 his mechanical contrivances for sparing his sight, and were near 
 akin to them. 
 
 The notes that were taken from the books read to him, or 
 which he was able to read himself, were made with very great 
 care. They varied in their character at different periods, going 
 more into detail at first than they did later. But they were 
 always ample, abundant. I have now before me above a thou¬ 
 sand pages of them, which yet cover only a small portion of 
 the ground of “Ferdinand and Isabella.” From these, and 
 similar masses of manuscript, were selected, when they were 
 
140 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 wanted, such materials and hints as would suit the purpose of 
 any given chapter or division of the work that might be in 
 hand, and these again were transcribed by themselves, in a 
 very plain hand, for use. If his eye served him tolerably well, 
 he read such of these selected notes as were most important, 
 with great care, repeatedly, until he felt himself to be absolute 
 master of their contents. If they were not so important, they 
 were read to him, rarely less than six times, — generally 
 more, — “ some,” he says, “ a dozen times,” — so that he might 
 not only comprehend their general scope, but be able to judge 
 of any varieties involved in their separate statements, whether 
 of opinion or of fact. 
 
 When he had thus collected all needful materials, he began 
 the task of composition in his memory, — very difficult, from 
 the detail into which it was necessarily carried, and from 
 the exactness that was to be observed in each step as he 
 advanced. Of its value and importance he was early aware, 
 and, as he gradually surmounted the peculiar embarrassments 
 it presented, he relied on it more and more exclusively, until 
 at last he attained an extraordinary power in its use and ap¬ 
 plication. 
 
 In 1824, he said, that, before composing anything, he found 
 it necessary “ to ripen the subject by much reflection in his 
 mind.” This, it will be remembered, was when he had not 
 even begun his preliminary Spanish studies, and had, in fact, 
 hazarded nothing more serious than an article for the “ North- 
 American Review.” But, as soon as he had entered on the 
 composition of the “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” he felt fully its 
 great importance and wide consequences. Within a fortnight, 
 he recorded: “Never take up my pen, until I have travelled 
 over the subject so often, that I can write almost from memory.” 
 It was really desirable to write, not almost, but altogether, 
 from memory. He labored, therefore, long for it, and suc¬ 
 ceeded, by great and continuous efforts, in obtaining the much- 
 coveted power. “ Think concentratedlv,” he says, “ when I 
 think at all.” And again, “ Think closely, gradually concen¬ 
 trating the circle of thought.” 6 At last, in 1841, when he was 
 
 6 Again, November 10, 1839, he records: “ Think continuously and closely 
 before taking up my pen; make the corrections chiefly in my own rcivd; not 
 
COMPOSITION IN HIS MEMORY. 
 
 141 
 
 employed on the “ Mexico,” he records, after many previous 
 memoranda on the subject: “ My way has lately been to go 
 over a large mass, — over and over, till ready to throw it on 
 paper.” And the next year, 1842, he says: “ Concentrate 
 more resolutely my thoughts the first day of meditation, — going 
 over and over, — thinking once before going to bed, or in bed, 
 or before rising, — prefer the latter. And after one day of 
 chewing the cud should be [i. e. ought to be] ready to write. 
 Tt was three days for this chapter.” — [“ Conquest of Mexico,” 
 Book V., Chapter II.] Sometimes it was longer, but, in gen¬ 
 eral, a single whole day, or two or three evenings, with the 
 hours of his exercise in riding or walking, were found to be 
 sufficient for such careful meditation. 6 
 
 The result was remarkable — almost incredible — as to the 
 masses he could thus hold in a sort of abeyance in his mind, 
 and as to the length of time he could keep them there, and 
 consider and reconsider them without confusion or weariness. 
 Thus, he says that he carried in his memory the first and 
 second chapters of the fifth book of the “ Conquest of Peru,” 
 and ran over the whole ground several times before beginning 
 to write, although these two chapters fill fifty-six pages of printed 
 text; and he records the same thing of chapters fifth, sixth, 
 and seventh, in the second book of “ Philip the Second,” which 
 
 attempt to overlook my noctographs; very trying to the eye. If I would 
 enjoy composition, write well, and make progress, I must give my whole soul 
 to it, so as not to know the presence of another in the room; going over 
 the work again and again (not too fastidious, nor formal); thinking when 
 walking and dressing, &c.; and not too scrupulous, hesitating, in my final 
 corrections. It is a shame and a sin to waste time on mere form. Have 
 been very contented and happy here [Pepperell]; fine weather, and pleasing 
 occupation.” 
 
 6 In preparing Chapter III., of the Introduction to the “ Conquest of 
 Peru,” — about thirty printed pages,—he records that, after having done 
 all the necessary reading, he studied five days on the memoranda he had 
 made, reflected on them one day more, and then gave four days to writing 
 the text, and five to writing the notes. Gibbon, too, used to compose in his 
 mind; but it was in a very different way, and with very different results. 
 He prepared only a paragraph at a time, and that he did, as he says, in order 
 “ to try it by the ear.” (Misc. Works, 1814, Vol. I. p. 230.) I think the effect 
 of this loud recital of his work to himself is plain in the well-known cadence 
 of his sentences. Mr. Prescott never, so far I as know, repeated his chapters 
 aloud. His mental repetition was generally done when he was riding, or 
 walking, or driving. 
 
142 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 make together seventy-two pages, and on which he was em« 
 ployed sixty-two days. 7 
 
 He frequently kept about sixty pages in his memory for 
 several days, and went over the whole mass five or six times, 
 moulding and remoulding the sentences at each successive 
 return. But this power did not remain in full vigor to the 
 last. When he was writing the third volume of “ Philip the 
 Second,” he found that he could not carry more than about 
 forty pages in his mind at once, and spoke to me of it as a sad 
 failure of memory, which no doubt, it was in one point of 
 view, although in another, it can be regarded only as an ex¬ 
 pression of the surprising power at one time reached by a 
 faculty which in its decline was still so marvellous. But, 
 whatever might be the amount that he had thus prepared in his 
 mind, he went over it five or six times, as a general rule,— 
 sometimes more, — and once, at least, he did it, for a single 
 chapter, sixteen times, — an instance of patient, untiring labor 
 for which it will not be easy to find a parallel. 8 
 
 Writing down by the help of his apparatus what had been 
 so carefully prepared in his memory was a rapid and not dis 
 agreeable operation, especially in the composition of his “ Com 
 quest of Mexico,” and of his later works, when the habit of 
 doing it had become fixed and comparatively easy. As the 
 sheets were thrown olf, the secretary deciphered and copied 
 
 7 His words are: “The batch— all run over in my mind several times, 
 from beginning to end, before writing a word—has been got out, reading, 
 thinking, and writing, in sixty-two days.” 
 
 8 Dionvsius of Halicarnassus (De Compositione Verborum, Ed. Schaefer, 
 1S08, p. 406) says, that Plato continued to correct and polish the style of his 
 Dialogues when he was eighty years old. 'O fie IlXaroon tovs invroii 
 fiiaXoyovr Krevifav teal fiocrTpvxifav Kal iravra rponov avan\eKU>v ov 
 fite'Xi 7 rev oyfi orjKoura yeyor.br errj. See, also, the well-considered remarks 
 on a careful revision of style by good writers of all ages, in the twenty-first 
 of Mr. George P. Marsh’s Lectures on the English Language (New York, 
 
 I860),_a book full of rich, original thought and painstaking, conscientious 
 
 investigation. “ Literary Biography,” he says, “ furnishes the most abundant 
 proofs, that, in all ages, the works which stand as types of language and com¬ 
 position have been of slow and laborious production, and have undergone the 
 most careful and repeated revision and emendation.” This, I have no doubt, 
 is what Dionysius meant, when he said that Plato did not cease to comb and 
 curl and braid the locks of his Dialogues, even when he w:is eighty years 
 old,--an odd figure of speech, but a very significant one. 
 
REVISION OF HIS WRITINGS. 
 
 143 
 
 them in a large round hand, — and then they were laid aside, 
 generally for some months, or even longer, that the subject 
 might cool in the author’s mind, and the imperfections of its 
 treatment become, in consequence, more readily apparent to 
 him. At the end of this period, or whenever the time for a 
 final revision had come, he chose the hours or the minutes in 
 each day — tor they were often only minutes — when his eye 
 would permit him to read the manuscript himself, and then he 
 went over it with extreme care. This he held to be an impor¬ 
 tant process, and never, I think, trusted it wholly to the ear. 
 Certainly he never did so, if he could possibly avoid it. He 
 believed that what was to be read by the eye of another 
 should be, at least once, severely revised by the eye of its 
 author. 
 
 As the proof-sheets came from the press, his friend Mr. Fol¬ 
 som corrected them, suggesting, at the same time, any emenda¬ 
 tions or improvements in the style that might occur to him, 
 with the freedom of an old friendship, as well as with the skill 
 and taste of a well-practised criticism; and then the author 
 having himself passed judgment upon the suggestions thus 
 offered to him, and having taken such as he approved, — rarely 
 more than one third, or even one fifth, — the whole was de¬ 
 livered to the unchanging stereotype. 9 
 
 This process, from the first breaking ground with inquiries 
 into the subject to the final yielding of the completed work to 
 the press, was, no doubt, very elaborate and painstaking; but 
 it seems to me that it was singularly adapted to the peculiar 
 difficulties and embarrassments of Mr. Prescott’s case, and I do 
 not suppose that in any other way he could have accomplished 
 so much, or have done it so well. But, whether this were so 
 
 9 Mr. Folaom — who had known him from the period of his college life — 
 made before the American Academy, soon after his friend’s death, some very 
 graceful and appropriote remarks on his modes of composition, with which 
 his “ Cambridge Aldus," as Prescott was wont to call Mr. Folsom, was espe¬ 
 cially familiar. On the same occasion, other more general, but not less in¬ 
 teresting, remarks on his life and character were made by the Rev. Dr. 
 George E. Ellis of Charlestown, the Hon. Charles G. Loring of Boston, and 
 Professor Theophilus Parsons of Harvard College, — the last two, like Mr. 
 Folsom, members of the Club to which Mr. Prescott so many years belonged. 
 — See the “ Proceedings of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences,” 
 Vol. IV. pp. 149-1G3. 
 
.44 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 or not, the great labor it implied, added to the unceasing care 
 he was compelled to practise for forty years, in order to pro¬ 
 tect his health, and preserve and prolong the failing powers of 
 the single eye that remained to him, so as to enable him to 
 pursue the minute historical investigations which seemed to be 
 forbidden by the conditions of his life, is a very extraordinary 
 spectacle. It is, no less, one full of instruction to those who 
 think that a life without serious occupation can be justified 
 either by the obstacles or the temptations it may be called to 
 encounter. 
 
 But there is another side of his character, which should Dot 
 be left out of view, and yet one which I cannot approach ex¬ 
 cept with misgiving; I mean that which involves the moral 
 and religious elements of his nature. Of these, so far as a 
 belief in Christianity is concerned, and a conscientious and 
 repeated examination of its authority as a revelation, I have 
 already spoken. His life, too, devoted to hard labor, — often 
 physically painful, — with the prevalent idea not only of cul¬ 
 tivating his own faculties, and promoting his own improve¬ 
 ment, but of fulfilling his duties towards his fellow-men, was 
 necessarily one of constant careful discipline, but behind all 
 this, and deeper than all this, lay, as its foundation, his watch¬ 
 fulness over his moral and religious character, its weaknesses 
 and its temptations. 
 
 With these he dealt, to a remarkable degree, in the same 
 way, and on the same system, which he applied to his physical 
 health and his intellectual culture. He made a record of 
 everything that was amiss, and examined and considered and 
 studied that record constantly and conscientiously. It was 
 written on separate slips of paper, — done always with his own 
 hand, — seen only by his own eye. These slips he preserved 
 in a large envelope, and kept them in the most reserved and 
 private manner. From time to time, when his sight permitted, 
 — and generally on Sunday, after returning from the morning 
 service, — he took them out and looked them over, one by one. 
 If any habitual fault were, as he thought, eradicated, he 
 destroyed the record of it; if a new one had appeared, he 
 entered it on its separate slip, and placed it with the rest for 
 future warning and reproof. This habit, known only to the 
 
RECORD OF FAULTS. 
 
 145 
 
 innermost circle of those who lived around his heart, was per¬ 
 severed in to the last. After his death the envelope was found, 
 marked, as it was known that it would be, “ To be burnt.” 
 And it was burnt. No record, therefore, remains on earth of 
 this remarkable self-discipline. But it remains in the memory 
 of his beautiful and pore life, and in the books that shall be 
 opened at the great day, when the thoughts of all hearts shall 
 be made manifest. 
 
 Probably to those who knew my friend only as men com¬ 
 monly know one another in society, and even to the many 
 who knew him familiarly, these accounts of his private habits 
 and careful self-discipline may be unexpected, and may seem 
 strange. But they are true. The foundations of his character 
 were laid as deep as I have described them, — the vigilance 
 over his own conduct was as strict. But he always desired to 
 have as little of this seen as possible. He detested all pretence 
 and cant. lie made no presumptuous claims to the virtues 
 which everybody, who knew him at all, knew he possessed. 
 He did not, for instance, like to say that he acted in any 
 individual case from “ a sense of duty.” He avoided that par¬ 
 ticular phrase, as he more than once told me he did, and as I 
 know his father had done before him, because it is so often 
 used to hide mean or unworthy motives. I am pretty sure 
 that I never heard him use it; and on one occasion, when a 
 person for whom he had much regard was urging him to do 
 something which, after all, could only end in social pleasures 
 for both of them, and added as an ultimate argument, “ But 
 can’t you make a duty of it ? ” — he repeated the words to me 
 afterwards with the heartiest disgust. But, during his riper 
 years, nobody, I think, ever saw anything in him which con¬ 
 tradicted the idea that he was governed by high motives. It 
 was only that he was instinctively unwilling to parade them, 
 — that he was remarkably free from anything like pretension. 
 
 He carried this very far. To take a strong example, few 
 persons suspected him of literary industry till all the world 
 knew what lie had done. Not half a dozen, I think, out of his 
 own family, were aware, during the whole period in which he 
 was employed on his “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” that he was 
 occupied with any considerable literary undertaking, and hardly 
 
116 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 anybody knew wbat it was. Most of his friends thought that 
 he led rather an idle, unprofitable life, but attributed it to his 
 infirmity, and pardoned or overlooked it as a misfortune, rather 
 than as anything discreditable. On one occasion a near con¬ 
 nection, whom he was in the habit of meeting in the most 
 familiar and pleasant manner at least once a week, affection¬ 
 ately urged him to undertake some serious occupation as a 
 thing essential to his happiness, and even to his respectable 
 position in society. And yet, at that moment, he had been 
 eight years laboring on his first great work ; and, though thus 
 pressed and tempted, he did not confess how he was em¬ 
 ployed . 10 
 
 He was sensitive from his very nature as well as from the 
 infirmities that beset him ; and this sensitiveness of tempera¬ 
 ment made it more than commonly disagreeable to him to 
 have his exact habits interfered with or intruded upon. But 
 he did not willingly permit his annoyance to be seen, and few 
 ever suspected that he felt it. When he was riding or taking 
 his long walks, he was, as we have seen, in the habit of going 
 over and over again in his memory whatever he might last 
 have composed, and thus correcting and finishing liis work in a 
 way peculiarly agreeable to himself. Of course, under such 
 circumstances, any interruption to the current of his thoughts 
 was unwelcome. And yet who of the hundreds that stopped 
 him in his daily walks, or joined him on horseback, eager for 
 his kindly greeting or animated conversation, was ever received 
 with any other than a pleasant welcome ? During one winter, 
 I know that the same friend overtook him so often in his 
 morning ride, that he gave up his favorite road to avoid a 
 kindness which he was not willing to seem to decline. His 
 
 10 As early as 1821, lie showed signs of this sensitiveness, which so remark¬ 
 ably characterized all his literary labors. After indicating two or three per¬ 
 sons, one of whom he might consult when he should be writing a review for 
 the “ North American,” he adds: *‘ Nor shall any one else, if I can help it, 
 know that I am writing.” This occasional reticence — so complete, so abso¬ 
 lute, as it was in the case of the “ Ferdinand and Isabella” — is a remark¬ 
 able trait iu the character of one who was commonly open-hearted almost to 
 weakness. 1 do not believe that three persons out of his own home knew 
 that he was writing that work until it was nearly completed. Indeed, I am 
 not aware that anybody knew it for several years except myself, his family 
 and those who helped him abroad in collecting materials. 
 
SENSITIVENESS. 
 
 147 
 
 father and he understood one another completely on this point. 
 They often mounted at the same time, but always turned their 
 horses in different directions. 
 
 Nor was there in his intercourse at home or abroad — with 
 strangers or with his familiar friends — any noticeable trace of 
 the strict government to which he subjected his time and his 
 character. In his study everything went on by rule. His 
 table and his papers were always in the nicest order. His 
 chair stood always in the same spot, and — what was important 
 — in the same relations to the light. The furniture of the 
 room was always arranged in the same manner. The hours, 
 and often even the minutes, were counted and appropriated. 
 But when he came out from his work and joined his family, 
 the change was complete, — the relaxation absolute. Espe 
 daily in the latter part of Iris life, and in the cheerful parlor of 
 the old homestead at Pepperell, surrounded by his children and 
 their young friends, his gay spirits were counted upon by all as 
 an unfailing resource. The evening games could not be begun, 
 the entertaining book could not be opened, until he had come 
 from his work, and taken his accustomed place in the circle 
 which his presence always made bright. 
 
 In society it was the same. He was never otherwise than 
 easy and unconstrained. It would have been difficult to find 
 him in a company of persons where any one was more attrac¬ 
 tive than he was. But he never seemed to be aware of it, or 
 to make an effort to distinguish himself. The brilliant things 
 he sometimes said were almost always in the nature of repartees, 
 and depended so much for their effect on what had gone be¬ 
 fore that those who saw him oftenest and knew him best re¬ 
 member little of his conversation, except that it was always 
 agreeable, — often full of drollery, — occasionally sparkling. 
 But it was one of its peculiarities, that it became sometimes 
 amusing from its carelessness, — running into blunders and in¬ 
 consequences, not unlike Irish bulls, which nobody seemed to 
 enjoy so heartily as he did, or to expose with such happy 
 gayety. Eminently natural he always was, — everybody saw 
 it who met him, — and in this quality resided, no doubt, 
 much of the charm of his personal intercourse. 
 
 But it was certainly remarkable that one who lived so many 
 
148 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PKESCOTT. 
 
 hoars of each day by such rigorous rules, and who subjected 
 himself constantly to a discipline, physical, intellectual, and 
 moral, so exact, should yet have been thus easy, unconstrained, 
 and even careless in all societies, at home and abroad, — with 
 his children hardly more than with persons whom he saw for 
 the first time. Such apparent contradictions — such a union 
 of qualities and characteristics which nature commonly holds 
 carefully asunder — were not always intelligible to those who 
 occasionally caught glimpses of them, without being constantly 
 near enough to see how they were produced, or how they acted 
 upon each other. It was a combination which could, I con¬ 
 ceive, have been originally found or formed in no nature that 
 had not that essential goodness and sweetness for which the 
 best training is but a poor substitute; and they could have been 
 brought into such intimate union by no solvent less active than 
 his charming spirits, which seemed to shed brightness over his 
 whole character. His sunny smile was absolutely contagious, 
 — his cordial, easy manners were irresistible. All who ap¬ 
 proached him felt and acknowledged their influence, and few 
 thought of what might lie beneath them. 
 
 One trait of his character, however, which, from its nature, 
 was less obvious than the traits expressed by his general man¬ 
 ners, should be especially noticed, — I mean his charity to the 
 poor. His liberality in contributing to whatever would im¬ 
 prove and benefit the community was necessarily known of 
 many. Is T ot so his private generosity. This he had, as it 
 were, inherited. His mother's greatest happiness, beyond the 
 circle of her family, was found in a free-handed beneficence. 
 In the latter part of her life, when her resources were much 
 beyond the claims that could be made on them by children 
 already independent, she avoided all personal expense, and gave 
 more than half her income to the poor. Her son fully shared 
 her spirit. While she lived, he co-operated with her, and, after 
 her death, her pensioners were not permitted, so far as money 
 could do it, to feel their loss. 
 
 But, from his earliest manhood, he was always free and 
 liberal In many years he gave away more than he intended 
 to do, and more than he afterwards thought he ought to have 
 done. But this did not prevent him from repeating the mis- 
 
CHARITY TO THE POOR. 
 
 149 
 
 take or the miscalculation. Indeed, though he was considerate 
 and careful, as well as liberal, in his contributions to public in¬ 
 stitutions, he was very impulsive in his private charities. An 
 instance happily recorded by Mr. Robert Carter, who was his 
 secretary for about a year, in 1847 - 1848, will better explain 
 this part of his character than a page of generalities. 
 
 “ One bitter cold day,” he says, “ I came to the study as usual at half 
 past ten. Mr. Prescott went to work immediately on two long and impor 
 tant letters, one to Senor de Gayangos at Madrid, the other to Count Cir- 
 court at Paris, which he was very anxious to have finished in season to go 
 by that week’s mail to Europe. There was barely sufficient time to get 
 them ready before the mail closed. They were about half done when 
 twelve o’clock, his hour for exercise, arrived. He was so anxious to get 
 them off - that he did what I had never known him to do before ; he relin¬ 
 quished his walk, and kept at his writing-case, telling me to go out and 
 stretch my legs, but to be sure and return at one o’clock, when he would 
 have the letters ready to be copied. I offered to remain and copy as he 
 wrote, but he said there would be time enough if I came back at one 
 o’clock. He never would allow me to work tor him beyond the hours 
 stipulated in our agreement, and was very careful not to encroach upon 
 my time, even for a minute, though he often made me take holidays. I 
 strolled about the city for half an hour, and on my way back passing 
 through Broad Street, where the Irish congregate, met one Michael Sulli 
 van, whom I knew. He seemed to be in trouble, and I inquired what 
 ailed him. He said he had been sick and out of work, and had no money, 
 and his family were starving with cold. I went with him to the den 
 where he lived, and found his wife and three or four small children in s# 
 wretched loft over a warehouse, where they were lying on the floor huddled 
 in a pile of straw and shavings, with some rags and pieces of old caipet 
 over them. The only furniture in the room was a chair, a broken table, 
 and a small stove, in which were the expiring embers of a scanty handful 
 of coal, which they had begged from neighbors equally poor. The mer¬ 
 cury was below zero out of doors, and the dilapidated apartment was not 
 much warmer than the street. I had no time to spare, and the detention, 
 slight as it was, prevented me from getting back to Mr. Prescott’s till a 
 quarter past one. His manuscript lay on my desk, and he was walking 
 about the room in a state of impatience, I knew, though he showed none, 
 except by looking at his watch. As I warmed my chilled hands over the 
 fire, I told him, by way of apology, what had detained me. Without 
 speaking, he stepped to a drawer where scraps of writing paper were kept, 
 took out a piece, and, laying it on my desk, told me to write an order on 
 
 Mr.-(a coal dealer with whom he kept an account always open for 
 
 such purposes) for a ton of coal, to be delivered without delay to Michael 
 Sullivan, Broad Street. He then went to his bell-rope, and gave it a vehe¬ 
 ment pull. A servant entered as I finished the order. ‘ Take this,’ he 
 
 said, ‘ as quick as you can to Mr.-, and see that the coal is delivered 
 
 at once. What is the number of the house in Broad Street ? ’ 
 
 “ I had neglected to notice the number, though I could find the place 
 
150 
 
 WILLIAM mCKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 readily myself. I therefore suggested to Mr. Prescott, that, os there were 
 probably twenty Michael Sullivans in Broad Street, the coal might not reach 
 the right man, unless I saw to it in person, which I would do when I 
 went to dinner at half past two o’clock. 
 
 “ ‘ Thank you ! thank you ! ’ he said ; ‘but go at once, there will be 
 time enough lost in getting the coal.’ 
 
 “ I reminded him of the letters. ‘ Go! go ! never mind the letters. 
 Gavangos and Circourt will not freeze if they never get them, and Mrs. 
 O’Sullivan may, if you don’t hurry. Stay! can the man be trusted with 
 money ? or will he spend it all for drink ? ’ He pulled out his pocket- 
 book. I told him he could be trusted. He handed me five dollars. 
 ‘ See that they are made comfortable, at least while this cold spell lasts. 
 Take time enough to see to them; I shall not want you till six. Don’t let 
 them know I sent the money, or all Broad Street will be here begging 
 within twenty-four hours.’ 
 
 “ I relieved Mr. O’Sullivan, as Mr. Prescott persisted in calling him, 
 and, when I returned at six, I entered in the account-book, ‘ Charity five 
 dollars.’ ‘ Always tell me when you know of such cases,’ he said, 
 ‘ and I shall be only too happy to do something for them. I cannot 
 go about myself to find them out, but I shall be always ready to con 
 tribute.’ 
 
 “ He did not let the matter rest there, but kept playfully inquiring 
 after my friends Mr. and Mrs. O’Sullivan, until I satisfied him by ascer¬ 
 taining that he had found employment, and could provide for his family. 
 Alter that he never alluded to them again.” 11 
 
 u From the New York “ Tribune,” as copied into the “ Prescott Memo¬ 
 rial,” New York, 1859. Sullivan was, no doubt, a Catholic, as were most 
 of the poor Irish, who then herded in Broad Street. But Prescott cared 
 uot a whit what was the religion of the poor he helped. It was enough that 
 they were suffering. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 1837 . 
 
 Period immediately after the Publication of “ Ferdinand and 
 Isabella.” — Thinks of writing a Life of MoliLre; but prefers 
 Spanish Subjects. — Reviews. — Inquires again into the Truth 
 of Christianity. — “ Conquest of Mexico.” — Books and Manu¬ 
 scripts OBTAINED FOR IT. — HUMBOLDT. — INDOLENCE. — CORRESPOND¬ 
 ENCE with Washington Irving. 
 
 IHE summer of 1836, when the composition of “ Ferdinand 
 
 A and Isabella ” was completed, and the following eighteen 
 months, during which it was carried through the press and its 
 Buccess made sure, constituted a very happy period in Mr. 
 Prescott’s life. The inexperienced author speculated, indeed, 
 more than he needed to have done on the risks of his venture, 
 and felt concerning the final result a good deal of nervous curi¬ 
 osity, which, if it did not amount to anxiety, was something 
 very near to it. But he soon began to consider what he should 
 do when the holidays in which he was indulging himself should 
 come to an end. For some time he was very uncertain. It 
 was his way in such cases to doubt long. 
 
 At one period, he determined, if the “ Ferdinand and Isa¬ 
 bella should be coldly received, to take up some lighter sub¬ 
 ject, for winch, with all his distrust of himself, he could not 
 doubt his competency. Several subjects came readily to his 
 thoughts, but none tempted him so much as Moliere, on whose 
 character and works he had, in 1828, written a pleasant article 
 for the “ North American Review,” — the “ Old North,” as he 
 used to call it. As soon, therefore, as he had corrected the last 
 sheets of the “ Catholic Sovereigns,” he wrote to me about his 
 new project, knowing that I was in Paris, where I might 
 help him in collecting materials for it. This was in Septem¬ 
 ber, 1837. 1 
 
 1 He had, somewhat earlier, a considerable fancy for literary history, of 
 which he often spoke to me. When he was half through the composition of 
 
WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 152 
 
 It was not difficult to do all he desired. I advised with 
 M. Jules Taschereau, 2 who, besides his other claims on the 
 republic of letters, had then recently published the second 
 edition of his “ Life of Moliere,” — altogether the best book 
 on its subject, though with an air of greater learning than 
 might have been anticipated from the brilliant character of 
 the genius to whom it is devoted. Having made sure of the 
 assistance of M. Taschereau, I at once undertook the com¬ 
 mission, and wrote to my friend how I proposed to execute it. 
 He replied in the postscript to a letter already extending to 
 four sheets, which he thus characterizes : — 
 
 “ My letter resembles one of those old higglety-piggkty houses that have 
 been so much tinkered and built upon that one hardly knows the front 
 from the rear. I have got to-day your letter of November 24th, — a kind 
 letter, showing that you are, as you always have been ever since you came 
 into the world, thinking how you can best serve your friends. I am truly 
 obliged by your interest in the little Moliere purchases, and, if anything 
 occurs to you of value that I have omitted, pray order it.My de¬ 
 
 sign is to write a notice of his life and works, which, without pretence (for 
 it would be but pretence) to critical skill in the French language or drama, 
 
 would make an agreeable book for the parlor table.As the thing, 
 
 in my prosy way, would take two or three years, I don’t care to speak of 
 it to any one else. 
 
 “ But my heart is set on a Spanish subject, could I compass the mate¬ 
 rials, viz. the Conquest of Mexico, and the anterior civilization of the 
 Mexicans, — a beautiful prose epic, for which rich virgin materials teem 
 in Simancas and Madrid, and probably in Mexico. I would give a couple 
 of thousand dollars that they lay in a certain attic in Bedford Street. But 
 how can I compass it in these troubled times, — too troubled, it would 
 seem, for old Navarrete to follow down the stream of story, which he has 
 carried to the very time of Corte's.” 3 
 
 his “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” and hastening to finish it, he recorded: “But, 
 after all, literary history is more consonant with my taste, my turn of mind, 
 and all my previous studies. The sooner I complete my present work, the 
 sooner I shall be enabled to enter upon it. So festina." 
 
 2 Now (1862) the head of the Imperial Library at Paris. 
 
 8 He refers to the remarkable work — mainly documentary — entitled 
 “ Coleccion de Viages y Descubrimientos que hicieron por Mar los Espanoles 
 desde fines del Siglo XV. coordinada 6 ilustrada por Don Martin Fernandez 
 de Navarrete.” Madrid, 1825-87. 5 Tomos, 4to. It begins, of course, with 
 Columbus; but it comes down only to Loaisa and Saavedra, without touch¬ 
 ing the expedition of Cortds for the Conquest of Mexico; or even approach¬ 
 ing that of the Pizarros for the Conquest of Peru. The manuscript materials 
 for both of these, however, as we shall see hereafter, were placed by Navar¬ 
 rete, who had collected them for publication, with true Spanish generosity 
 at the disposition of Mr. Prescott. 
 
IDLE TIME. 
 
 153 
 
 The result of the matter was, that I sent him a collection of 
 about fifty volumes, which, for anybody who wished to write a 
 pleasant life of Moliere, left little to be desired, and nothing for 
 one whose purpose was general literary criticism, rather than 
 curious biographical or bibliographical research. But before 
 he had received the purchase I had thus made for him, the 
 success of his “Ferdinand and Isabella” had happily turned 
 his attention again to the Spanish subject, which lay nearest 
 his heart. On the sixth of April, he wrote to me concerning 
 both the “ Mexico ” and the “ Moliere,” telling me, at the same 
 time, of a pleasant acquaintance he had made, which promised 
 much to favor his Spanish project, and which, in the end, did 
 a great deal more, giving him a kind, true, and important 
 friend. 
 
 “ I have been much gratified,” he says, “ by the manner in which the 
 book lias been received by more than one intelligent Spaniard here, in 
 particular by the Spanish Minister, Don Angel Calderon dc la Barca, who 
 has sent me a present of books, and expresses his intention of translating 
 my History into Castilian. In consequence of this, as well as to obtain 
 his assistance for the other crotchets I have in my head, I paid a visit to 
 New York last week, — a momentous affair, for it would be easier for you 
 to go to Constantinople. Well, I saw his Spanishship, and was very much 
 pleased with him, — a frank, manly caballero, who has resigned his office 
 from a refusal to subscribe the late democratic constitution. He is quite 
 an accomplished man, and in correspondence with the principal Spanish 
 scholars at home, so that he will be of obvious use to me in any project I 
 may have hereafter. He told me he had sent a copy of the work to the 
 Royal Academy of History, and should present one to the Queen, if he 
 had not retired from office. There’s a feather in my cap ! 
 
 “ In New York I saw your old friends the L-s, and passed an evening ’ 
 
 with them. It is ten years to a month since I was there with you. 
 
 “ The New-Yorkers have done the handsome thing by me, — that is, 
 the book. But sink the shop ! I have dosed you and Anna with quite 
 enough of it. The truth is, I always talk to you and Anna as I should 
 to my own flesh and blood ; and if you do not so take it, I shall make a 
 pretty ridiculous figure in your eyes. But I will venture it. 
 
 “ I believe I have not written to you since the arrival of the French 
 books [about Moliere] all safe and sound. Never was there so much 
 viultum in so little parvo, — and then the ‘ damage ’ a mere bagatelle. How 
 much am I obliged to you, not only for thinking, but for thinking in the 
 right place and manner, for me, and for acting as well as thinking. I 
 begin to believe I have Fortunatus’s wishing-cap while you are in Europe. 
 For that reason, perhaps, I should show more conscience in putting the 
 said wishing-cap on my head. Well, the wish I have nearest at heart, 
 God knows, is to see you and Anna and the petites 6afe on this side of the 
 water again. And that will come to pass, too, before long. You will 
 7 * 
 
154 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 find us a few years older. Father Time has thinned out the loose hairs 
 from some craniums, and shaken bis vile dredging-box over others. For 
 myself, I have turned forty, since you went away, — an ugly corner, that 
 takes a man into the shadow of life, as it were. But better be in the 
 shadow with the friends you love, than keep in the everlasting sunshine 
 of youth, — if that were possible, — and see them go down into the valley 
 without you. One does not feel his progress, when all around is going on 
 at the same rate. I shall not, however, give up entirely my claims to be 
 reckoned young, since a newspaper this very week styles me ‘ our young 
 and modest townsman.’ I suppose you will admit one epithet to be as 
 true as the other.” 
 
 As we have seen, the period that followed the publication of 
 “ Ferdinand and Isabella ” was not fruitful in literary results. 
 Except a pleasant article on Lockhart’s “ Life of Scott,” which 
 he prepared for the “ North American Review,” he wrote 
 nothing during that winter, — not even his accustomed private 
 memoranda. No doubt, he was, in one sense, idle, and he 
 more than once spoke of these months afterwards with regret 
 and pain; but the vacation, though a pretty long one, seems 
 not to have been entirely amiss in its occupations or its conse¬ 
 quences. He read, or rather listened to much reading; light 
 and miscellaneous in general, but not always so. Sometimes, 
 indeed, during his protracted holidays, it was of the gravest 
 sort; for, while his work was going through the press, he oc¬ 
 cupied himself again with careful inquiries into the authority 
 and doctrines of the Christian religion. He read Marsh on 
 the origin of the first three Gospels in his Prolegomena to the 
 translation of “ Michaelis ” ; the first volume — being all then 
 published — of Norton’s “ Genuineness of the Gospels,” to 
 whose learning and power he bore testimony in a note to the 
 “ Ferdinand and Isabella ”; Newcome’s “ Harmony ”; Paley’s 
 “Evidences”; Middleton’s “Free Inquiry”; and Gibbon’s 
 famous chapters, — works the last three of which he had 
 considered and studied before. A little later he read Norton’s 
 “ Statement of Reasons,” and Furness on the Four Gospels ; 
 but he did not go so thoroughly as he had in his previous 
 inquiries into the orthodox doctrines, as they are called; for, 
 as he said, he was more and more satisfied that they were un¬ 
 founded. After expressing himself decidedly on these points, 
 and coming to the general conclusion that “the study of po¬ 
 lemics or biblical critics will tend neither to settle principles 
 
HUMBOLDT. 
 
 155 
 
 nor clear up doubts, but rather to confuse the former and mul¬ 
 tiply the latter,” he concludes with these striking words: — 
 
 “ To do well and act justly, to fear and to love God, and to love our 
 neighbor as ourselves, — in these is the essence of religion. To do this is 
 the safest, our only safe course. For what we can believe, we are not 
 responsible, supposing we examine candidly and patiently. For what we 
 do, we shall indeed be accountable. The doctrines of the Saviour unfold 
 the whole code of morals by which our conduct should be regulated. 
 Who, then, whatever difficulties he may meet with in particular incidents 
 and opinions recorded in the Gospels, can hesitate to receive the great re¬ 
 ligious and moral truths inculcated by the Saviour as the words of inspira¬ 
 tion ? I cannot, certainly. On these, then, I will rest, and for all else 
 
 ‘ Wait the great teacher Death, and God adore.’ ” 
 
 When he had come to the conclusion that the “ Ferdinand 
 and Isabella ” was a successful book, and likely to last, — a re¬ 
 sult at which he arrived very slowly, — he abandoned the idea 
 of writing the Life of Moliere, and turned, with a decided pur¬ 
 pose, to the History of the Conquest of Mexico, which had 
 been, for some time, interesting and tempting him in a way 
 not to be resisted. One cause of his long hesitation was the 
 doubt he felt whether he could obtain the materials that he 
 deemed necessary for the work. He had written for them to 
 Madrid, in April, 1838; but before a reply could reach him, 
 weary of a vacation which, reckoning from the time when he 
 finished the composition of “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” was now 
 protracted to nearly two years, and quite sure that on all ac¬ 
 counts he ought to be at work again, he began cautiously to 
 enter on his new subject with such books as he could com¬ 
 mand. 4 
 
 In June he records that he had read with much care Hum¬ 
 boldt’s “ Researches concerning the Institutions of the Ancient 
 inhabitants of America,” and his “ New Spain.” It was his 
 earliest acquaintance with the works of this great man, except 
 that, when writing an account of the first voyage of Columbus for 
 his “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” he had resorted to that mine of 
 knowledge and philosophy, the “ Examen Critique de l’Histoire 
 
 4 He felt the need of a grave subject, and of success ir. it, as, I think, he 
 always did after he had once begun his historical career. “ Mere ephemeral 
 success ” he records in 1838, “ still less paltry profit, will not content me I 
 am confident.” 
 
156 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 et de la Geographie du Nouveau Continent.” 6 The two works 
 he now studied are, however, in some respects, of more sig¬ 
 nificance, and he thus notes his opinion of them: — 
 
 “ Humboldt is a true philosopher, divested of local or national preju¬ 
 dices, fortified with uncommon learning, which supplies him with abun¬ 
 dant illustrations and analogies. Like most truly learned men, he is 
 cautious and modest in his deductions, and, though he assembles very 
 many remarkable coincidences between the Old World and the New in 
 their institutions, notions, habits, &c., yet he does not infer that the New 
 World was peopled from the Old, — much less from what particulai 
 nation, as more rash speculators have done.” 
 
 The notes to his “ Conquest of Mexico ” abound in similar 
 expressions of admiration for the great traveller; a man who, 
 as an observer of nature, was once said by Biot (a competent 
 judge, if anybody was) to have been equalled by none since the 
 days of Aristotle. 
 
 But though my friend was much interested in these work3, 
 and, during the year 1838, read or ran over many others of less 
 moment relating to the geography and physical condition of 
 that part of America to which they relate, he did not yet begin 
 to labor in earnest on his “ Conquest of Mexico.” In Septem¬ 
 ber, his disinclination to work was very strong. 
 
 “ I have been indolent,” he says, “ the last fortnight. It is not easy to 
 go forward without the steady impulse of a definite object. In the un¬ 
 certainty as to the issue of my application in Spain, I am without such 
 impulse. I ought always to find sufficient in the general advantages re¬ 
 sulting from study to my mental resources, — advantages to be felt on 
 whatever subject my mind is engaged. But I am resolved to mend, and 
 to employ all the hours my reader is with me, and something more, when 
 my eye will serve. Of one thing I am persuaded. No motives but those 
 of an honest fame and of usefulness will have much weight in stimulating 
 my labors. I never shall be satisfied to do my work in a slovenly way, 
 nor superficially. It would be impossible for me to do the job-work of a 
 literary hack. Fortunately, I am not obliged to write for bread, and I 
 never will write for money.” 
 
 One anxiety, which had troubled him for a time, was re¬ 
 moved in the following winter by the prompt courtesy of Mr. 
 Washington Irving. It was not such an anxiety as would have 
 occurred to everybody under the same circumstances, nor one 
 that would have been always so readily and pleasantly re¬ 
 moved as it was in the present case, by the following corre¬ 
 spondence : — 
 
 6 Ferdinand and Isabella, Part I. Chap. XVI., notes 
 
Jc/„ t/f -jiiare, 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING, 
 
 AT THE AGE 2 7 
 
 From -Ole original pictare Iby Jarvis. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH JIB. IRVING. 
 
 157 
 
 MR. PRESCOTT TO MR. IRVING. 
 
 Boston, Dec. 31, 1838. 
 
 Mt deak Sib, 
 
 If you will allow one to address you so familiarly who has not the 
 pleasure of your personal acquaintance, though lie feels as if he had known 
 you for a long time. Our friend Mr. Cogswell, 9 who is here on a short 
 visit, has mentioned to me a conversation which he had with you respect 
 ing the design I had formed of giving an account of the Conquest of 
 Mexico and Peru. I hope you will excuse me if I tell you how the 
 matter stands with me. 
 
 Soon after I had despatched their Catholic Highnesses, Ferdinand and 
 Isabella, I found the want of my old companions in the long hours of an 
 idle man’s life, and, as I looked round for something else, the History of 
 Cortes and Pizarro struck me as the best subject, from its growing out of 
 the period I had become familiar with, as well as from its relation to our 
 own country. I found, too, that I had peculiar facilities for getting such 
 books and manuscripts as 1 needed from Madrid, through the kindness of 
 Senor Calderon, whom you know. 
 
 The only doubts I had on the subject were respecting your designs in 
 the same way, since you had already written the adventures of the early dis¬ 
 coverers. I thought of writing to you, to learn from you your intentions, 
 but I was afraid it might seem impertinent in a stranger to pry into your 
 affairs. I made inquiries, however, of several of your friends, and could 
 not learn that you had any purpose of occupying yourself with the sub¬ 
 ject ; and, as you had never made any public intimation of the sort, I be¬ 
 lieve, and several years had elapsed since your last publication of the kind, 
 during which your attention had been directed in another channel, I con¬ 
 cluded that you had abandoned the intention, if you had ever formed it. 
 
 I made up my mind, therefore, to go on with it, and, as I proposed to 
 give a pretty thorough preliminary view of the state of civilization in Mex¬ 
 ico and Peru previous to the Conquest, I determined to spare no pains or 
 expense in collecting materials. I have remitted three hundred pounds to 
 Madrid for the purchase and copying of books and manuscripts, and have 
 also sent for Lord Kiugsborough’s and such other works relating to Mex¬ 
 ico as I can get from London. 7 I have also obtained letters to individuals 
 in Mexico for the purpose of collecting what may be of importance to ma 
 there. Some of the works from London have arrived, and the drafts ho in 
 
 8 The reference here is to Mr. J. G. Cogswell, the well-known head of the 
 Astor Library, New York, to whose disinterestedness, enthusiasm, and knowl¬ 
 edge that important institution owes hardly less of its character and success 
 than it does to the elder Mr. Astor, whose munificence founded it, or to the 
 younger Mr. Astor, who, in the same spirit, has sustained it and increased 
 its resources. Mr. Cogswell, from his youth, was intimate in the Prescott 
 family, and always much cherished by every member of it; so that, being 
 on equally intimate and affectionate terms with Mr. Irving, he was the best 
 possible person to arrange such a delicate affair between the parties. 
 
 1 This he had done about nine months earlier. 
 
138 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLIXG PRESCOTT. 
 
 Madrid show that my orders are executing there. Such works as can be 
 got here in a pretty good collection in the College library I have already 
 examined, and wait only for my books from Spain. 
 
 This is the state of affairs now that I have learned from Mr. C. that 
 you had originally proposed to treat the same subject, and that you re¬ 
 quested him to say to me, that you should relinquish it in ray favor. I 
 cannot sufficiently express to you my sense of your courtesy, which I can 
 very w all appreciate, as I know the mortification it would have caused me, 
 if, contrary to my expectations, I had found you on the ground ; for I am 
 but a dull sailer from the embarrassments I labor under, and should have 
 found but sorry gleanings in the field which you had thoroughly burnt 
 over, as they say in the West. I fbar the public will not feel so much 
 pleased sis myself by this liberal conduct on your parr, and I am not sure 
 that I should have a right in their eyes to avail myself of it. 8 But I trust 
 you will think differently when I accept your proffered courtesy in the 
 same cordial spirit in which it was given. 
 
 It will be conferring a still further favor on me, if you will allow me 
 occasionally, when I may find the want of it, to ask your advice in the 
 progress of the work. There are few persons among us who have paid 
 much attention to these studies, and no one, here or elsewhere, is so 
 familiar as yourself with the track of Spanish adventure in the New World 
 and so well qualified certainly to give advice to a comparatively raw hand. 
 Do not fear that this will expose you to a troublesome correspondence. I 
 have never been addicted to much letter-writing, though, from the speci¬ 
 men before you, I am afraid you will think those I do write aro some¬ 
 what of the longest. 
 
 Believe me dear Sir, with great respect, 
 
 Your obliged and obedient servant, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 P. S. Will you permit me to say, that if you have any materials in 
 your own library having a bearing on this subject, that cannot be got here, 
 and that you have no occasion for yourself, it will be a great favor if you 
 will dispose of them to me. 
 
 MR. IRVING TO MR. PRESCOTT. 
 
 New York, Jan. 18, 1839. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Your letter met with some delay in reaching me, and since the receipt 
 of it I have been hovering between town and country, so as to have had 
 no quiet leisure for an earlier reply. 
 
 I had always intended to write an account of the “ Conquest of Mex¬ 
 ico,” as a suite to my “ Columbus,” but left Spain without making the 
 
 8 A similar idea is very gracefully expressed in the Preface to the Conquest 
 of Mexico, where, after relating the circumstance of Mr. Irving’s relinquish¬ 
 ment of the subject, Mr. Prescott adds: “ While I do but justice to Mr. Irving 
 by this statement, I feel the prejudice it does to myself in the unavailing re 
 gret I am exciting in the bosom of the reader.” 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. IRVING. 
 
 153 
 
 requisite researches. The unsettled life I subsequently led for some years, 
 and the interruptions to my literary plans by other occupations, made ma 
 defer the undertaking from year to year. Indeed, the more I considered 
 the subject, the more I became aware of the necessity of devoting to it 
 great labor, patient research, and watchful discrimination, to get at the 
 truth, and to dispel the magnificent mirage with which it is enveloped. For, 
 unless this were done, a work, however well executed in point of literary 
 merit, would be liable to be subverted and superseded by subsequent works, 
 grounded on those documentary evidences that might be dug out of the 
 chaotic archives of Spain. These considerations loomed into great ob¬ 
 stacles in my mind, and, amidst the hurry of other matters, delayed me in 
 putting my hand to the enterprise. 
 
 About three years since I made an attempt at it, and set one of my 
 nephews to act as pioneer and get together materials under my direction, 
 but his own concerns called him elsewhere, and the matter was again post¬ 
 poned. Last autumn, after a fit of deep depression, feeling the want of 
 something to rouse and exercise my mind, I again recurred to this subject. 
 Fearing that, if I waited to collect materials, I should never take hold of 
 them, and knowing my own temperament and habits of mind, I determined 
 to dash into it at once; sketch out a narrative of the whole enterprise, 
 using Solis, Herrera, and Bernal Diaz as my guide-books ; and, having 
 thus acquainted myself with the whole ground, and kindled myself into a 
 heat by the exercise of drafting the story, to endeavor to strengthen, cor¬ 
 rect, direct, and authenticate my work by materials from every source 
 within my reach. 
 
 I accordingly set to work, and had made it my daily occupation for 
 about three months, and sketched out the groundwork for the first volume, 
 when I learned from Mr. Cogswell that you had undertaken the same 
 enterprise. I at once felt how much more justice the subject would re¬ 
 ceive at your hands. Ever since I had been meddling with the theme, its 
 grandeur and magnificence had been growing upon me, and I had felt 
 more and more doubtful whether I should be able to treat it conscientiously, 
 — that is to say, with the extensive research and thorough investigation 
 which it merited. The history of Mexico prior to the discovery and con¬ 
 quest, and the actual state of its civilization at the time of the Spanish 
 invasion, are questions in the highest degree curious and interesting, yet 
 difficult to be ascertained clearly from the false lights thrown upon them. 
 Even the writings of Padre Sahagun perplex one as to the degree of faith to 
 be placed in them. These themes are connected with the grand enigma 
 that rests upon the primitive population and civilization of the American 
 continent, and of which the singular monuments and remains scattered 
 throughout the wilderness serve but as tantalizing indications. 
 
 The manner in which you have executed your noble “ History of Fer¬ 
 dinand and Isabella ” gave me at once an assurance that you were the man 
 to undertake the subject. Your letter shows that I was not wrong in the 
 conviction, and that you have already set to work on the requisite prepa¬ 
 rations. In at once yielding up the thing to you, I feel that I am but 
 doing my duty in leaving one of the most magnificent themes in American 
 history to be treated by one who -will build up from it an enduring mon¬ 
 ument in the literature of our country. I only hope that I may live to se« 
 
WILLIAM HICKLING PKESCOTT. 
 
 1*50 
 
 your work executed, and to read in it an authentic account of that con¬ 
 quest, and a satisfactory discussion of the various questions which since my 
 boyhood have been full of romantic charm to me, but which, while they 
 excited my imagination, have ever perplexed my judgment. 
 
 I am sorry that I have no works to offer you that you have not in the 
 Boston libraries. I have mentioned the authors I was malting use of. 
 They are to be found in the Boston Athenaeum, though I doubt not you 
 have them in your own possession. While in Madrid, I had a few chap¬ 
 ters of Padre Sahagun copied out for me, relating merely to some points 
 of the Spanish invasion. His work you will find in Lord Kingsborough’s 
 collection. It professes to give a complete account of Mexico prior to the 
 conquest, its public institutions, trades, callings, customs, &c., &c. Should 
 I lind among my books any that may be likely to be of service, I will send 
 them to you. In the mean time do not hesitate to command my services 
 in any way you may think proper. 
 
 I am scrawling this letter in great haste, as you will doubtless perceive, 
 but beg you will take it as a proof of the sincere and very high respect 
 and esteem with which I am 
 
 Your friend and servant, 
 
 Washington Irving . 9 
 
 MR. PRESCOTT TO MR. IRVING. 
 
 Boston, Jan. 25, 1839. 
 
 Mr dear Sir, 
 
 You will be alarmed at again seeing an epistle from me so soon, but I 
 cannot refrain from replying to your very kind communication. I have 
 read your letter with much interest, and — I may truly say, as to that 
 part of it which animadverts on the importance of the theme, as illustrat¬ 
 ing the Mexican Antiquities — with some dismay. I fear you will be 
 sadly disappointed, if you expect to see a solution by me of those vexed 
 questions which have bewildered the brains of so many professed anti¬ 
 quarians. My fingers are too clumsy to unravel such a snarl. All I pro¬ 
 pose to do in this part of the subject is, to present the reader such a view 
 of the institutions and civilization of the conquered people as will interest 
 him in their fortunes. To do this, it will not be necessary, I hope, to in¬ 
 volve myself in those misty speculations which require better sight than 
 mine to penetrate, but only to state facts as far as they can be gathered 
 from authentic story. 
 
 9 How Mr. Prescott felt on receiving this letter, may be seen from the fol 
 lowing note enclosing it to me, the day it came to band: — 
 
 January, 21st. 
 
 Mio Carissimo, 
 
 I told you that I wrote to Irving, thanking him for his courtesy the other 
 day. Here is his response, which I thought you would like to see. He puts 
 me into a fright, by the terrible responsibilities he throws on the subject, or 
 rather on the man who meddles with it. 
 
 Ever thine, 
 
 W. H. Prescott. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. IRVING. 
 
 167 
 
 For this part of the subject, therefore, I have not attempted to collect 
 manuscripts, of which I suppose there is a great number in the libraries of 
 Mexico, — at least, there was in Clavigero’s time, — but I shall content 
 myself with the examination of such works as have been before the public, 
 including, indeed, the compilation of Lord Kingsborough, and the great 
 French work, “ Antiquite's Mexicaines,” since published, the chief value 
 of both of which, I suspect, except the chronicle of Sahagun in the former, 
 consists in their pictorial illustrations. My chief object is the Conquest, 
 and the materials I am endeavoring to collect are with the view to the 
 exhibition of this in the most authentic light. 
 
 It will give you satisfaction to learn that my efforts in Spain promise 
 to be attended with perfect success. I received letters last week from 
 Madrid, informing me that the Academy of History, at the instance of 
 Senor Navarrete, had granted my application to have copies taken of any 
 and all manuscripts in their possession having relation to the Conquest of 
 Mexico and Peru, and had appointed one of their body to carry this into 
 effect. This person is a German, named Lembke, the author of a wort 
 on the early history of Spain, which one of the English journals, I re 
 member, rapped me over the knuckles for not having seen . 10 Thi, 
 learned Theban happens to be in Madrid for the nonce, pursuing soni. 
 investigations of his own, and he has taken charge of mine, like a tru 
 German, inspecting every tiling and selecting just what has reference to mj 
 subject. In this way he has been employed with four copyists since Julj, 
 and has amassed a quantity of unpublished documents illustrative of tin 
 Mexican Conquest, which, he writes me, will place the expedition in 4 . 
 new and authentic light. He has already sent off two boxes to Cadiz, 
 and is now employed in hunting up the materials relating to Peru, i>. 
 which, he says, the Library appears to be equally rich. I wish he tnaj 
 not be too sanguine, and that the manuscripts may not fall into the handi 
 of Carlist or Christino, who would probably work them up into musket- 
 waddings in much less time than they were copying. 
 
 The specifications of manuscripts, furnished me by Dr. Lembke, mak* 
 me feel nearly independent of Mexico, with which the communication* 
 are now even more obstructed than with Spain. I have endeavored to 
 open them, however, through Mr. Poinsett and the Messrs. Barings, and 
 cannot but hope I shall succeed through one or the other channel. 
 
 I had no idea of your having looked into the subject so closely your 
 self, still less that you had so far broken ground on it. I regret now tlia* 
 I had not communicated with you earlier in a direct way, as it might have 
 
 10 Geschichte von Spanien, von Friederich Wilhelm Lembke, Erster Band 
 Hamburg, 1831, 8vo. It goes no farther than about the year A. D. 800, and 
 therefore could not have been of the least importance to one writing the His¬ 
 tory of Ferdinand and Isabella, who lived seven hundred years later. Dr. 
 Lembke, indeed, rendered good service to Mr. Prescott in collecting the 
 materials for the “ Conquests ” of Mexico and Peru; but he wrote no morn 
 of his own History of Spain, which was, however, continued by Heinrich 
 Schafer, down to about 1100, — a period still far front that of the Catholic 
 Sovereigns, — besides which Schafer’s work did not appear until 1844, ski 
 years alter the appearance of the “ Ferdinand and Isabella.” So much for 
 the clairvoyance of the English journalist. 
 
 K 
 
162 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 saved both, or rather one of us, some previous preparation; for during 
 tiio summer and autumn I have been occupied with the investigation of 
 the early Mexican history, having explored all the sources within my 
 reach here, and being stopped by the want of [more of] them. 
 
 Now that I have gone on so far with my preparations, I can only 
 acknowledge your great courtesy towards me with my hearty thanks, for 
 I know well that whatever advantage I might have acquired on the score 
 of materials would have been far — very far — outweighed by the superi¬ 
 ority in all other respects of what might fall from your pen. And your 
 relinquishing the ground seems to impose on me an additional responsi 
 hility, to try to make your place good, from which a stouter heart than 
 mine might well shrink. I trust, however, that in you I shall find a gen¬ 
 erous critic, and allow me to add, with sincerity, that the kind words you 
 have said of the only child of my brain have gratified me, and touched 
 me more deeply than anything that has yet reached me from my coun¬ 
 trymen. 
 
 Believe me, my dear sir, 
 
 With sincere respect, 
 
 Your friend ana servant, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 Since writing this chapter, and, in fact, since this work itself was finished 
 and sent to press, the third volume of the charming “ Life and Letters of 
 Washington Irving, by his Nephew, Pierre M. Irving,” has been published. 
 It contains the following additional interesting facts upon the subject of the 
 Conquest of Mexico: — 
 
 “ Mr. Irving,” says his biographer, “ was now busy upon the History of the 
 Conquest of Mexico, and it was upon this theme that he was exercising that 
 ‘ vein of literary occupation ’ alluded to at the close of the foregoing letter [to 
 Mrs. Van Wart, his sister]. He had not only commenced the work, but had 
 made a rough draught to form the groundwork of the first volume, when he 
 went to New York to procure or consult some books on the subject. He wa3 
 engaged in the ‘ City Library,’ as it is commonly designated, though its official 
 style is ‘The New York Society Library,’ then temporarily in Chambers 
 Street, when he was accosted by Mr. Joseph G. Cogswell, the eminent 
 scholar, afterwards so long and honorably connected with the Astor Library. 
 It was from this gentleman that Mr. Irving first learned that Mr. Prescott, 
 who had a few months before gained a proud name on both sides of the 
 Atlantic, by his ‘History of Ferdinand and Isabella,’ now had the work in 
 contemplation upon which he had actively commenced. Cogswell first 
 sounded him, on the part of Mr. Prescott, to know what subject he was occu¬ 
 pied upon, as he did not wish to come again across the same ground with 
 him. Mr. Irving asked, ‘ Is Mr. Prescott engaged upon an American sub¬ 
 ject? ’ ‘ He is,’ was the reply. ‘ What is it? Is it the Conquest of Mexi¬ 
 co?’ ‘It is,’ answered Cogswell. ‘Well then,’ said Mr. Irving, ‘I am 
 engaged upon that subject; but tell Mr. Prescott I abandon it to him, and I 
 am happy to have this opportunity of testifying my high esteem for his talents 
 and my sense of the very courteous manner in which he has spoken of myself 
 
MR. IRVING. 
 
 163 
 
 and my writings, in his “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” though they interfered 
 with a part of the subject of his history.’ ” 
 
 About five years later, Mr. Irving, then our Minister in Spain, received from 
 Mr. Prescott a copy of his “ History of the Conquest of Mexico,” in the 
 Preface to which he makes his public acknowledgment to Mr. Irving for 
 giving up the subject. 
 
 How Mr. Irving received it will appear from the following account by his 
 biographer. “ ‘ I need not say,’ writes Mr. Irving to me, in noticing its re¬ 
 ceipt, ‘ how much I am delighted with the work. It well sustains the high 
 reputation acquired by the “ History of Ferdinand and Isabella. ” ’ Then, ad¬ 
 verting to the terms of Mr. Prescott’s handsome acknowledgment in the Pre¬ 
 face, to which I had called his attention, he adds: ‘ I doubt whether Mr. Prescott 
 was aware of the extent of the sacrifice I made. This was a favorite subject, 
 which had delighted my imagination ever since I was a boy. I had brought 
 home books from Spain to aid me in it, and looked upon it as the pendant to 
 my Columbus. When I gave it up to him, I, in a manner, gave him up my 
 bread; for I depended upon the profit of it to recruit my waning finances. I 
 had no other subject at hand to supply its place. I was dismounted from my 
 cheval de bataille, and have never been completely mounted since. Had I 
 accomplished that work, my whole pecuniary situation would have been 
 altered. When I made the sacrifice, it was not with a view to com¬ 
 
 pliments or thanks, but from a warm and sudden impulse. I am not sorry 
 for having made it. Mr. Prescott has justified the opinion I expressed at the 
 time, that he would treat the subject with more close and ample research 
 than I should probably do, and would produce a work more thoroughly 
 worthy of the theme. He has produced a work that does honor to himself 
 and his country, and I wish him the full enjoyment of his laurels.’ ” — Life 
 of Irving, 1863, Vol. III. pp. 133 sqq., and 143 sqq. 
 
 There are few so beautiful passages as this in literary history, deformed as 
 it often is with the jealousies and quarrels of authorship. One, however, not 
 unlike it will be found subsequently in this volume, when we come to the 
 relations between the author of the “ History of Philip the Second,” and the 
 author of “ The Rise of the Dutch Republic.” 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 1839- 1842. 
 
 His Correspondence becomes Important. — Letter to Irving. — Let 
 TERS FROM SlSMONDI, THIERRY, TYTLER, AND ROGERS. — LETTER tt 
 
 Gayangos. — Memoranda. — Letters to Gayangos, and others 
 Letters from Ford and Tytler. 
 
 U NTIL some time after the appearance of “ Ferdinand 
 and Isabella,” Mr. Prescott wrote very few letters to 
 anybody, and most of those he did write are lost. He corre¬ 
 sponded, of course, with his family, in 1816 and 1817, when 
 he was in Europe, and he wrote subsequently to one or two 
 personal and household friends, whenever he or they happened 
 to be away from Boston. These letters, so far as they have 
 been preserved, I have used in the preceding narrative. But 
 his life, though he was much in society in Boston, was — both 
 from preference and from his peculiar infirmities — in one 
 sense very retired. He travelled hardly at all, Blinking that 
 the exposures involved by journeys injured his eye, and there¬ 
 fore the occasions on which he wrote letters to his family were 
 very rare. At the same time, his urgent and steady occupa¬ 
 tions made it difficult for him to write to others, so that he had 
 no regular correspondence from 1818 to 1839 with any single 
 person. In one of the few letters that he wrote before he be¬ 
 came known as an author, he says that in the preceding three 
 months he had written to but two persons, — to both on busi¬ 
 ness ; and in another letter, equally on business, but written a 
 little later, he says, that the friend to whom it was addressed 
 would “hardly know what to make of it” that he should write 
 to him at all. 
 
 With his private Memoranda, begun in 1820, and continued 
 to the last, so as to fill above twelve hundred pages, the case 
 is somewhat different, although the result is nearly the same. 
 Ample enough they certainly are from the first, and, for their 
 
CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 165 
 
 private purposes, they are both apt and sufficient. But nearly 
 or quite the whole of the earlier two-thirds of this minute 
 record is filled with an account of his daily studies, of his good 
 resolutions, often broken, and of his plans for the future, often 
 disappointed. Such records were from their nature only for 
 himself, and only of transient interest even to him. 
 
 But after the success of the “Ferdinand and Isabella,” his 
 relations to the world were changed, and so, in some degree, 
 were his hopes and purposes in life. While, therefore, until 
 that time, his correspondence and Memoranda furnish few ma¬ 
 terials for his life, they constitute afterwards not only the best, 
 but the largest, part of whatever may be needful to exhibit him 
 as he really was. I begin, therefore, at once with the letters 
 and Memoranda of 1839, for, although some of them look much 
 ahead, and talk about his “ History of Philip the Second,” 
 while he was yet busy with the “ Conquest of Mexico,” and 
 before he had even taken in hand that of Peru, still they show 
 what, at the time, were his occupations and thoughts, and give 
 proof of the providence and forecast which always constituted 
 important traits in his character, and contributed much to his 
 success in whatever he undertook. 
 
 The first of his letters belonging to this period is one con¬ 
 taining his views on a subject which has by no means yet lost 
 the whole of its interest as a public question, — that of inter¬ 
 national copyright. 
 
 TO WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 Boston, Dec. 24, 1839. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I received some weeks since a letter from Dr. Licber, of Columbia Col¬ 
 lege, South Carolina, in which lie informed me, that measures were to be 
 taken in Congress, this session, for making such an alteration in our copy¬ 
 right law as should secure the benefits of it to foreigners, and thus enable 
 us to profit in turn by theirs. He was very desirous that I should write, 
 if I could not see you personally, and request your co-operation in the 
 matter. I felt very reluctant to do so, knowing that you must be much 
 better acquainted than I was with the state of the aflair, and, of course, 
 could judge much better what was proper to be done. My indefatigable 
 correspondent, however, has again written to me, pressing the necessity of 
 communicating with you, and stating in confidence, as he says, that Mr. 
 
166 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Clay is to bring in a bill this session, and that Mr. Preston 1 is to make 
 the speech, &c. Mr. Preston told him that it would be very desirable to 
 have a brief memorial, signed by the persons most interested in the success 
 of the law, and that you were the proper person to prepare it. If anything 
 be done, there can be no doubt that you are the one who, from your lit¬ 
 erary position in the country, should take the lead in it. Whether anything 
 effectual can be done seems to me very doubtful. 
 
 Such a law is certainly demanded by every principle of justice. But I 
 suspect it is rather late in the day to talk of justice to statesmen. At all 
 events, one of those newspapers which they are now turning out every 
 week here, and which contains an octavo volume of the new publications, 
 at sixpence apiece, will, I am afraid, be too cogent an argument in favor 
 of the present state of things, to be refuted by the best memorial ever 
 drafted. Still we can but try, aud, while the effort is making by the best 
 men in Congress, it may be our duty to try. 
 
 Of all this, however, you can best judge. I can only say, that, if you 
 will prepare a paper, I shall be very glad, when it has been signed in your 
 city, to do all in my power to get such signatures to it here as will give it 
 most weight. I trust I shall not appear to you officious in this matter, 
 for I can well understand, from my own feelings, how distasteful this sort 
 of work must be to you. 
 
 It will give you pleasure, I flatter myself, to know that I have com¬ 
 pletely succeeded in my negotiations in Spain. Senor Navarrcte, with 
 whom you were acquainted in Madrid, has very liberally supplied me ■with 
 copies of his entire collection of manuscripts relating to Mexico and Peru, 
 which it is improbable from his advanced age that he will ever publish 
 himself. Through his aid I have also obtained from the Academy copies 
 of the collections made by Munoz and by its former President, Vargas y 
 Ponce, making all together some five thousand pages, all in fair condi¬ 
 tion, — the flower of my Spanish veterans. 
 
 Prom Mexico, through my good friend Calderon, who is now gone 
 there, you know, as minister, I look for further ammunition, — though I 
 am pretty independent of that now. I have found some difficulty in col¬ 
 lecting the materials for the preliminary view I propose of the Aztec civi¬ 
 lization. The works are expensive, and Lord Ivingsborough’s is locked 
 up in chancery. I have succeeded, however, in ferreting out a copy, 
 which, to say truth, though essential, has somewhat disappointed me. 
 The whole of that part of the story is in twilight, and I fear I shall at least 
 make only moonshine of it. I must hope that it will be good moonshine. 
 It will go hard with me, however, but that I can fish something new out 
 of my ocean of manuscripts. 
 
 As I have only half an eye of my own, and that more for show than 
 use, my progress is necessarily no more than a snail’s gallop. I should 
 be very glad to show you my literary wares, but I fear you are too little 
 of a locomotive in your habits to afford me that great pleasure. Though 
 I cannot see you bodily, however, I am sitting under the light of your 
 countenance, — for you are ranged above me (your immortal part) in a 
 
 1 William C Preston, then in the Senate of the United States from South 
 Carolina. 
 
LETTER FROM J. C. L. DE SISMONDI. 
 
 167 
 
 goodly row of octavos, — not in the homespun garb, but in the nice cos¬ 
 tume of Albemarle and Burlington Streets. 
 
 Mv copy of the Sketch-Book, by the by, is the one owned by Sir James 
 Mackintosh, and with his penciilings in the margin. It was but last even¬ 
 ing that my little girl read us one of the stories, which had just enough of 
 the mysterious to curdle the blood in the veins of her younger brother, who 
 stopped up both his ears, saying he “ would not hear such things just as 
 he was going to bed,” and as our assertions that no harm would come of 
 it were all in vain, we were obliged to send the urchin off to his quarters 
 with, I fear, no very grateful feelings towards the author. 
 
 At about the same time that he wrote thus to Mr. Irving, 
 he received three letters from eminent historians, which gave 
 him much pleasure. The first is 
 
 FROM M. J. C. L. DE SISMONDI. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I have just received your letter from Boston, of the 1 si of July, with the 
 beautiful present which accompanies it. It has touched me, it has flattered 
 me, but at the same time it has made me experience a very lively regret. 
 I had found on my arrival at Paris, the last year, the English edition of 
 your beautiful work. The address alone had informed me that it was a 
 present of the author, and I have never known how it arrived to me. On 
 my return here I wrote you on the 22d of July, to express to you my 
 entire gratitude, the interest with which I had seen you cast so vivid a 
 light over so interesting a period of the history of our Europe, my aston¬ 
 ishment at your having attained such rich sources of learning, which are for 
 the most part interdicted to us ; my admiration, in fine, for that force of 
 character, and, without doubt, serenity of spirit, which had assisted you 
 in pursuing your noble enterprise under the weight of the greatest calam¬ 
 ity which can attend a man in his organs, and especially a man of letters, 
 — the loss of sight. I do not remember what circumstance made me 
 think that you lived at New York, and it is thither that I directed my let¬ 
 ter to you, but I took care to add to your name, “ Author of the History 
 of Ferdinand and Isabella,” and I represented to myself that your fellow- 
 countrymen ought to be sufficiently proud of your book for the directors 
 of the post of one of your largest cities to know your residence, and send 
 you my letter. It is more than a year since that, and in the interval you 
 have been able to learn how firmly established is the success of your work, 
 and my suffrage has lost the little worth it might have had. I am morti¬ 
 fied nevertheless to have been obliged to appear insensible to your kind¬ 
 ness. 
 
 I cannot believe that, after ten years so usefully, so happily employed, 
 you lay aside the pen. You are now initiated into the History of Spain, 
 and it will be much more easy to continue it than to begin it. After Rob¬ 
 ertson, after Watson, the shadows thicken upon the Peninsula; will you 
 not dissipate them ? Will you not teach us what we have so much need 
 
168 
 
 WILLIAM niCKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 of knowing f Will not you exhibit this decay ever more rapid, from the 
 midst of which you will extract such important lessons ? Consider that 
 the more you have given to the public, the more it would have a right to 
 demand of you. Permit me to join my voice to that of the public in this 
 demand, as I have done in applauding what you have already done. 
 
 Believe me, with sentiments of the highest consideration. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 J. C. L. dE Sismondi. 
 
 Ohenes, prfes Geneve, Sept. 1, 1839. 
 
 The next letter referred to, which is one from the author of 
 the “ Histoire de la Conquete de l’Angleterre par les Nor- 
 mands,” himself quite blind, is very interesting on all ac¬ 
 counts, 
 
 FROM M. P. AUGUSTIN THIERRY. 
 
 Monsieub, 
 
 Pardonnez moi d’avoir tarde si longtemps a vous remercier du present 
 que vous avez eu la bonte de me fairc. Deux causes ont contribue a 
 ee retard: d’abord j’ai voulu lire en enticr votre bel ouvrage, et les aveu- 
 gles lisent lentement; ensuite j’ai voulu vous envoyer, comme un bien 
 faible retour, deux volumes qui etaient sous presse ; je prends la liberte' de 
 vous les offrir. Je ne saurais, Monsieur, vous exprimer tout le plaisir que 
 ma’a fait la lecture de votre “ Histoire du Regne de Ferdinand et d’lsa- 
 belle.” C’est un de ces livres e'galement remarquables pour le fond et pour 
 la forme, oil se montrent a la fois des e'tudes approfondies, une haute raison 
 et un grand talent d’ecrivain. On sent que vos rccherches ont pdnetre au 
 fond du sujet, que vous avez tout etudie aux sources, les origines na- 
 tionales et provinciales, les traditions, les mceurs, les dialectes, la legisla¬ 
 tion, les coutumes ; vos jugements sur la politique interieure et exte'rieure 
 de la monarcliie fSspagnole au 15e me siecle sont d’une grande fermete' et 
 d’une complete impartialite ; enfin il y a dans le recit des evenements 
 cette elarte parfhite, cette gravite' sans effort et sobrement colore'e, qui est 
 selou moi le vrai style de l’histoire. 
 
 Vous avez travaille ce sujet avec predilection, pareeque lh se trouvent les 
 prolegomhnes de l’histoire du nouveau monde ou votre pays tient la pre¬ 
 miere place; contiuuez, Monsieur, a lui elever le monument dont vous 
 venez de poser la base. J’apprends avec peine que votre vue se perd de 
 nouveau, mais je suis sans inquietude pour vos travaux a venir; vous ferez 
 comme moi, vous repeterez le devise du stoicien Sustine, abstine, et vous 
 exereerez les yeux de l’ame a defaut des yeux du corps. Croyez, Mon¬ 
 sieur, a ma vive sympathie pour une destinee qui sous ce rapport ressem- 
 ble a la mienne et agreez avec mes remerciments bien sinceres l’expression 
 de ma haute estime et de mon devouement. 
 
 P. Aug. Thierkt. 
 
 Pa-is, le 17 Mars, 1840. 
 
LETTER FROM PATRICK FRASER TYTLER. 
 
 169 
 
 The last of the three letters from writers of historical repu¬ 
 tation is one 
 
 FROM PATRICK FRASER TYTLER. 
 
 34 Devonshire Place [London], Monday, Feb. 24, 1840. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I trust you will pardon my so addressing you, but it is impossible for 
 me to use any colder terms, in acknowledging your letter and the accom¬ 
 panying present of your “ History of Ferdinand and Isabella.” To the 
 high merit of the work, and to the place it has now confessedly taken 
 in European literature, I was no stranger; but to receive it as a mark 
 of your approbation and regard, and to be addressed from the New World 
 as a brother laborer, greatly enhances the gift. I am indeed much en¬ 
 couraged when I find that auything I have done, or rather attempted to 
 do, has given you pleasure, because I can sincerely say that I feel the 
 value of your praise. You are indeed a lenient critic, and far overrate my 
 labors, but it wilt, I believe, be generally found that they who know best, 
 and have most successfully overcome, the difficulties of historical research 
 are the readiest to think kindly of the efforts of a fellow-laborer. 
 
 I trust that you are again engaged on some high historical subject, and 
 sincerely hope that your employing an amanuensis is not indicative of 
 any return of that severe calamity which you so cheerfully and magnani¬ 
 mously overcame in your “ Ferdinand and Isabella.” At present I am 
 intently occupied with the last volume of my “ History of Scotland,” 
 which embraces the painful and much-controverted period of Mary. I 
 have been fortunate in recovering many letters and original papers, hitherto 
 unknown, and hope to be able to throw some new light on the obscurer 
 parts of her history; but it is full of difficulty, and I sometimes despair. 
 Such as it is, I shall beg your kind acceptance of it and my other volumes 
 as soon as it is published. 
 
 Believe me, dear Sir, 
 
 With every feeling of respect and regard, 
 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 Patrick Fraser Tytleb. 
 
 Other letters followed, of which one, characteristic of its 
 author, may be here inserted. 
 
 FROM SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 How ungrateful must you have thought me in neglecting so long to 
 thank you for your invaluable present; but, strange as it may be, I really 
 imagined that I had done so in a letter to our excellent friend Mr. Tiek- 
 nor ; and, if I have not expressed what I felt, I have not felt the less ; for 
 I cannot tell you the delight with which I have read every page of your 
 8 
 
170 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 History, — a history so happy in the subject, and, what is now a thing 
 almst unknown, so well studied in the execution, — which, wherever it 
 comes, interests old and young, and is nowhere more esteemed than in the 
 cities of Spain. Thinking of it as I must, it can be no small consolation 
 to me to learn that in what I have done, or rather attempted to do, I have 
 given the author any pleasure, early or late. At my age, much as I may 
 wish for it, I have little chance of seeing you, though the distance lessens 
 <ivery day. But I am determined to live, if I can, till you have finished 
 what I understand you are now writing; a noble task, and every way 
 well worthy of you. 
 
 Pray allow me to subscribe myself 
 
 Your much obliged and sincere friend, 
 
 Samuel Rogers. 
 
 London, March 30, 1840. 
 
 The next letter belongs to the important series of those to 
 the Spanish scholar who contributed so much to Mr. Prescott’s 
 success in preparing his “ History of Philip the Second,” 2 by 
 collecting the larger portion of the materials for it. 
 
 TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 Boston, June 20, 1840. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Our friend Tickuor has informed me, that you desired him to say to 
 me, that there are some documents in the British Museum relating to 
 Mexico, which may be of value to me. I am extremely obliged and flat¬ 
 tered by the friendly interest you take in my literary labors, and I shall be 
 glad to avail myself of the treasures in the Museum. By a letter, dated 
 April 4th, which you must have received ere this, I mentioned to you, that 
 I had received a large mass of manuscripts from Madrid. 3 As my friend 
 Mr. Sparks, with whose liigli literary reputation you are probably ac¬ 
 quainted, is going to London, where he will pass some months, I send by 
 him a list of the documents which I possess relating to Mexico and Peru, 
 that I may not receive duplicates of any from the British Museum. If 
 there are others of real value there relating to the Conquests of these two 
 kingdoms, I should be very glad to have copies of them, and Mr. Sparks, 
 whose labors will require him to be much in the British Museum, will do 
 whatever you may advise in regard to having the copies made, and will 
 forward them to me. I shall be very glad if you can get some one to 
 select and copy from the correspondence of Gonsalvo and the Catholic 
 Kings, and Mr. Sparks will reimburse you for the charges incurred on this 
 account. But I fear, to judge from the specimen you have sent me, it wall 
 not be easy to find one capable of reading such hieroglyphical characters 
 as these worthy persons made use of. 
 
 I am glad to learn from Ticknor that you are on the eve of publishing 
 
 1 See ante , p. 105. 
 
 • This letter does not seem to have been preserved. 
 
MEMORANDA. 
 
 171 
 
 your Spanish History. You have not mentioned the nature of the work, 
 but I suppose from the direction of your studies, as far as I understand 
 them, it is the Spanish Arabic History. If so it is a splendid theme, which 
 exhibits the mingled influences of European and Asiatic civilization, won¬ 
 derfully picturesque and striking to the imagination. It is a subject 
 which, to be properly treated, requires one who has wandered over the 
 scenes of faded grandeur, and stored his mind with the rich treasures of 
 the original Arabic. Very few scholars are at all competent to the subject, 
 and no one will rejoice more than myself in seeing it fall into your hands. 
 But perhaps I have misapprehended your work, as in your letter to Mr. 
 Ticknor you merely call it a “History of Spain,” and I shall be obliged 
 by your telling me, when you do me the favor to write, what is the precise 
 nature and object of it. Since writing to you, I have received letters from 
 my friend Calderon, 4 the Spanish Minister at Mexico, communicating 
 sundry documents, which he has procured for me there, as the public 
 ' offices have all been thrown open to him. This is very good luck. But 
 the collections I had previously from Spain were drawn, in part, from -he 
 same source. 
 
 MEMORANDA. 
 
 August 14, 1840. —- General Miller, a very gallant and intelligent En¬ 
 glishman, who has filled the highest posts in the revolutionary wars of 
 South America, has been at Nahant the last fortnight, and leaves to-mor¬ 
 row. He brought letters to me, and I have derived great benefit as well 
 as pleasure from his society. He has given me much information respect¬ 
 ing military matters, and has looked into the accounts of the battles in my 
 work, and pointed out a few inaccuracies. 6 
 
 August 15, 1840. — Monsieur Thierry, the author of the “ Conquest of 
 England by the Normans,” made the following remark in a letter the other 
 day to Ticknor, which I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of transcribing, 
 as it comes from one who is at the head of his art. 
 
 “ Si je pouvais renouer nos conversations d’il y a deux ans, je ne vous 
 parlerais de la question du Canada, morte aujourd’hui, mais de I’avenir 
 litteraire des Etats Unis, qui semblent vouloir prendre en ce point, comme 
 en tout le reste, leur revanche sur la vieille Angleterre. J’ai dit a votre 
 ami M. Prescott, tout lc plaisir que m’a fait son livre. C’est un ouvrage 
 etudie a fond sur les sources, et parfaitement compose. II y a la autant 
 de talent de style, et plus de liberte' d’e'sprit, que chez les meilleurs histo- 
 rien6 Anglais.” 
 
 4 See ante, p. 153. 
 
 6 General Miller died in South America in 1861, sixty-six years old. An 
 account of the early part of his career was written by his brother, John Mil¬ 
 ler, of which the second edition was published at London, in 2 vols., 8vo, 
 1829. It is an interesting book, involving a history of much that was impor¬ 
 tant in the affairs of South America, and was translated into Spanish by 
 General Torrijos, well known and much honored in the war of the Peninsula. 
 1806-1814. 
 
172 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 TO DON FASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 Boston, Feb. 1, 1841 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 At last I have received the welcome present of your volume on the 
 “ Spanish Arabs,” and the manuscripts of the “Great Captain.” I can¬ 
 not sufficiently express to you my admiration of your work, published, too, 
 as it should be, in so splendid a form. It far exceeds the expectations I 
 had entertained, which, however, were great, knowing your own familiarity 
 with the ground. 6 During the few days it has been in my possession, I 
 have greedily run over it, as well as my eyes, aided by those of another, 
 would allow, and, though I have travelled over the ground before, as far 
 as Spanish writers have cleared the way, I now see how much was left ob¬ 
 scure and misunderstood, and perverted by the best of them. The work 
 you have selected for translation is most happily chosen, not only from its 
 own merits, but from its embodying so many copious extracts from other 
 sources, that it is in itself a sort of abridgment or encyclopaedia of the 
 choicest passages relating to the multifarious topics of which it treats. 
 These certainly are of great interest and importance. But your own notes 
 throw a light over the whole, which can only come from a life of previous 
 study in this department. 
 
 I wish it had been my good fortune to have had such a guide in my 
 poor attempts among the remains of Arabian Spain. And how much am 
 I gratiiied to find my own labors, such as they are, noticed by you with 
 the beautiful encomium, which, when I read your learned and accurate 
 pages, I feel I am poorly entitled to. Your book must certainly supoa: 
 sede all that has gone before it on this topic, the learned but unsatisfac 
 tory — I did not know how unsatisfactory — labors of Conde, Masdeu, 
 Casiri, Cardonne, &c. You have furnished a clear picture of that Asiatic 
 portion of the Peninsular history without which the European cannot be 
 rightly interpreted or understood. I, of course, have had time only to 
 glance rapidly through these pages, and very imperfectly. I shall return 
 to them with more deliberation, when I come to a good resting-place in 
 my own narrative. I am just bringing my account of the state of the 
 Aztec civilization to a close; the most perplexing and thorny part of my 
 own subject, which has cost me two years’ labor. But I have wished to 
 do it as thoroughly as I could, and 1 work much slower than you do, and, 
 T suspect, much less industriously. 
 
 From about this time he occasionally wrote letters to my 
 eldest daughter, and sent them to her just as they came from 
 his noctograph, without being copied. Some of them are in¬ 
 serted, to show how pleasantly he accommodated himself to the 
 tastes and humors of a young person. 
 
 6 “ History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain, from the Arabic of Al- 
 Makkari, translated by Fascual de Gayangos,” 4to, Vol. I., London, 1840; 
 Vol. II., 1843; published by the “ Oriental Translation Fund.” 
 
LETTERS TO MISS TICKNOR. 
 
 17a 
 
 TO MISS TICKNOR. 
 
 Oct. 1 , 1840. 
 
 My dear Anjka , 7 
 
 You said you should like to try to make out my writing with my nocto- 
 graph; so I will give you a specimen of it, and believe, if you can deci¬ 
 pher it, you will be qualified to read Egyptian papyri or the monuments 
 of Palmyra. When in Europe, some twenty years since, I met with this 
 apparatus, and have used it ever since, by which my eyes have been 
 spared, and those of others severely taxed. I hope you will never be re¬ 
 duced to so poor a substitute for pen and ink. But if you are, I hope you 
 will find as obliging an amanuensis as you have been to me sometimes. 
 
 But to change the subject, and take up one which we were speculating 
 upon this morning at the breakfast table, — Lord Byron. I tiiink one is 
 very apt to talk extravagantly of his poetry; for it is the poetry of pas¬ 
 sion, and carries away the sober judgment. It defies criticism from its 
 very nature, being lawless, independent of all rules, sometimes of gram¬ 
 mar, and even of common sense. When he means to be strong, he is 
 often affected, violent, morbid ; if striking, is very obscure, from dealing 
 more in impressions than ideas. And partly from affectation, I suppose, 
 partly from want of principle, and partly from the ennui and disgust occa¬ 
 sioned by long self-indulgence and by naturally violent passions, he is led 
 into extravagances which outrage the reader, offend the taste, and lead 
 many persons of excellent principles and critical discernment to condemn 
 him, both on the ground of moral and literary pretensions. This is true, 
 the more the pity. But then there is, with all this smoke and fustian, a 
 deep sensibility to the sublime and beautiful in nature, a wonderful melody, 
 or rather harmony, of language, consisting, not in an unbroken flow of 
 versification, like Pope or Campbell, but in a variety, — the variety of 
 nature, — in which startling ruggeduess is relieved by soft and cultivated 
 graces. As he has no narrative hardly in “ Childe Harold,” he would be 
 very tiresome, if it were not for this veiy variety of manner, so that what 
 is a fault in itself produces a beautiful effect taken as a whole. He has 
 great attractions, and, pouring out his soul unreservedly, turns up the 
 depths of feeling which even those who acknowledge the truth of it would 
 shrink from expressing themselves. — “ There is a mess for you,” as 
 
 D-says. When you have made this out, burn it, as a lady would say 
 
 Addio ! 
 
 TO MISS TICKNOR. 
 
 Pepperell, Oct. 25, 1840. 
 
 My dear Anika, 
 
 You are so clever at hieroglyphics that I shall send you a little more of 
 them to unravel at your leisure, and in time you may be qualified to 
 make out a mummy wrapper or an obelisk inscription as well as Cham- 
 pollion or Dr. Young. 
 
 1 A name he gave to her in order to distinguish her from her mother, whom 
 he coiumonlv called by her first name, which was also Anna. 
 
174 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 We were glad to learn you had reached the Yankee Athens in safety 
 You set out in a true wind from “ The Horn,” 8 —a cornucopia certainly 
 you had of it. You left us all very sad and melancholic. The traveller 
 on these occasions finds new scenes to divert him. But they who are left 
 behind see only the deserted halls, the vacant place at the board, which 
 was lighted by the bright countenance of a friend. Absence seems to be 
 a negative thing, but there is nothing so positive, nothing which touches 
 as more sensibly than the absence of the faces we love from the seats in 
 which we have been used to see them. The traveller has always the best 
 of the bargain on these occasions, therefore. 
 
 Well, we shall soon be in the gay metropolis with you. We have had 
 many warnings to depart. The leaves have taken their leave, one after 
 another. The summer weather is quite spent, and almost the autumnal. 
 The bright colors have faded, the naked trees stare around wildly, and, as 
 the cold wind whistles through them, the shrivelled leaves that still hold 
 out rattle like the bones of a felon hung in chains. The autumn seems 
 to be dying, and wants only the cold winding-sheet of winter to close the 
 scene. In fact, she is getting some shreds of this winding-sheet before 
 the time, for, while I am writing, the snow-flakes are dancing before the 
 window. There’s a mess of romance for you, all done up in hiero¬ 
 glyphics. When you read Mrs. Radcliffe, or Miss Porter, or Miss- 
 
 any other mumbler of scenery and sentiment, you ’ll find it all there. Your 
 
 papa talks of Mr. T-’s sending me his book. Ask him if he has not 
 
 mixed up Mr. T-with Mr. D. T-, very different men, I wot. I 
 
 am glad he has seen General Miller. He is worth a wilderness of-, 
 
 as Shakespeare says. 
 
 Tell your papa and mamma, their maxims of education have not fallen 
 on deaf ears, nor a stony heart. But I believe this will be quite enough 
 for once. I must begin with small doses. But it is such a comfort to 
 find any who can read me without my eternal amanuensis at my elbows, 
 where, to-day being Sunday, he is not now. Adieu, dear Anika. Do 
 not forget Amory and E.’s love to Lizzy, and mine to your honored 
 parents. 
 
 I hope your respected father gets on yet without his wig, ear-trumpet, 
 and glasses ! By the by, my mother lost her spectacles yesterday. All 
 the town has been ransacked for them in vain. They were a gold pair. — 
 Do you think your father carried them off ? 
 
 Once more addio l 
 
 Your affectionate uncle, 0 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 • The name very often given on the southern coast of Massachusetts to 
 “ Cape Horn,” which so many of the people of that part of the country double 
 in search of whales. I spent two or three summers there with my family; and 
 Mr. Prescott, when he visited us, used to be much amused with the familiar 
 manner in which that very remote part of the world was spoken of, as if it 
 were some small cape in the neighborhood. The letter in the text was writ¬ 
 ten immediately after we had returned to Boston from a visit to Pepperell. 
 
 9 There was no blood relationship between us, but the children on both 
 sides were always accustomed to speak of us as “uncles” and “aunts,” 
 while all round their elders accepted the designation as a pleasant mark of 
 affection. 
 
LETTER TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 175 
 
 TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 Boston, Feb. 28, 1841. 
 
 .... I have run into a most interminable length of prosing, and 
 could not do worse if I were writing to an absolute far niente, instead of 
 one with whom minutes are gold-dust. You would smile if you were to 
 see how I am writing with a writing-ease made for the blind, in which 1 
 do not see a word of what I write; furnishing a scrawl as illegible as 
 Gonsalvo’s 10 for my secretary to transcribe. Adieu! my dear friend. 
 Pray accept my sincere congratulations on the happy addition to your 
 family circle. I can sympathize with you, counting two boys and a girl, 
 the youngest of whom is ten years old. I should like to present them to 
 you, but still better to take you by the hand myself. And, now that 
 steam has annihilated time and space, that may come to pass. 
 
 I have received a letter from the Marquis Gino Capponi of Florence 
 this morning, informing me that nearly half my work is translated into 
 the language of Dante and Petrarch, and that the remainder would bo 
 completed before long under his supervision. You may know his reputa¬ 
 tion as a scholar, which is high in Italy. 11 
 
 MEMORANDA. 
 
 March 21, 1841. — Am fairly now engaged, though not with thorough 
 industry, in beating the bushes for the narrative [of the Conquest of Mex¬ 
 ico].— Last week have been considering the best modus operandi, and been 
 looking over some celebrated narratives of individual enterprises, as Vol¬ 
 taire’s “ Charles XII.” and Livy’s Expedition of Hannibal, lib. 22, 23, — 
 the last a masterly story, in which the interest, though suspended by 
 necessary digression, — more necessary in a general history, — is never 
 broken. The historian, the greatest of painters, shows his talent in pic¬ 
 tures of natural scenery, the horrors of the Alps and Apennines, as well 
 as in the delineation of passions. Voltaire’s volume, so popular, is very 
 inferior in literary merit. It bears much resemblance to the gossiping 
 
 10 Nothing can well be more difficult to decipher than the handwriting ot 
 the Great Captain. I have one of his autograph letters, but am nearly igno¬ 
 rant of its contents. 
 
 II A distinguished scholar, statesman, and man; the head of a family 
 mentioned by Dante, and great before Dante’s time, as well as in many 
 generations since. The present Marquis (1862) is now entirely blind, and 
 was nearly so when he first interested himself in the translation of “Ferdi¬ 
 nand and Isabella”; but he has never ceased to maintain a high place in the 
 affairs of his country, as well as in the respect of his countrymen. He was 
 at one time head of the government of Tuscany, and, notwithstanding his 
 blindness, was President of the Council of Advice in State Affairs, during 
 the anxious period of the transition of power to the Kingdom of Italy. Their 
 common infirmity caused a great sympathy between the Marquis Capponi 
 a id Mr. Prescott. 
 
176 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 memoir-writing of the nation, with little regard to historic dignity ; not 
 much method, or apparently previous digestion of his subject. It has, 
 however, the great requisite, in a work meant to be popular, that of in¬ 
 terest. This is maintained by the studious exhibition of Charles’s remark¬ 
 able character, with all its petty infirmities and crazy peculiarities. Tho 
 easy, careless arrangement of the narrative gives it a grace veiy taking. 
 The style, like Livy’s (magis par quam similis), easy and natural, gives 
 additional charm. After all, Chambers’s “ History of the Rebellion of 
 1745” is about as well-written, lively, and agreeable a narrative of an 
 interesting event, and is managed altogether as skilfully, as any that I 
 remember. 
 
 Have been looking over Irving’s “ Columbus ” also ; a beautiful com¬ 
 position, but fatiguing, as a whole, to the reader. Why 1 The fault is 
 partly in the subject, partly in the manner of treating it. The discovery 
 of a new world — the result of calculation and an energy that rose above 
 difficulties that would have daunted a common mind — is a magnificent 
 theme in itself, full of sublimity and interest. But it terminates with the 
 discovery ; and unfortunately this is made before half of the first volume 
 is disposed of. All after that event is made up of little details, the sailing 
 from one petty island to another, all inhabited by savages, and having 
 the same general character. Nothing can be more monotonous, and, of 
 course, more likely tc involve the writer in barren repetition. The chief 
 interest that attaches to the rest of the story is derived from the navigator’s 
 own personal misfortunes, and these are not exciting enough to create a 
 deep or strong sensation. Irving should have abridged this part of his 
 story, and, instead of four volumes, have brought it into two. Posterity 
 may do this for him. But it is better for an author to do his own work 
 himself. 
 
 The Conquest of Mexico, though very inferior in the leading idea which 
 forms its basis to the story of Columbus, is, on the whole, a far better sub¬ 
 ject, since the event is sufficiently grand, and, as the catastrophe is deferred, 
 the interest is kept up through the whole. Indeed, the perilous adventures 
 and crosses with which tho enterprise is attended, the desperate chances and 
 reverses and unexpected vicissitudes, all serve to keep the interest alive. 
 On my plan, I go on with Cortes to his death. But I must take care not 
 to make this tail-piece too long. A hundred pages will be quite enough. 
 
 TO MISS TICKNOR. 
 
 Fitful Head [Nahant], July 25, 1841. 
 
 Mr dear Anika, 
 
 What a nice quiet time you have had of it for reading or sleeping, or 
 anything else that is rational. Has the spirit of improvement beset you in 
 your solitude, and carried you through as much metaphysics and Spanish 
 as it has your respected parents ? or have you been meandering among 
 romances and peetieals ? You have read Irving’s “ Memoirs of Miss Da¬ 
 vidson,” I believe. Did you ever meet with any novel half so touching ? 
 It is the most painful book I ever listened to. I hear it from the children, 
 and we all cry over it together. What a little flower of Paradise ! Do 
 
VISIT TO WOOD’S HOLE. 
 
 177 
 
 you remember Malherbe’s beautiful lines, — which I happen just now not 
 to,— 
 
 “ Et comme une rose elle a vecu 
 L’espace d’uu matin,” — 
 
 fend Young’s, no less beautiful, — 
 
 “ She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven " ? 
 
 Her whole life was one dying day, —■ one long heart-break. How fitting 
 that her beautiful character should he embalmed in the delicate composi¬ 
 tion of Irving! Head over her farewell to Ruremont, if you forget it 
 It is really a sad subject. 
 
 Well, we descend on “ The Hole” on Tuesday next. 12 William Pres¬ 
 cott 1st, 2d, and 3d will make the party. Three persons and one name, — 
 just the opposite of my friends the Spaniards, who each have a dozen 
 names at least. On Monday, the 2d of August, we embark on the great 
 Providence Railroad; reach New Bedford, we hope, that evening; pass 
 the night in that great commercial emporium of the spermaceti; and the 
 next morning by noon shall embrace the dear “ Toads in the Hole.” And 
 as we can’t get away, and you won’t turn us out the while, we shall be¬ 
 siege you till Friday; and, if you are tired of us, you can send us to see 
 Mr. Swain, 13 or to the ancient city of Nantucket; not a literary empo¬ 
 rium, though I believe it smells of the lamp pretty strong. I feel quite in 
 the trim of a little vagabondizing, having fairly worked myself down. 
 .Indeed, my father and I half arranged a little journey before visit¬ 
 ing you, but I showed the white feather, as usual. I mean to date health 
 and spirits and renovated industry from the visit to “ Wood’s Hole.” 
 
 Don’t you think our traveller, Palenque Stephens, would smile at our 
 great preparations in the travelling line 1 I was in town yesterday, and 
 saw a picture which came from Mexico, a full-length of Cortes, in armor 
 the upper part of his body; his nether extremities in a sort of stockinet, 
 like the old cavaliers of the sixteenth century, — a very striking and 
 picturesque costume superior to my Spanish painting in execution. But 
 it is too large, and carries an acre of canvas, seven feet by four and a half. 
 I called a council of war as to the expediency of cutting his feet off, but 
 Mr. Polsom came in at the moment, and said I never should forgive 
 myself; so I have concluded to frame him, legs and all. But my wife 
 thinks I shall have to serve him like the Vicar of Wakefield’s great family 
 picture, he is so out of all compass. 
 
 Well, here I am, dear Anika, at the end of my letter. Let us know 
 if our arrangements can be altered for the better, — i. e. if you are to be 
 without company. Love to your father and mother. All of us send 
 much love to you and them. 
 
 Believe me, most truly, 
 
 Your affectionate uncle, 
 
 Wm. H. Peescott. 
 
 14 We were then passing the summer at “ Wood’s Hole,” on the southern 
 ihoi e of Massachusetts. 
 
 1* On the adjacent island of Naushon, where Mr. Swain lived. 
 
 8 * 
 
 I. 
 
178 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 MEMORANDA. 
 
 March 22, 1842. — My good friends the Ticknors received this last 
 week a letter from Miss Edgeworth, containing a full critique on “ Ferdi¬ 
 nand and Isabella,” which she had just been reading. She condemns my 
 parallel of the English and Castilian queens, and also my closing chapter; 
 the former as not satisfactory and full enough, and rather feeble; the latter 
 as superfluous. I will quote two remarks of another kind : “ It is of great 
 consequence both to the public and private class of readers, and he will 
 surely have readers of all classes, from the cottage and the manufactory to 
 the archbishopric and the throne in England, and from Papal jurisdiction 
 to the Russian Czar and the Patriarch of the Greek Church. The work will 
 last,” &c. If Jupiter grants me half the prediction, I shall be pretty well 
 off for readers. The other sentence is towards the end of the critique : 
 “ Otherwise an individual ought not to expect that a single voice should 
 be heard amidst the acclaim of universal praise with which Ids work has 
 been greeted in Europe.” — This from Miss Edgeworth. 
 
 I never worked for the dirty lucre. Am I not right in treasuring up 
 Buch golden opinions from such a source ? 
 
 TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 Boston, March 27, 1842. 
 
 .1 received from Mr. Everett by this steamer copies of a corre¬ 
 spondence of the Tuscan ambassadors at Philip’s court, giving some very 
 interesting details of the proceedings, and all in favor of the monarch. 14 I 
 wrote you to see Mr. Everett, 15 who will, I am sure, take pleasure in com¬ 
 municating with you. I have written to him by this packet, that I have 
 asked you to call on him, as he was out when you went before. He is 
 much occupied with perplexing affairs, but I have never found him too 
 much so for his friends. Should you find any impediment to the exami¬ 
 nation in the State Office, he will use his influence in your favor, I am 
 certain. And I think you had better get a letter from him to Mignet or 
 Guizot. Lord Morpeth, who was here this winter, offered me his services 
 to obtain anything I desired. But that will be too late for you, as he will 
 not return till summer. But if there remains anything to be done then, 
 let me know, and I can get at it through him. 
 
 TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 Boston, May 30,1842. 
 
 Mr dear Friend, 
 
 I have not written by the last packets, having nothing particular to say. 
 I have received yours of the 2d of April, and am glad you have seen Mr. 
 
 M On the death of Don Carlos. He had now, as we have seen, been some 
 time collecting materials for his History of Philip the Second. 
 
 15 Then Minister of the United States in London. See post, for Mr. Pres¬ 
 cott’s correspondence with him. 
 
LETTER FROM MR. FORD. 
 
 179 
 
 Everett, and are pleased with him. I am sure he will give you any facility 
 in his power for getting access to the French depositories. I should sup¬ 
 pose a line from him to Mignet would be serviceable. 
 
 You have found the British Museum a much richer field than you had 
 first anticipated, and the length of your stay in London, fortunately for 
 me, will enable you to reap the harvest. You mention one or two chroni¬ 
 cles or memoirs which you have met with there. I have always found a 
 good, gossiping chronicle or memoir the best and most fruitful material for 
 the historian. Official documents, though valuable on other accounts, con¬ 
 tain no private relations ; nothing, in short, but what was meant for the pub¬ 
 lic eye. Even letters of business are very apt to be cold and general. But 
 a private correspondence like Peter Martyr’s, or a chronicle like Pulgar’s, 
 or Bernal Diaz’s, or Bernaldez’s, is a jewel of inestimable price. There is 
 nothing so serviceable to the painter of men and manners of a distant age. 
 Pray get hold of such in manuscript or in print. 
 
 I hope you will get for me whatever printed books fall in your way, 
 useful for a history of that reign. And I shall be much obliged by your 
 making out a list of all such as may be desirable for me hereafter to get, 
 as you promise to do. I can then pick them up at my leisure. I find 
 some referred to in Ferreras, and others in Nic. Antonio. I am truly glad 
 you are going to Madrid soon, or in the course of a couple of years. I 
 shall be most happy to leave the collection then all in your hands, and, 
 while Irving is there, I am sure you can count on his services, if they can 
 be worth anything to you to get access to any archives which may be 
 under the control of the government. He has assured me of his cordial 
 desire to promote my views and Ticknor’s in our researches. You will 
 bear in mind, in the copying, to get it done in as legible a hand as possi¬ 
 ble. I don’t care for the beauty of it, so it is legible. I suppose in Paris, 
 and I know in Madrid, the expense will be greatly lightened. 
 
 I am very much obliged by your great kindness in sending me your 
 own collection of manuscripts. They have all reached me safely, as I 
 desired Mr. Rich to inform you. They are a most curious and valuable 
 collection to the historian of the period. But Charles V. has been handled 
 by Robertson, and I have not the courage nor the vanity to tread where 
 he has gone before. I do not think the history of his period will make as 
 good a pendant to “ Ferdinand and Isabella ” as Philip the Second will. 
 Philip’s reign is the first step towards the decline, as Isabella’s was the 
 last step in the rise, of the Spanish monarchy. I hope to treat this great 
 theme in all its relations, literary, social, and political. It will be a ten 
 years’ work. Da, Jupiter, annos. 
 
 FROM RICHARD FORD, ESQ. 
 
 Hbvitee, near Exeter, June 5, 1842. 
 
 My deak Sir, 
 
 Permit me to offer you my very best thanks for the copy of your last 
 edition of “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” which you have been so kind as to 
 direct Mr. Bentley to send to me. I have lived so long in Spain, and 
 particularly in the Alhambra, that the work possesses for me a more than 
 
180 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 ordinary interest, great as is that which it has inspired in readers of all 
 countries. Indeed, it is a History of which America, and, if you will 
 allow me to say so, England, has every reason to be most proud, and of 
 which it may be justly said, as was said of Gibbon’s, that, although the 
 first to grapple with a vast subject, it has left no room for any future 
 attempt. 
 
 I hope that, having now fleshed your pen, you will soon resume it, — 
 non in rductantes dracones. Our mutual friend Pascual de Gayangos has 
 often suggested, as an almost virgin subject, the life of Philip the Second. 
 The poor performance of Watson is beneath notice. What a new and 
 noble field for you, what an object for a tour to Europe to inspect the rich 
 archi res of England, Paris, and Simancas, where, as I can tell you from 
 personal inspection, the state papers, interlined by Philip himself, are most 
 various and numerous. 
 
 FROM P. F. TYTLER, ESQ. 
 
 London, 34 Devonshire Place, June 6, 1842. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I entreat your kind acceptance of a copy of the second edition of the 
 “ History of Scotland.” A single additional volume—the ninth — will 
 complete the work, bringing it down to the union of the crowns in 1603, 
 and I then purpose, if God grant me health, to write an introductory dis¬ 
 sertation on the more ancient history of Scotland in another volume. In 
 the mean time, although still an unfinished work, I hope you will place 
 it in your library as a testimony, slight indeed, but most sincere, of the 
 pleasure and instruction your excellent History has given me, and, I may 
 add, my family. I feel, too, that in the love of history, for its own sake, 
 there is a common and congenial tie, which, although so far separated, 
 binds us together, and that one who has, like you, so successfully over¬ 
 come the difficulties of history, will make the readiest allowance for the 
 errors of a brother. 
 
 I met some time ago at Lady Holland’s a Spanish gentleman, 19 who in¬ 
 formed me of your having wished him to examine for you the manuscripts 
 in the State Paper Office about the time of Philip and Mary. When 
 writing, or rather making collections for, my “ Letters during the Reigns 
 of Edward the Sixth and Mary,” I made a good many transcripts con¬ 
 nected with the history of Philip and Mary, which, if they could be of tha 
 least service to you, are much at your disposal. 
 
 Believe me, dear Sir, 
 
 With sincere regard and respect, 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 Patrick Fraser Tytlesi. 
 
 M Don Pascual de Gayangos. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 1839 - 1844. 
 
 Materials for the “Conquest of Mexico.”—Imperfect Industry. 
 — .improved State of the Eye. — Begins to write. — Difficul¬ 
 ties. — Thoroughness. — Interruptions. — Lord Morpeth. — Visits 
 to New York and Lebanon Springs. — “Conquest of Mexico” 
 finished.— Sale of IUght to publish — Illness of his Father.— 
 Partial Kecovery. — “ Conquest of Mexico ” published. — Its 
 Success. — Reviews of it. — Letters to Mr. Lyell and Don Pas- 
 CUAL DE GaYANGOS. — FROM Mk. GaI, LATIN. — To LORD MORPETH 
 and to Gayangos. — Fkom Mr. Hallam and Mr. Everett. — Mem¬ 
 oranda. — Letter from Lord Morpeth. — Letters to Dean Mil- 
 man and Mr. J. C. Hamilton. — Letters from Mr. Tytlke and 
 Dean Milman. 
 
 ROM the letter to Mr. Irving at the beginning of the last 
 
 JO chapter, we have seen that Mr. Prescott’s earlier appre¬ 
 hension about the failure of his application at Madrid for man¬ 
 uscripts concerning the “ Conquest of Mexico ” was not well 
 founded. He had excellent friends to assist him, and they had 
 succeeded. The chief of them were Don Angel Calderon, Mr. 
 A. H. Everett, then our Minister in Spain, and Mr. Middleton, 
 his Secretary of Legation, who had been Mr. Prescott’s class¬ 
 mate and college chum, — all of whom were earnest and help¬ 
 ful, — to say nothing of Dr. Lembke, who was in his service 
 for a considerable time, collecting manuscripts, and was both 
 intelligent and efficient. Mr. Prescott, therefore, no longer 
 feared that he should fail to obtain all he could reasonably 
 expect. But his industry, which he thought had needed only 
 this stimulus, did not come with the promise of abundant ma¬ 
 terials for its exercise. During three months he did very 
 little, and records his regrets more than once in terms not to 
 be mistaken. 
 
 In May, 1839, however, he was better satisfied with himself 
 than he had been for at least two years. “ I have begun,” he 
 says, “ to lay my bones to the work in good earnest. The last 
 
182 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 week I have read a variety of authors, — i. e. looked into 
 them, affording illustration, in some way or other, of the 
 Mexican subject. Yesterday I completed my forty-third birth 
 and my nineteenth wedding day. If they do not prove happy 
 days I'or me, it is my own fault.” And again, a week later: 
 “ An industrious week for me. My eyes have done me fair 
 service ; and when I do not try them by exposure to light, the 
 hot air of crowded rooms, and the other et cceteras of town life, 
 I think I can very generally reckon on them for some hours a 
 day. The last winter they have not averaged me more than 
 one hour; my fault in a great measure, I suspect.” 
 
 Except from occasional exposures to lights in the evening, I 
 think he suffered little at this time, and, as he now put himself 
 into rigorous training for work, and avoided everything that 
 could interfere with it, I suppose it was the period when, for 
 three or four years, he enjoyed more of the blessings of sight 
 than he did during the rest of his life subsequent to the origi¬ 
 nal injury. Certainly he used with diligence whatever he 
 possessed of it, and sometimes seemed to revel presumptuously 
 in the privileges its very partial restoration afforded him. 
 
 Alter two or three months of careful preliminary reading 
 on the subject of Mexico generally, he formed a plan for the 
 whole work much as he subsequently executed it, although, as 
 in the case of the “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” he for a long time 
 hoped it would not exceed two volumes. The composition 
 he began October 14th, 1839. But lie had gone only a few 
 pages, when he became dissatisfied with what he had done, 
 and rewrote them, saying, “ One would like to make one’3 
 introductory bow in the best style ”; and adds, “ The scenery¬ 
 painting with which it opens wants the pencil of Irving.” 
 
 This, however, was only the beginning of his troubles. The 
 first part of the work he had undertaken was difficult, and cost 
 him more labor than all the rest. It involved necessarily the 
 early traditions and history of Mexico, and whatever related 
 to its peculiar civilization before the Conquest and during the 
 period when that extraordinary event was going on. It is true, 
 he soon discovered that much of what passes for curious learn¬ 
 ing in the manifold discussions of this obscure subject is only 
 “ mist and moonshine speculations,” and that Humboldt is “ the 
 
BEADING FOB “CONQUEST OF MEXICO.” 
 
 183 
 
 first, almost the last, writer on these topics, who, by making 
 his theories conform to facts, instead of bending his facts to 
 theories, truly merits the name of a philosopher.” Notwith¬ 
 standing, however, the small value he found himself able to 
 place on most of the writers who had examined the Mexican 
 traditions and culture, he read all who might be considered 
 authorities upon the subject, and even many whose works were 
 only in a remote degree connected with it. Thus, he not only 
 went carefully over all that Humboldt had written, and all he 
 could find in the old printed authorities, like Herrera, Torque- 
 mada, and Sahagun, together with the vast documentary collec¬ 
 tions of Lord Kingsborough, and the “ Antiquites Mexicaines”; 
 but he listened to the manuscript accounts of Ixtlilxochitl, of 
 Camargo, Toribio, and Zuazo. He compared whatever he 
 found in these with the oldest records of civilization in other 
 countries, — with Herodotus, Champollion, and Wilkinson for 
 Egypt; with Marco Polo and Sir John Mandeville for the 
 East; and with Gallatin, Du Ponceau, McCulloli, Heckewel- 
 der, and Delafield for our own continent. Nothing, in short, 
 seemed to escape him, and it was curious to see in his notes 
 how aptly, and with what grace, he draws contributions from 
 Elphinstone, Milman, and LyeLl, — from Homer, Sophocles, 
 Southey, and Schiller, — and, finally, what happy separate 
 facts he collects from all the travellers who have at any time 
 visited Mexico, beginning with old Bernal Diaz, and coming 
 down to the very period when he himself wrote, — I mean to 
 that of Bullock, Ward, and Stephens. 
 
 Such studies for the deep foundations of the epic super¬ 
 structure he contemplated were, of course, the work of time, 
 and demanded not a little patience, — more, in fact, of both 
 than he had foreseen. He had reckoned for liis Introduction 
 one hundred pages. It turned out two hundred and fifty. He 
 thought that he could accomplish it in six months. It took 
 nearly a year and a half, not counting the year he gave to pre¬ 
 paratory reading on Mexico generally. Three months, indeed, 
 before he put pen to paper, his notes already filled four hundred 
 pages; and subsequently, when he showed them to me, as the 
 composition was in progress, their mass was still greater. I do 
 not know an instance of more conscientious labor; the more 
 
184 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 worthy of note, because it dealt with subjects less agreeable to 
 his tastes and habits than any others to which he ever devoted 
 himself. 1 
 
 For the rest of his History he prepared himself, not only by 
 reading some of the great masters of historical narrative, but 
 by noting down in what particulars their example could be 
 useful to him. This he found a very pleasant and encouraging 
 sort of work, and it enabled him to go on with spirit. Not 
 that he failed to find, from time to time, interruptions more or 
 less serious, which checked his progress. One of these inter¬ 
 ruptions occurred almost immediately after he had completed 
 his severe labor on the Introduction. It was the project for a 
 visit to England, which tempted him very much, and occupied 
 and disturbed liis thoughts more than it needed to have done. 
 Speaking of his work on his History, he says : “ Now, why 
 should I not go ahead ? Because I am thinking of going to 
 England, to pass four months in the expedition, and my mind 
 is distracted with the pros and cons.” And, ten days later, he 
 says: “ Have decided, at length, — after as much doubt and 
 deliberation as most people would take for a voyage round the 
 world, — and decided not to go to England.” He thought he 
 had given up the project for life. Happily this was not the 
 case. 
 
 Another interruption was caused by a threatened abridgment 
 of his “Ferdinand and Isabella,” the untoward effect of which 
 
 1 After going carefully through with the hieroglyphical writing of the 
 Aztecs, he says: “ finished notes on the hieroglyphical part of the chapter, 
 — a hard, barren topic. And now on the astronomy, — out of the frying-pan 
 into the fire. I find it, however, not so hard to comprehend as I had an¬ 
 ticipated. Fortunately, the Aztec proficiency does not require a knowledge 
 of the ‘ Principia.’ Still it was enough to task all my mathematics, and 
 patience to boot; it may be, the reader’s, too.” 
 
 On this part of his labors, Mr. Gardiner well remarks: “ In earlier life he 
 used to fancy that his mind was constitutionally incapable of comprehend¬ 
 ing mathematical truths, or at least of following out mathematical demon¬ 
 strations beyond the common rules of arithmetic. It was a mistake. They 
 were only hard for him, and uncongenial; and, at the period referred to, he 
 avoided real intellectual labor as much as he could. But now, though with 
 no previous training, he did overcome all such difficulties, whenever they lay 
 in the way of his historical investigations, whether on the coins and currency 
 of the time of Ferdinand and Isabella, or on the astronomy of the Aztecs, it 
 is a striking proof of the power his will had acquired over his intellectual 
 tastes and propensities.” 
 
ABRIDGMENT OF “FERDINAND AND ISABELLA.' 
 
 185 
 
 he determined to forestall by making an abridgment of it him¬ 
 self. This annoyed him not a little. After giving an account 
 of a pleasant journey, which our two families took together, 
 and which greatly refreshed him, he goes on : — 
 
 “ The week since my return, lazy and listless and dreamy. Ot fioi. 
 And I must now — thermometer at 90° in the shade — abandon my Mexi¬ 
 can friends and the pleasant regions of the plateau for — horresco re/erens — 
 
 an abridgment of my ‘ History of Ferdinand and Isabella.’.Nothing 
 
 but the dire necessity of protecting myself from piracy induces me to do 
 this unnatural work, — sweating down my full-grown offspring to the size 
 of a pygmy, — dwarfing my own conception from, I trust, a manly stat¬ 
 ure, to the compass of a nursery capacity. I never was iu love with my 
 own compositions. I shall hammer over them now, till they give me the 
 vdmito.” 2 
 
 Disgusted with his work, — which, after all, he never pub¬ 
 lished, as the idea of the piratical abridgment was early given 
 up by the bookselling house that threatened it, — he finished it 
 as soon as he could. But whether it was the disagreeableness 
 of the task or the earnestness of his labors, it was too much 
 for him. He grew feeble and listless, and came, as already 
 noticed in one of his letters, with his father, to visit us for 
 a few days on the southern coast of Massachusetts at Wood’s 
 Hole, where the milder sea-breezes might, he thought, prove 
 beneficial. 
 
 On the 9th of August he records: — 
 
 “ I have done nothing except the abridgment, since May 26, when I 
 went on a journey to Springfield. My health must be my apology the 
 last three weeks, and a visit, from which I returned two days since, to my 
 friends at Wood’s Hole, — an agreeable visit, as I anticipated. Nahant 
 has not served me as well as usual tliis summer. I have been sorely 
 plagued with dyspeptic debility and pains. But I am resolved not to 
 heed them more, and to buckle on my harness for my Mexican campaign 
 in earnest again, though with more reserve and moderation.” 
 
 This wtts a little adventurous, but it was successful. He 
 worked well during the rest of August at Nahant, and when, 
 in the autumn, we visited him as usual at Pepperell, where he 
 went early in September, we found him quite restored, and en¬ 
 joying his studies heartily. The last days there were days of 
 
 * It should be remembered that, when he wrote this passage, he had just 
 been describing this terrible scourge itself. (Conquest of Mexico, Vol. I. pp. 
 894, etc.) The same disgust is expressed in one of his letters at the time, in 
 which he sa.vs that he went through the whole work in twenty-four days. 
 
186 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 great activity, and he returned to Boston, as he almost always 
 did, with no little reluctance. Writing at the end of October, 
 he says:— 
 
 “ Leave Peppered on Wednesday next, November 3. Yesterday and 
 the afternoon previous, beginning at four P. M., I wrote on my Chapter 
 IV. (Book III.) between eighteen and nineteen pages print,—or twelve 
 pages per diem. I shall soon gallop to the ‘ Finis ’ at this pace. But 
 Boston ! The word includes a thousand obstacles. Can I not overcome 
 them 1 ” 
 
 One of these obstacles, however, which he encountered as 
 soon as he reached town, was a very pleasant one, and the 
 source of much happiness to him afterwards. He found there 
 Lord Morpeth, now the Earl of Carlisle, who had just arrived 
 on a visit to the United States, and who spent several week* 
 in Boston. They soon became acquainted, and an attachment 
 sprang up between them almost at once, which was interrupted 
 only by death. 
 
 How warm it was on the part of Lord Morpeth will be 
 plainly seen by the following letter, written not long after he 
 left Boston. 
 
 La Habana, March 30, 1842. 
 
 Mr dear Prescott, 
 
 You are about the first person in my life who has made me feel in a 
 hurry to write to him; and I have really forborne hitherto, from thinking 
 it might cross your mind that you had got rather more of a bargain than 
 you wished when we made our corresponding compact. I am sure, you 
 have a very faint idea of the pleasure I derive from the thoughts of the 
 acquaintance which has been so short, and the friendship which is to be so 
 lasting between us; and whenever, as has, however, been very seldom the 
 case, matters have not gone quite so pleasantly on my journey, and the 
 question, “ Was it worth while after all 1 ” would just present itself, “ Yes, 
 I have made acquaintance with Prescott,” has been the readiest and most 
 efficacious answer. I stop, though, lest you should imagine I have caught 
 the Spanish infection of compliments. It is at least appropriate to write 
 to you from Spanish ground. 
 
 I have now been in this island about a fortnight, having spent most of 
 the first week in Havana, and returned to it this afternoon from an expedi¬ 
 tion into the interior. I was entrapped into a dreadfully long passage 
 from Charleston in an American sailing packet, having been almost 
 guaranteed a maximum of sLx days, whereas it took us thirteen. Pain¬ 
 fully we threaded the coast of Georgia and Florida, 
 
 “ And wild Altama murmured to our woe.” 
 
 However, we did arrive at last, and nothing can be conceived more pic¬ 
 turesque than the entrance into this harbor under the beetling rock of the 
 
LETTER FROM LORD MORPETH. 
 
 187 
 
 fortress, or so peculiar, un-English, un-American, un-Bostonian, as the 
 appearance of everything — houses, streets, persons, vehicles — that meets 
 your eye. I take it to be very Spanish, modified by the black population 
 and the tropical growths. I have been on a ten days’ expedition into the 
 interior, and have visited sundry sugar and coffee estates. At one of 
 these, the Count Fernandina’s, I had great satisfaction in meeting the 
 Calderons. I. immediately felt that you were a link between us, and that 
 I had a right to be intimate with them, which I found it was very well 
 worth while to be on their own account also. There is great simplicity 
 of character, as well as abundant sense and good feeling, about him, and 
 I think her most remarkably agreeable and accomplished. I leave ycu to 
 judge what a resource and aid they must have been to me in a country- 
 house, where everybody else was talking Spanish. We did all think it a 
 pity that you had not gone to visit them in Mexico ; there is so much 
 truth in the Horatian rule about “oculis subjeeta fidelibus,” but, my dear 
 and good friend, perhaps you think that is not the epithet exactly to be 
 applied to you. They rave, especially Madame C., of what they saw 
 during their equestrian exploration in Mexico, the climate and the pro¬ 
 ducts of every latitude, the virgin forests, of everything but the state of 
 society, which seems almost hopelessly disorganized and stranded. With 
 respect to Cuban scenery, I think I can best condense my impression as 
 follows : — 
 
 “ Ye tropic forests of unfading green, 
 
 Where the palm tapers and the orange glows, 
 
 Where the light bamboo weaves her feathery screen. 
 
 And her far shade the matchless ceil/a throws 1 
 
 “ Ye cloudless ethers of unchanging blue, 
 
 Save when the rosy streaks of eve give way 
 To the clear sapphire of your midnight hue, 
 
 The burnished azure of your perfect day! 
 
 “Yet tell me not, my native skies are bleak, 
 
 That, flushed with liquid wealth, no cane-fields wave; 
 
 For Virtue pines, and Manhood dares not speak, 
 
 And Nature’s glories brighten round the slave.” 
 
 Shall you be in a hurry to ask me to write again when you see what 
 it brings upon you 1 I only wish you would pay me in kind by sending 
 me any bit of a more favorite passage, a more special inspiration, a Fisgah 
 morsel, out of your History, as it runs along. By the way, upon the 
 subject of my last line, and as you know that I do not for the first time 
 assume the function of saying things disagreeable and impertinent, I do 
 not think that you seemed to possess quite the sufficient repugnance to the 
 system of slavery. Come here to be duly impressed. Will you very 
 kindly remember me to all the members of your family, from the ex to the 
 growing Judge. If you ever have a mind to write to me, Sumner will be 
 always able to ascertain my direction from Mr. Lewis. Give that good 
 friend of ours my blessing; I wish it were as valuable as a wig. If 1 
 could give you a still stronger assurance of my wish to be always pleas¬ 
 antly remembered by you, it is that, excessively as I should like to hear 
 
188 
 
 WILLIAM HIGKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 from you at all times, I yet had rather you did not write when not entirely 
 inclined to do so. I set off for New Orleans next week. You see, that 1 
 have had the good fortune to lose my election, which makes me more able 
 to encourage the hope that we may yet meet again on the soil of your re¬ 
 public. That would be very pleasant. 
 
 Believe me ever, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 Morpeth. 
 
 There is no allusion to this new friendship among the literary 
 memoranda, except the following, made immediately after Lord 
 Morpeth was gone: — 
 
 “December 28th, 1841. Finished text, twenty-three pages of print, 
 and the notes to Chapter VIII. Oi' pot, Ot pot. Not a page a day. So 
 much for dinners, suppers, Lord Morpeth, and nonsense. I wish I may 
 never have a worse apology, however, than his Lordship, — a beautiful 
 specimen of British aristocracy in mind and manners. But what has it 
 all to do with the ‘ Conquest of Mexico ’ ? If I don’t mend, my Spaniards 
 will starve among the mountains. I will 1 ” 
 
 And this time lie kept his resolution. During the rest of 
 the winter of 1841-1842, he worked hard and successfully, 
 but made few memoranda. Under the 7th of May, however, 
 I find the following: — 
 
 “ Another long hiatus. Since last entry paid two visits to New York, — 
 a marvellous event in my history 1 First, a visit, about three weeks since, 
 I paid to meet Washington Irving before his departure for Spain. Spent 
 half a day with him at Wainwright’s, 3 — indeed, till twelve at night. 
 Found him delightful and — what, they say, is rare — wide awake. He 
 promises to aid me in all my applications. Stayed but two days. Second 
 
 visit, April 25, and stayed till May 3 ; went to see an oculist, Dr.-, 
 
 at request of friends, — my own faith not equal to the minimum requi 
 site, — the grain of mustard-seed. I consumed about a week or more in 
 inquiring about him and his cases. Returned re infeetd. Passed a very 
 agreeable week, having experienced the warmest welcome from the good 
 people of New York, and seen what is most worthy of attention in their 
 society. The life I have led there, leaving my eyes uninjured, shows that, 
 when I do not draw on them by constant literary labors. I can bear a 
 great exposure to light and company. During my absence I have been to 
 bed no night till twelve or later, and have dined every day with a dinner 
 
 party in a blaze of light. Now for the old Aztecs again.Shall I 
 
 not work well after my holiday 1 ” 
 
 8 The Rev. Jonathan M. Wainwright, afterwards Bishop of the Diocese of 
 New York. He had been from an earlier period a friend of Mr. Prescott, a 
 member of his Club In Boston, and for some time, as Rector of Trinity 
 Church, his clergyman. Bishop Wainwright died in 1854. 
 
CONQUEST OF MEXICO” COMPLETED. 
 
 189 
 
 But he did not. He found it as hard as ever to buckle on 
 his harness afresh, and complained as much as ever of his indo¬ 
 lence and listlessness. He however wrote a few pages, and then 
 broke off, and we went — I mean both our families went — to 
 Lebanon Springs, of which he made the following record : — 
 
 “Next day after to-morrow, June 2, I am going a journey with our 
 friends the Ticknors to Lebanon Springs, and then 
 
 ‘ To fresh fields and pastures new.’ ” 
 
 “ June 11. — Returned from my excursion on the 9th. Now to resume 
 my historical labors, and, I trust, with little interruption. The week has 
 passed pleasantly, amidst the rich scenery of Lebanon, Stoekbridge, and 
 Lenox, which last we have visited, making the Springs our point d’appui. 
 There are few enjoyments greater than that of wandering amidst beautiful 
 landscapes with dear friends of taste and sympathies congenial to your 
 own.” 
 
 From this time until the “ Conquest of Mexico ” was finished 
 he was very active and industrious, suffering hardly any inter¬ 
 ruption, and working with an interest which was not less the 
 result of his devotion to his task than of the nature of his sub¬ 
 ject. Sometimes he advanced very rapidly, or at the rate of 
 more than nine printed pages a day ; almost always doing more 
 and enjoying it more when he was in the country than any¬ 
 where else. 
 
 On the 2d of August, 1848, the whole of the work was com¬ 
 pleted ; three years and about ten months from the time when he 
 began the actual composition, and above five years from the time 
 when he began to investigate the subject loosely and listlessly. 
 His labor in the last months had been too severe, and he felt it. 
 But he felt his success too. “ On the whole,” he writes the day 
 he finished it, “ the last two years have been the most industri¬ 
 ous of my life, I think, — especially the last year, — and, as 
 I have won the capital, entitle me to three months of literary 
 loafing.” 4 
 
 4 The following are his own dates respecting the composition of the “ Con¬ 
 quest of Mexico.” 
 
 “ May, 1838. — Began scattered reading on the subject, doubtful if I get my 
 documents from Spain. Very listless and far-niente-ish for a year. Over¬ 
 visiting and not in spirits. 
 
 “April, 1839.—-Began to read in earnest, having received MSS. from 
 Madrid. 
 
 “ Oct. 14, 1839. — Wrote first page of Introduction at FeppereU 
 
WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 1'JU 
 
 A few months earlier he had sold the right of publishing 
 “ The Conquest of Mexico ” from stereotype plates furnished 
 by himself to the Messrs. Harper and Brothers of New York. 
 
 “ They are to have five thousand copies,” he says, “ paying therefor 
 seven thousand five hundred dollars in cash (deducting three months’ in¬ 
 terest) at the date of publication. The right is limited to one year, during 
 which they may publish as many more copies as they please on the same 
 
 terms. I hope they may not be disappointed, for their sakes as 
 
 well as mine. But this is a different contract from that which ushered 
 ‘ Ferdinand and Isabella ’ into the world.” 
 
 His arrangements with his publishers made it necessary foi 
 him to deliver them the stereotype plates of the completed work 
 by the 15 th of October, and thus caused a pressure upon him 
 to which he resolved that he would never again expose himself. 
 But he needed not to feel anxious or hurried. His work was 
 all stereotyped on the 10th of September. 
 
 He went immediately to Pepperell, that he might begin the 
 pleasant “ literary loafing ” he had proposed as his reward. “ I 
 promise myself,” he says, “ a merry autumn with lounging at 
 my ease among friends and idle books; a delicious contrast 
 after the hard summer’s work I have done.” A part of this 
 we spent with him, and found it as gay as he had anticipated. 
 But, as he approached its end, a sad disappointment awaited 
 him. On the 28th of October, his father suffered a slight 
 shock of paralysis and the next day he wrote to me as follows. 
 
 Pepperell, Sunday Evening. 
 
 Mr dear George, 
 
 I suppose you may have heard through William of our affliction in the 
 illness of my father. As you may get incorrect impressions of his condi¬ 
 tion, I will briefly state it. 
 
 His left cheek was slightly, though very visibly, affected by the paralysis, 
 — his articulation was so confused that he was scarcely intelligible, — and 
 his mind was sadly bewildered. He was attacked in this way yesterday 
 about half past nine A. M. In a few horns his face was restored to its 
 
 “ March 1, 1841. — Finished Introduction and Part I. of Appendix. 
 
 “ August 2, 1843. — Finished the work. So the Introduction, about half a 
 vol., occupied about as long as the remaining 2.J vols. of dashing narrative. 
 
 “August, 1841-August, 1842. — Composed 662 pages of print, text and 
 notes of the narrative. 
 
 “ August, 1842 - August, 1843. — Composed 425 pp. print, text and notes ; 
 revised Ticknor’s corrections and his wife’s of all the work. Corrected, &c. 
 proofs of nearly all the work. The last Book required severe reading of MSS ” 
 
ILLNESS OF MR. PRESCOTT, SENIOR. 
 
 191 
 
 usual appearance. His articulation was gradually improved, and to-day 
 is nearly perfect; and his mind has much brightened, so that you would 
 not detect any failing unless your attention were called to it. I have nc 
 doubt the present attack will pass away in time without leaving permanent 
 consequences. But for the future, I should tremble to lift the veil. There 
 is an oppressive gloom over the landscape, such as it never wore to my 
 eyes before. God bless you and yours. 
 
 Most affectionately, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 George Ticknor, Esq. 
 
 Later, he records his feelings in the same tone. 
 
 “ A cloud is thrown over our happy way of life by the illness of my dear 
 faiw, who three days since was attacked by a stroke of paralysis, which 
 affcctv.,1 his speech materially, and for the first time threw a darkness over 
 that fine intellect. The effects of the shock have, thank Heaven, much 
 passed away ; and we may hope that it is not intended that so much wis¬ 
 dom and goodness shall be taken away from us yet. Still it has filled me 
 with a sadness such as but one other event of my life ever caused ; for he 
 has been always a part of myself; to whom I have confided every matter 
 of any moment; in whose superior judgment I have relied in all affairs 
 of the least consequence; and on whose breast I have been sure to find 
 ready sympathy in every joy and sorrow. I have never read any book of 
 merit without discussing it with him, and his noble example has been a 
 light to my steps in all the chances and perplexities of life. When that 
 light is withdrawn, life will wear a new and a dark aspect to me.” 
 
 As he fondly anticipated, his father’s health was soon in a 
 great measure restored, and he enjoyed life much as he had 
 done for some years previous to this attack. Meantime the 
 inevitable press went on, and the “ Conquest of Mexico ” was 
 published on the 6th of December, 1843. 
 
 “It is,” he says, “ six years next Christmas, since ‘Ferdinand and Isa¬ 
 bella ’ made their bow to the public. This second apparition of mine is 
 by no means so stirring to my feelings. I don’t know but the critic’s 
 stings, if pretty well poisoned, may not raise a little irritation. But I am 
 sure I am quite proof against the anodyne of praise. Not that I expect 
 much either. But criticism has got to be an old story. It is impossible for 
 one who has done that sort of work himself to feel any respect for it. How 
 can a critic look his brother in the face without laughing'? As it is not in 
 the power of the critics to write a poor author up into permanent estima¬ 
 tion, so none but an author who has once been kindly received can write 
 himself down. Yei, I shall be sorry if the work does not receive the appro¬ 
 bation of my friends here and abroad — and of the few.” b 
 
 8 It seems singular now that he should have had any anxiety about the 
 Buccess of the “ Conquest of Mexico.” But he had. Above a year earlier, 
 ho recorded his doubts: “ The Ticknors, wl o have read my manuscript 
 
192 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 But there was no need of this misgiving, or of any misgiving 
 whatever. The work was greeted from one end of the United 
 States to the other with a chorus of applause, such as was 
 never vouchsafed to any other, of equal gravity and impor¬ 
 tance, that had been printed or reprinted among us. "Within a 
 month after it appeared, more than a hundred and thirty news¬ 
 papers from different parts of the country had been sent to 
 the author, all in one tone. Within the same period, many of 
 the booksellers’ shops were exhausted of their supplies several 
 times, so as to be unable to meet the current demand. And 
 finally, for a fortnight after the fourth thousand was sold, the 
 whole market of the country was left bare. The five thousand 
 copies, provided for by the contract, which he thought could 
 hardly be sold within a year, disappeared, in fact, in about four 
 months. The sale of the work was, therefore, as remarkable 
 as the applause with which it had been received on its appear¬ 
 ance. The author ceased to be anxious, and the publishers 
 were jubilant. 8 
 
 An English edition was at the same time published by Mr. 
 Bentley in London ; the copyright, after considerable negotia¬ 
 tion, having been sold to him on the author’s behalf by his 
 kind and excellent friend, Colonel Aspinwall, for six hundred 
 and fifty pounds. A second edition was called for in the May 
 following, and Baudry published one at Paris in the original 
 soon afterwards. It had at once a great run in England and 
 on the Continent. 
 
 Of course, the reviews of all kinds and sizes were prompt 
 in their notices. At home the authors of such criticisms ran 
 no risk. They were to deal with a writer whose character was 
 fully settled, in his own country at least. There was, there¬ 
 fore, no difference of opinion among them, no qualification, no 
 reserve ; certainly none that I remember, and none of any mo¬ 
 ment. A beautiful article, written with great judgment and 
 
 relating to the Conquest, assure me that the work will succeed. Would they 
 were my enemies that say so! But they are friends to the backbone.” He 
 had the same misgivings, I know, until the work had been published two or 
 three weeks. 
 
 « This was the genuine fruit of a well-earned fame, as the earliest sales in 
 Boston of the “Ferdinand and Isabella” were the honorable fruit of great 
 social and personal regard. See ante, p. 101. 
 
CONQUEST OF MEXICO” IN ENGLAND. 
 
 193 
 
 kindness, by Mr. George S. Hillard, appeared in the “ North 
 American Review ” for January, 1844, and was followed by 
 two of no less power and finish in the “ Christian Examiner” 
 by Mr. George T. Curtis, and in the “ Methodist Quarterly ” 
 by Mr. Joseph G. Cogswell. These all came from the hands 
 of personal friends. But friendship was not needed to help 
 the success of a book which, while it was settled on an assured 
 foundation of facts carefully ascer tained, yet read, in the narra¬ 
 tive portions, like a romance, and was written in a style often 
 not less glowing than that of Scott, and sometimes reminding 
 us of what is finest in “ Ivanhoe,” or “ The Talisman.” 
 
 The same verdict, therefore, soon arrived from England, 
 where the book was necessarily judged without reference to its 
 author. The articles in the “ Athenaeum ” were, I think, the 
 earliest; one of no small ability, which appeared rather late, by 
 Charles Philips, Esq., in the “ Edinbur gh,” was, on the whole, 
 the most laudatory. But they were all in the same spirit. 
 A long and elaborate criticism, however, in the “ Quarterly,” 
 written by the Rev. Mr. Milman, now (1862) the Dean of St. 
 Paul’s, was the most carefully considered and thorough of any. 
 It gratified Mr. Prescott very much by its strong, manly sense 
 and graceful scholar-ship, but still more by the estimate which 
 a person of such known elevation of character placed upon the 
 moral tendencies of the whole work. It became at once the 
 foundation of an acquaintance which ripened afterwards into a 
 sincere personal friendship. 
 
 But Mr. Prescott did not suffer these tlrings to have more 
 than their due weight with him, or to occupy much of his time 
 or thought. After giving a slight notice of them, he says : 
 “It is somewhat enervating, and has rather an unwholesome 
 effect, to podder long over these personalities. The best course 
 is action, — things, not self, — at all events not self-congratula¬ 
 tion. So now I propose to dismiss all further thoughts of my 
 literary success.” 
 
 M 
 
194 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 TO CHAELES LYELL, ESQ . 7 
 
 Nahant, July 11, 1842. 
 
 My dear Mr. Lyell, 
 
 T understand from Mrs. Ticknor that you are to be in town this week, 
 previous to sailing. I trust we shall have the pleasure of shaking hands 
 with you and Mrs. Lyell again before you shake the dust of our republi¬ 
 can soil oft - your feet. Perhaps your geological explorations may lead you 
 among our cliffs again. If so, will you and Mrs. L. oblige us by dining 
 and making our house your head-quarters for the day 1 I regret, my father 
 and mother are absent in the country this week. But I need not say, that 
 it will give my wife and myself sincere pleasure to see you both, though 
 we had rather it should be in the way of “ how d’ ye do,” than “ good-by.” 
 Pray remember me most kindly to Mrs. Lyell, and believe me 
 Very faithfully yours, 
 
 Wai. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 Boston, Jan. 30, 1843. 
 
 My dear Eriend, 
 
 From yours of December 25th, I find you are still in London. I hope 
 you received mine of November 14th, informing you of Mr. Tytler’s kind 
 offer to place his extracts from the State Paper Office at my disposal, and 
 that you also received my note of December 1st. When you have exam¬ 
 ined the papers in Brussels and Paris you will be able to form an estimate 
 of what the copying them will cost. I think that the first twenty letters 
 in Raumer’s “ History of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries ” show 
 that there are very important materials in the Bibliotheque Royale in 
 Paris; and I should think it would be well to get copies of the very doc¬ 
 uments of which he gives some slight abstracts. They seem, several of 
 them, to relate to the private life of Philip and his family, and interesting 
 details of the court in his reign, and the latter part of that of Charles the 
 Fifth. 
 
 The Venetian Rdazioni are, I suppose, some of them quite important, 
 considering the minuteness with which tho ministers of that republic en¬ 
 tered into the affairs of the courts where they resided. Mr. Everett speaks 
 of Mansard's account of these Relations as affording all the information one 
 could desire to guide one. If Mr. E. is right, the Archives du Royaume, 
 in the Hotel Soubise, must also contain much of interest relating to our 
 subject. But to say truth, valuable as are official documents, such as 
 
 7 This letter is inserted here, as the first in a very interesting correspond¬ 
 ence, of which large portions will hereafter be given, and which was termi¬ 
 nated only by Mr. Prescott’s death. Mr. Lyell — now Sir Charles Lyell — 
 was in July, 1842, just finishing his first visit to the United States, of which 
 he afterwards published an account in 1845, — one of the most acute and just 
 views of me character and condition of the people of the United States that 
 has ever been printed. 
 
LETTER FROM HON. ALBERT GALLATIN. 
 
 195 
 
 treaties, instructions to ministers, &c., I set still greater store by those 
 letters, diaries, domestic correspondence, which lay open the characters 
 and habits of the great actors in the drama. The others furnish the cold 
 outlines, but these give us the warm coloring of history, — all that gives it 
 its charm and interest. Such letters as Peter Martyr’s, such notices as the 
 Qdincuagenas of Oviedo, and such gossiping chronicles as Bernal Diaz’s, 
 are worth an ocean of state papers for the historian of life and manners, 
 who would paint the civilization of a period. Do you not think so 1 
 
 TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 “ Boston, Jan. 30, 1843. 
 
 .You will also probably see Sehor Benavides, my translator.* 
 
 I am greatly obliged by the account which you have given me of him and 
 the other translators, who, I suppose, will now abandon the ground. You 
 say Senor B. will controvert some of my opinions. So much the better, 
 if he does it in a courteous spirit, as I have no doubt he will ; for if he 
 did not approve of the work on the whole, he would, I should suppose, 
 hardly take the trouble to translate it. If he presents views differing on 
 some points from mine, the reader will have more lights for getting at 
 truth, which ought to be the end of history. Very likely I have pleased 
 my imagination with a beau ideal; for you know I am born a republican, 
 but not a fierce one, and in my own country, indeed, am ranked among 
 what in England would correspond with the conservatives. 
 
 I hope his work will be got up in creditable style, as regards typographi¬ 
 cal execution, as well as in more important matters. I should like to 
 make a good impression on my adopted countrymen, and a good dress 
 would help that. Prom what you say of Sehor Benavides I augur favor¬ 
 ably for the work. I hope he will see the last Loudon edition, full of 
 errors as it is in the Castilian. You will be good enough to send me 
 some copies when it is published. 
 
 PROM MR. GALLATIN. 
 
 New Yokk, June 22, 1843. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 I feel much obliged to you for the copy of Veytia’s “ Historia Antigua 
 de Mexico,” sent me by Mr. Catherwood. Unfortunately I have so far 
 forgotten Spanish, as everything else which I learnt late in life, that to read 
 it has become a labor; and Veytia is not very amusing or inviting. Still 
 his work deserves attention. The authorities he quotes are precisely those 
 of Clavigero, and the two books were written independent of each other. 
 I have only run through Veytia, and I intend (if I can) to read it more 
 carefully. But the result in my mind, so far as I have compared, is that, 
 beyond the one hundred years which preceded the Spanish conquest, the 
 Mexican history is but little better than tradition ; at least beyond the 
 limits of the valley of Mexico. Our best historical authorities are. as it 
 
 8 Of the “ Ferdinand and Isabella.' 
 
3 96 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 seems to me, those which the Spaniards found and saw on their arrival, 
 and the still existing monuments. But I should not indulge in such crude 
 conjectures, and wait with impatience for your work, the publication of 
 which please to hasten that I may have a chance to read it. Please to 
 accept the assurance of my high regard and distinguished consideration, 
 and to believe me, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your obedient and faithful servant, 
 
 Albert Gallatin. 
 
 TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 Boston, Nov. 30, 1843. 
 
 Mt dear Friend, 
 
 I am glad to find by your letter of October 10, that you are so comfort¬ 
 ably established in Madrid, and most happy that you are placed in the 
 Arabic chair for which you are so well qualified. 9 It is much preferable 
 to an African mission on every account, and I hope, whatever party comes 
 uppermost in your land of trastornos, you will not be disturbed in it. 10 I 
 am not very much surprised at the impediments you met with in the pub¬ 
 lic libraries from their confused state, and from the apathy of those who 
 have the care of them. How can the regard for letters flourish amidst 
 such cruel civil dissensions 1 But meliora speremus. In the mean time I do 
 not doubt that your habitual perseverance and the influence of your posi¬ 
 tion will give you access to what is of most importance. You say nothing 
 of the Escoriai, in speaking of the great collections. Is not that a reposi¬ 
 tory of much valuable historic matter ? And is it not in tolerable order % 
 1 believe it used to be. 
 
 It will be very hard if the Spaniards refuse me admittance into their 
 archives, when I am turning my information, as far as in my power, to 
 exhibit their national prowess and achievements. I see I am already criti¬ 
 cised by an English periodical for vindicating in too unqualified a manner 
 the deeds of the old Conquerors. If you were in England, I should be 
 sure of one champion, at least, to raise a voice in my favor ! But I hope 
 it will not be needed. 
 
 You are most fortunate in having access to such private collections as 
 those of Alva, Santa Cruz, Infantado, &c. The correspondence of the 
 admiral of the Armada, and that also of Rcquesens, must have interest. 
 It was the archives of the Santa Cruz family of which Senor Navarrete 
 spoke as containing materials relating to Philip the Second. Pray thank 
 that kind-hearted and venerable scholar for his many courtesies to me. 
 You will of course add to our collection whatever he and his brother 
 Academicians publish in reference to this reign. 
 
 9 In the University of Madrid. 
 
 10 Don Pascual had some thought of going, in an official capacity, to 
 Tunis, &c., so as to collect Arabic manuscripts. In fact, he did go later; but 
 not at this time, and not, I think, burdened with official cares. 
 
LETTER FROM MR. HALLAM. 
 
 197 
 
 FROM MR. ROGERS. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 At Paris, where I was idling away one of the autumn months, I received 
 your welcome letter; and I need not say with what pleasure I discovered 
 your volumes on my table when 1 returned to London. Let me congratu¬ 
 late you on an achievement at once so bloodless and so honorable to your 
 country and yourself. 
 
 “ It seems to me,” says Mr. Hume to Mr. Gibbon, “ that your country¬ 
 men, for almost a whole generation, have given themselves up to barba¬ 
 rous and absurd faction, and have totally neglected all polite letters. I no 
 longer expected any valuable production ever to come from them.” 
 
 May it not in some measure be said even now of England and France, 
 and I fear also of America, — the many who would except themselves 
 there being for the most part a multitude of fast writers and fast readers, 
 who descend from one abyss to another? 
 
 That you may long continue in health and strength, to set a better ex¬ 
 ample, is the ardent but disinterested wish of one who cannot live to avail 
 himself of it. 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 S. Rogers. 
 
 London, Nov. 30, 1843. 
 
 FROM MR. HALLAM. 
 
 Wilton Crescent, London, Dec. 29, 1843. 
 
 Mx dear Sir, 
 
 I received, not long after your letter reached my hands, a copy of your 
 “ History of the Conquest of Mexico,” which you had so kindly led me 
 to expect; and should have sooner acknowledged it, if my absence from 
 London soon afterwards had not retarded my perusal of it, and if I had 
 not been forced to wait some weeks for an opportunity of sending my an¬ 
 swer through our friend Mr. Everett. 
 
 I sincerely congratulate you on this second success in our historic field. 
 If the subject is not, to us at least of the Old World, quite equal in in¬ 
 terest to the “ History of Ferdinand and Isabella,” you have perhaps been 
 able to throw still more fresh light on the great events which you relate, 
 from sources hardly accessible, and at least very little familiar to us. It 
 has left Robertson’s narrative, the only popular history we had, very far 
 behind. But I confess that the history of your hero has attracted me less 
 than those chapters relating to Mexican Antiquities, which at once excite 
 our astonishment and curiosity. Mr. Stephens’s work had already turned 
 our minds to speculate on the remarkable phenomenon of a civilized nation 
 decaying without, as far as we can judge, any subjugation, (or, of one by 
 a more barbarous people, this, though not unprecedented, is still remarka¬ 
 ble,) and without leaving any record of its existence. Some facts, if such 
 they are, mentioned by you, are rather startling, especially those of relig¬ 
 ious analogy to Jewish and Christian doctrines ; but they do not all seem 
 
198 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT 
 
 to rest on certain evidence. If true, we must perhaps explain them by 
 help of the Norwegian settlement. 
 
 Your style appears to me almost perfect, and better, I think, than in 
 your former history. You are wholly free from what we call American¬ 
 isms. Sometimes I should think a phrase too colloquial, especially in 
 the notes. 
 
 I beg you to give my best regards to Mr. and Mrs. Ticknor, when you 
 next see them, and I remain, my dear sir, 
 
 Very faitlifully yours, 
 
 Henry Hall am. 
 
 FROM MR. EVERETT. 
 
 London, Jan. 2, 1844. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 .We have been reading the “ Conquest of Mexico ” about our 
 
 fireside, and finish the second volume this evening. I enjoy it more than 
 its predecessor. The interest is of a more epic kind ; and reading it aloud 
 is more favorable to attention and effect. I think its success complete. I 
 hear different opinions as to its merit compared with “Ferdinand and 
 Isabella.” Old Mr. Thomas Grenville (the son of George, of Stamp Act 
 fame, and the collector, I think, of the best private library of its size I 
 know) gives the preference to “ Ferdinand and Isabella.” Mr. Hallam 
 inclines, I think, to prefer “ The Conquest.” He said he thought the style 
 was rather easier in the latter; but Mr. Grenville made precisely the same 
 criticism as to “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” which he told me he thought 
 the ablest modern history in the English language. This extraordinary 
 and venerable person was eighty-eight years old on the 31st of December. 
 On that day he walked from his house near Hyde Park Comer to Staf¬ 
 ford House, and called on me on his way home; not seeming more 
 fatigued than I should have been with the same circuit. I once asked 
 him if he recollected his uncle, Lord Chatham, and he answered that ho 
 recollected playing ninepins with him at the age of fourteen. 
 
 I enclose you a letter from Mr. Hallam. The article on your book in 
 the “ Quarterly,” as I learn from Dr. Holland, was written by Mr. Mil- 
 man. Mr. Grenville spoke with great severity of the article on “ Ferdi¬ 
 nand and Isabella ” which appeared in the same journal. 
 
 MEMORANDA. 
 
 January 7, 1844. — The first entry in the New Year. It begins auspi¬ 
 ciously for this second child of my brain, as 1838 did for its elder brother. 
 More than a hundred and thirty papers from different parts of the coun¬ 
 try, 11 and a large number of kind notes from friends, attest the rapid 
 circulation of the work, and the very favorable regard it receives from the 
 public. The principal bookstores here have been exhausted of theii 
 
 U These were sent to him in a flood, chiefly by mail and by his publishers. 
 
LETTER FROM LORD MORPETH. 
 
 199 
 
 copies two or three times, though there has always been a supply at the 
 inferior depots. The Harpers have not been able to send the books nearly 
 as fast as ordered. I suppose the delay is explained by the time occupied 
 in binding them 
 
 From the prevalent (with scarcely an exception) tone of criticism, I 
 think three things may be established in regard to this History, of which I 
 had previously great doubts. 1. The Introduction and chapter in Apoen- 
 dix I. are well regarded by the public, and I did not spend my time inju¬ 
 diciously on them. 2. The last book, on the biography of Cortes, is 
 considered a necessary and interesting appendage. 3. The style of the 
 whole work is considered richer, freer, more animated and graceful than 
 that of “ Ferdinand and Isabella.” This last is a very important fact, 
 for I wrote with much less fastidiousness and elaboration. Yet I rarely 
 wrote without revolving the chapter many times in my mind before writ¬ 
 ing. But I did not podder over particular phrases. 
 
 .Had I accepted half of my good friend Folsom’s criticisms, what 
 
 would have become of the style ? Yet they had and will always have 
 their value for accurate analysis of language and thought, and for accu¬ 
 racy of general facts. My Postscripts, written with least labor, have been 
 much commended as to style. 
 
 FROM LORD MORPETH. 
 
 Castle Howard, Jan. 23, 1844. 
 
 My dear Prescott, 
 
 You will have thought me over-long in answering your most gracious 
 and precious gift of your “ Mexico,” but I sent you a message that you 
 were not to have a word from me about it till I had quite finished it, and, 
 as I read it out loud to my mother and sister, this has not taken place so 
 soon as you might have expected. And now my poor verdict will come 
 after you are saturated with the public applause, and will care mighty little 
 for individual suffrage. Still 1 will hope that, however careless you may 
 be of the approbation, you will not be wholly indifferent to the pleasure 
 with which our occupation has been attended. Nothing could be more 
 satisfactory than to roll along through your easy, animated, and pictured 
 periods, and your candid and discriminating, but unassuming, disquisi¬ 
 tions, and to have my own interest and approval shared by those to whom 
 I read ; and then further to find the wide circle without corroborate our 
 verdict, 
 
 “ And nations hail thee with a love like mine.” 
 
 We are getting through the mildest winter almost ever remembered. 
 Before you receive this, I probably shall be a member of the House of 
 Commons, a re-entry upon public turmoil of which I do not at all relish 
 the prospect. Are you beginning Pizarro ? How you must have pleased 
 Rogers by your mention of him. Pray give my kindest regards to youi 
 family. 
 
 Believe me, ever affectionately yours, 
 
 Morpeth. 
 
' '.(4 K* 
 
 200 WILLIAM mCKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 TO THE REV. H. H. MIL MAN. 
 
 Boston, Jan. 30, 1844. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 If you will allow one to address yon so familiarly who has not the honor 
 to be personally known to you ; and yet the frequency with which I have 
 heard your name mentioned by some of our common friends, and my long 
 familiarity with your writings, make me feel as if you were not a stranger 
 to me. I have learnt from my friend Mr. Everett that you are the authoi 
 of a paper in the last London “ Quarterly” on the “ Conquest of Mexico.” 
 It is unnecessary to say with what satisfaction I have read your elegant 
 and encomiastic criticism, written throughout in that courteous and gentle¬ 
 manlike tone, particularly grateful as coming from a Transatlantic critic, 
 who has no national partialities to warp his judgment. Speaking the same 
 language, nourished by the same literature, and with the same blood in our 
 veins, I assure you the American scholar, next to his own country, looks 
 for sympathy and countenance to his fatherland more than to any other 
 country in the world. And when he receives the expression of it from 
 those whom he has been accustomed to reverence, he has obtained one of 
 his highest rewards. 
 
 May I ask you to remember me kindly to Mr. and Mrs. Lyell and to 
 Mr. Hallam, and believe me, my dear sir. 
 
 With great respect. 
 
 Your obliged and obedient servant, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO JOHN 0. HAMILTON, ESQ., NEW YORK. 
 
 Boston, Feb. 10,1844. 
 
 Mr dear Mr. Hamilton, 
 
 I have read the notice of my work in the last “ Democratic Review,” 
 and as you interested yourself to get it written, you may perhaps be pleased 
 to know my opinion about it. I like it very much. It is written through¬ 
 out in a very courteous and gentlemanlike spirit. As far as I am person¬ 
 ally concerned, I should be very unreasonable were I not gratified by the 
 liberal commendation of my literary labors. 
 
 The great question of the proper standard of historic judgment is one 
 in which of course I must be at issue with the writer, — or rather one in 
 which he chooses to be at issue with me. In mauaging the argument, he 
 shows much acuteness and plausibility. Yet if we accept his views of it, 
 some of the fairest names in the dark period of the Middle Ages, and of 
 antiquity, will wear a very ugly aspect. The immorality of the act and 
 of the actor seem to me two very different things; and while we judge the 
 one by the immutable principles of right and wrong, we must try the other 
 by the fluctuating standard of the age. The real question is, whether a 
 man was sincere, and acted according to the lights of his age. We can¬ 
 not fairly demand of a man to be in advance of his generation, and where 
 a generation goes wrong, we may be sure that it is an error of the head, 
 
LETTER FROM MR. TYTLER. 
 
 201 
 
 not of the heart. For a whole community, including its best and wisest, 
 will not deliberately sanction the habitual perpetration of crime. This 
 would be an anomaly in the history of man. The article in the last Lon¬ 
 don “ Quarterly,” from the pen of Milman, a clergyman of the Church of 
 England, you know, expressly approves of my moral estimate of Corte's. 
 This is from a great organ of Orthodoxy. One might think the “Demo¬ 
 cratic ” and the “ Quarterly ” had changed sides. Rather funny, n’est ce 
 pas ? 
 
 As to the question of fact, — what Corte's did, or did not do, — the 
 ‘Reviewer” has leaned exclusively on one authority, that of the chroni¬ 
 cler Diaz, an honest man, but passionate, credulous, querulous, and writing 
 the reminiscences of fifty years back. Truth cannot be drawn from one 
 source, but from complicated and often contradictory sources. 
 
 I think you will hardly agree that the Conqueror deserved censure for 
 not throwing off his allegiance to the Emperor, and setting up for himself. 
 However little we can comprehend the full feeling of loyalty, I think we 
 can understand the baseness of treason. But I will not trouble you with 
 an argument on this topic. I must say, however, that I respect the 
 “ Democratic,” and am sure the “ North American ” contains few articles 
 written with more ability than this, much as I differ from some of the 
 positions taken in it. 
 
 I have run, I find, into an unconscionable length of line, which I hope 
 you will excuse. Pray remember me kindly to your wife and daughter, 
 and believe me, 
 
 Very sincerely, your friend, 
 
 Wm. H. Phescott. 
 
 FROM PATRICK FRASER TYTLER, ESQ. 
 
 34 Devonshire Place, April, 1844. 
 
 Mi deak Sik, 
 
 Your precious present of the “ History of Mexico,” and the kind letter 
 which accompanied it, found me entangled with my ninth and last volume 
 of the “ History of Scotland,” and the winding up my imperfect labors. 
 This must be my apology for a delay which has weighed heavily on my 
 conscience, but I could not bear the idea of dipping into, or giving a hasty 
 perusal to anything proceeding from your pen, and Cortes was deferred 
 till Elizabeth and King Jamie were at rest. And now, my dear sir, let 
 me thank you most sincerely for the delight and the instruction which I 
 have received. “Ferdinand and Isabella” had prepared me to expect 
 much; but in the “ Conquest of Mexico ” you have outstript yourself, and 
 produced a work which can instruct the wisest, and charm and interest the 
 youngest reader; which combines a pathetic and stirring narrative with 
 some of the gravest lessons that can be derived from history. How you 
 should have achieved such a work, under the continued privation to which 
 you allude so simply and beautifully in your Preface, is to me, I own, 
 little less than miraculous ; for, composed under every advantage of indi¬ 
 vidual consultation and research, “ Mexico ” would be a noble monument 
 of labor and genius. Long, very long may you live to conquer such diffi¬ 
 culties as would overwhelm any inferior mind. 
 
 9* 
 
202 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Believe me, my dear Mr. Prescott, with sincere regard and respect, most 
 truly yours, 
 
 Patrick Fbaseb Tttleb. 
 
 P. S. I have sent along with this the ninth and last volume of my 
 “ History of Scotland,” with some manuscripts, letters, and extracts, re¬ 
 lating to the times of Philip and Mary, which I copied from the originals 
 in the State Paper Office. These are entirely at your service, if they can 
 be of the least assistance in the researches into this period which I under¬ 
 stood you at one time contemplated. 
 
 PROM THE REV. H. H. MILMAN. 
 
 Cloisters, Westminster Abbey, April 12, 1844. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I reproach myself for having delayed so long to acknowledge the note 
 in which you expressed your gratification at the notice of your Mexican 
 work in the “ Quarterly Review.” I assure you that nothing could give 
 me greater pleasure than finding an opportunity of thus publicly, though 
 anonymously, declaring my high opinion of your writings. Our many 
 common friends have taught me to feel as much respect for your private 
 character as your writings have commanded as an author. I was much 
 amused, after I had commenced the article, with receiving a letter from 
 our friend Lord Morpeth, expressing an anxious hope that justice would 
 be done to tho work in the “ Quarterly Review.” Without betraying my 
 secret, I was able to set his mind at rest. 
 
 Can we not persuade you to extend your personal acquaintance with 
 our men of letters, and others whose society you would appreciate, by a 
 visit to England 1 Perhaps you might not find mucli to assist you in 
 your researches (if report speaks true, that you are engaged on the Con¬ 
 quest of Peru), which you cannot command in America, yet even in that 
 respect our libraries might be of service. But of this I am sure, that no 
 one would be received with greater cordiality or more universal esteem. 
 
 If this be impossible or impracticable, allow me to assure you that I 
 shall be delighted if this opening of our correspondence should lead to fur¬ 
 ther acquaintance, even by letter. I shall always feel the greatest interest 
 in the labors of one who does so much honor to our common literature. 
 In letters we must be brethren, and God grant that we may be in political 
 relations, and in reciprocal feelings of respect and regard. 
 
 Believe me, my dear sir, ever faithfully yours, 
 
 H. H. Miuuas. 
 
CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 1844. 
 
 Mb. Prescott’s Style. — Determines to have one of his own. — How 
 he obtained it. — Discussions in Keviews about it. — Mr. Ford. — 
 Writes more and more freely. — Naturalness. — His Style made 
 
 ATTRACTIVE BY CAUSES CONNECTED WITH HIS INFIRMITY OF SlGHT. — 
 
 Its final Character. 
 
 I T has, I believe, been generally thought that Mr. Prescott’s 
 style reached its happiest development in his “ Conquest 
 of Mexico.” No doubt, a more exact finish prevails in many 
 parts of the “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” and a high authority 
 has said that there are portions of “ Philip the Second ” written 
 with a vigor as great as its author has anywhere shown. 1 But 
 the freshness and freedom of his descriptions in the “ Mexico,” 
 especially the descriptions of scenery, battles, and marches, are, 
 I think, not found to the same degree in either of his other 
 histories, and have rendered the style of that work singularly 
 attractive. Certainly, it is a style well fitted to its romantic 
 subject, although it may be one which it would have been ad¬ 
 venturous or unwise to apply, in the same degree, to subjects 
 from their nature more grave and philosophical. 
 
 But whatever Mr. Prescott’s style may at any period have 
 been, or in whichever of his works its development may have 
 been most successful, it was unquestionably the result of much 
 consideration and labor, and of very peculiar modes of com¬ 
 position. With what self-distrust he went back, w T hen he was 
 already above twenty-five years old, and toiled through Mur¬ 
 ray’s English Grammar, and Blair’s Rhetoric, as if he were a 
 schoolboy, and how he followed up these humble studies with 
 a regular investigation of what was characteristic in all the 
 great English prose-writers, from Roger Ascham down to cur 
 own times, we have already seen. It was a deep and solid 
 
 1 Letter from Dean Milman. 
 
204 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 foundation, laid with a distinct purpose, that cannot be mis¬ 
 taken, and one which, in years subsequent, well repaid the 
 weary hours it cost him. I remember how conscientious and 
 disagreeable these labors were, for he sometimes grew impa¬ 
 tient and complained of them. But he persevered, as he always 
 did in what he deliberately undertook. 
 
 He determined, however, at the same time, that, whatever 
 his style might be, it should be his own. 
 
 “ Every one,” he said at the outset of his severer studies, “ pours out 
 his thoughts best in a style suited to his own peculiar habits of thinking. 
 
 “ The best method for a man of sense to pursue is to examine his own 
 composition, after a sufficiently long period shall have elapsed for him to 
 have forgotten it. lie will then be in a situation to pronounce upon his 
 own works as upon another’s. 3 He may consult one or two good friends 
 in private. Their opinions will be valuable, inasmuch as they will in all 
 probability be more honest and sincere than a printed criticism, and, 
 moreover, they will not exert the same depressing influence on the spirits 
 that a reverence for public criticism is apt to beget. I am inclined to 
 believe that it would be for a man’s interest as an author never to consult 
 a printed criticism on his own publications.” 3 
 
 These were wise and wary conclusions to have been reached 
 so early in his literary life, and they were substantially adhered 
 to through the whole of it. He did not, however, refrain from 
 reading the criticisms that appeared on his larger works, be¬ 
 cause they were unfavorable. None, it is true, were really 
 such. But whether he read them or not, he judged and cor¬ 
 rected whatever he wrote with the assistance of at least one 
 friend, exactly in the way he has here indicated; maintaining, 
 however, at all times, an entire independence of opinion as to 
 his own style. 
 
 Imitation he heartily dreaded. Five years before he began 
 his “Ferdinand and Isabella,” he said: “Model myself upon 
 no manner. A good imitation is disgusting, — what must a 
 
 J “ In order to correct my own history advantageously,” be said, nine years 
 later, when he was just beginning to write his “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” “ I 
 must never revise what I have written until after an interval of as many years 
 as possible.” 
 
 8 I think the tone of these remarks about “ printed criticisms ” is owing to 
 certain notices of the “ Club-Room ” that appeared about that time, and which 
 I know somewhat annoyed him. He would hardly have made them later, 
 when he wrote an article on Sir Walter Scott, where he speaks very slight¬ 
 ingly of reviewers and t. ijr criticisms. 
 
STYLE. 
 
 205 
 
 bad one be ? ” “ Rely on myself for criticism of my own com¬ 
 
 positions.” “ Neither consult nor imitate any model for style, 
 but follow my own natural current of expression.” 
 
 This sort of independence, however, made him only more 
 rigorous with himself. When he had been four months em¬ 
 ployed on his “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” he made this memo¬ 
 randum : — 
 
 Two or three faults of style occur to mo in looking over some former 
 compositions . 4 Too many adjectives ; too many couplets of substantives, 
 as well as adjectives, and periiaps of verbs; too set; sentences too much 
 in the same mould ; too formal periphrasis instead of familiar; sentences 
 balanced by ands, buts, and semicolons ; too many precise, emphatic pro¬ 
 nouns, as these, those, which, &c., instead of the particles the, a, &c. 
 
 He even went into an elaborate inquiry as to the punc¬ 
 tuation he should adopt, and as to the proper use of capital 
 initials, recording the whole with care for his own govern¬ 
 ment. But, after all his pains, he failed for a long time to 
 satisfy himself. E very word he wrote of the early chapters of 
 the “ Ferdinand and Isabella ” was rewritten, when he came to 
 prepare that work for the press. So was the beginning of the 
 “ Mexico,” and I think also that of the “ Peru.” One reason 
 of this, especially in the first instance, was, that he thought he 
 had been too elaborate. He early said, “ On the whole, I think, 
 with less fastidiousness I should write better.” And, long be¬ 
 fore he published his “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” he deliberately 
 recorded: — 
 
 With regard to the style of this work I will only remark that most of 
 the defects, such as they are, may be comprehended in the words irop 
 soigne. At least, they may be traced to this source. The only rule is, to 
 write with freedom and nature, even with homeliness of expression occa- 
 sionally, and with alternation of long and short sentences ; for such 
 variety is essential to harmony. But, after all, it is not the construction 
 of the sentence, but the tone of the coloring, which produces the effect. 
 If the sentiment is warm, lively, forcible, the reader will be carried along 
 without much heed to the arrangement of the periods, which differs ex¬ 
 ceedingly in different standard writers. Put life into the narrative, if you 
 would have it take. Elaborate and artificial fastidiousness in the form of 
 expression is highly detrimental to this. A book may be made up of 
 perfect sentences and yet the general impression be very imperfect. 
 In fine, be engrossed with the thought, and not with the fashion of 
 expressing it. 
 
 4 Probably articles in the “ Club-Room ” and the “ North American Re¬ 
 view.” 
 
206 
 
 WILLIAM EICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 As he advanced with his work, he grew less and less anxious 
 for anything like a formal exactness in his style, or rather, per¬ 
 haps I should say, he became more and more persuaded of the 
 importance of freedom. 
 
 “ I am now convinced from experience,” he says, after four years’ 
 trial, “ that fastidious care and precision as to style, when composing, are 
 fatal to excellence as well as to rapidity of writing, excluding many not 
 merely legitimate expressions, but positive graces and beauties of lan¬ 
 guage, as well as nature and ease.” 
 
 No doubt he profited all his life by the pains he early took 
 with his style, and certainly he never regretted it, minute and 
 troublesome as it had been. Nor did he ever cease to scruti¬ 
 nize with patience what he had freely composed, and to correct 
 it, even in the proof-sheets, with severity. But undoubtedly, 
 too, his first draft in his noctograph was made every year with 
 increasing boldness and ease. In this respect he was like a 
 person who in his childhood has been trained to good manners, 
 and in his riper years proves the gentleness,of his breeding 
 without remembering or in any way showing the rules by 
 which he had been drilled to it. 
 
 But at hist the day of reckoning came. “ The History of 
 Ferdinand and Isabella,” on which he had labored so long and 
 so conscientiously, was published, and all the Reviews, or 
 almost all of them, made a point of discussing its style. None 
 complained, except the “ London Quarterly,” in which a some¬ 
 what dashing, but on the whole brilliant and favorable article 
 appeared, written by Mr. Richard Ford, the distinguished 
 Spanish scholar, with whom afterwards Mr. Prescott became 
 personally acquainted, and enjoyed a pleasant correspondence. 
 This article Mr. Prescott read carefully more than once. It 
 somewhat disturbed his equanimity, and led him to an exami¬ 
 nation of his style as compared with that of English writers 
 whose purity and excellence are acknowledged. He gave sev 
 eral days to the task, the unpleasantness of which did not 
 prevent him from making it thorough, and then he recorded 
 his deliberate and singularly candid opinion as follows: — 
 
 The only strictures [in this article] which weigh a feather with me are 
 .hose on my style, in forming which I have taken much pains, and of the 
 
STYLE. 
 
 207 
 
 access of which I am not the best judge. This I may say, however, 
 mat of the numerous notices of the work, both in this country and in 
 Europe, while almost all have commended more or less — and some ex¬ 
 cessively — the diction, none, that I am aware, have censured it. Many 
 of these critics are scholars, entirely competent to form a judgment on its 
 merits ; more so, to judge from their own styles, than the critic in ques¬ 
 tion. I have received and seen many letters from similar sources to the 
 same effect. Indeed, the work could lfot have obtained its rapid and wide 
 popularity, had the execution been bad in this all-important respect. 
 
 I say not this to lay a flattering unction to my soul, but to put myself 
 on my guard against rashly attempting a change in a very important 
 matter on insufficient grounds, and thus, perhaps, risking for the future 
 one of the most essential elements of past success. Nevertheless, I have 
 devoted several days to a careful scrutiny of my defects, and to a com¬ 
 parison of my style with that of standard English writers of the present 
 time. 
 
 Master Eord complains of my text as being too formal, and my notes 
 as having too much levity. This shows some versatility in me, at all 
 events. As regards the former, it seems to me, the first and sometimes 
 the second volume affords examples of the use of words not so simple as 
 might be; not objectionable in themselves, but unless something is gained 
 in the way of strength or of coloring it is best to use the most simple, 
 unnoticeable words to express ordinary things ; ex. gr. “ to send ” is better 
 than “ to transmit ” ; “ crown descended ” better than “ devolved ” ; 
 “ guns fired ” than “ guns discharged ”; “ to name,” or “ call,” than 
 “to nominate”; “to read” than “peruse”; “the term,” or “name,” 
 than “ appellation,” and so forth. It is better also not to encumber the 
 sentence with long, lumbering nouns; as, “the relinquishment of,” in¬ 
 stead of “ relinquishing ” ; “ the embellishment and fortification of,” 
 instead of “embellishing and fortifying”; and so forth. I can discern 
 no other warrant for Master Ford’s criticism than the occasional use of 
 these and similar words on such commonplace matters as would make the 
 simpler forms of expression preferable. In my third volume, I do not 
 find the language open to much censure. 
 
 As to the notes, it is doubtless bad taste to shock the current of feeling, 
 where there is much solemnity or pathos in the text, by unseasonable 
 jests. But I do not find such in such places. In regard to them I do 
 not find anything to alter in any particular in future. 
 
 My conclusion from the whole is, — after a very honest and careful ex¬ 
 amination of the matter, — that the reader may take my style for better 
 or worse as it now is formed, and that it is not worth while for me to 
 attempt any alteration in it until I meet a safer critic to point out its 
 defects than Master Ford. 
 
 One more conclusion is, that I will not hereafter vex myself with anx¬ 
 ious thoughts about my style when composing. It is formed. And if 
 there be any ground for the imputation that it is too formal, it will only 
 be made worse in this respect by extra-solicitude. It is not the defect to 
 which I am predisposed. The best security against it is to write with less 
 ■elaboration; a pleasant recipe, which conforms to my previous views 
 This determination will save me trouble and time. Hereafter what 1 
 
208 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PI1ESCOTT. 
 
 print shall undergo no ordeal for the style’s sake, except only the gram¬ 
 mar, and that I may safely trust to my Harvard Aldus. 0 
 
 To the latter part of this decision he did not adhere. He 
 asked counsel to the end of life about his works before they 
 were printed, and corrected them with no less care than he 
 had done earlier. But he never interfered with the general 
 characteristics of his style, nor permitted any friend or critic to 
 do it. 
 
 “ A man’s style,” he said, as a final settlement of his opinion on the 
 whole matter, — “a man’s style, to be worth anything, should be the nat¬ 
 ural expression of his mental character, and where it is not, the style is 
 either painfully affected, or it falls into that conventional tone which, like 
 a domino at a masquerade, or the toue of good-breeding in society, may 
 be assumed by anybody that takes pains to acquire it; fitting one person 
 as well as another, and belonging to anybody, — nobody. The best con. 
 sequence of such a style is, that it offends no one. It delights no one, for 
 it is commonplace. It is true that genius will show itself under this coat¬ 
 ing, as an original will peep out under a domino. But this is not the 
 best dress for it. The best, undoubtedly, for every writer, is the form of 
 expression best suited to his peculiar turn of thinking, even at some 
 hazard o-f violating the conventional tone of the most chaste and careful 
 writers. It is this alone which can give full force to his thoughts. Frank, 
 lin’s style would have borne more ornament, — Washington Irving could 
 have done with less,—Johnson and Gibbon might have had much less 
 formality, and Hume and Goldsmith have occasionally pointed their sen¬ 
 tences with more effect. But, if they had abandoned the natural sugges¬ 
 tions of their genius, and aimed at the contrary, would they not in mend¬ 
 ing a hole, as Scott says, have very likely made two 1 
 
 “ There are certain faults which no writer must commit: false meta¬ 
 phors; solecisms of grammar; unmeaning and tautological expressions; 
 for these contravene the fundamental laws of all writing, the object of 
 which nnst be to express one’s ideas clearly and correctly. But, within 
 these limits, the widest latitude should be allowed to taste and to the 
 power of unfolding the thoughts of the writer in all their vividness and 
 originality. Originality — the originality of nature—compensates for a 
 thousand minor blemishes. 
 
 “ Of one thing a writer may be sure, if he adopt a manner foreign to his 
 mind he will never please. Johnson says, ‘ Whoever would write in a 
 good style, &c., &c., must devote his days and nights to the study of Ad¬ 
 dison.’ 6 Had he done so, or had Addison formed his style on Johnson’s, 
 
 6 Mr. Folsom. 
 
 6 Johnson is a little more cautious in his phraseology, but the substance of 
 nis meaning, so far as it was needed for the purpose in hand, is given in the 
 text with sufficient precision. His exact words are: “Whoever wishes to 
 attain an English style, familiar, but not coarse , and elegant, but not ostenta¬ 
 tious, must give his days and his nights to the volumes of Addison.” U is the 
 list sentence in Addison's Life, and was, no doubt, intended, by its position 
 f ir a sort of epigrammatic etfect. 
 
STYLE. 
 
 209 
 
 what a ridiculous figure each would have cut! One man’s style will no 
 more fit another, than one man’s coat, or hat, or shoes will fit another. 
 They will be sure to be too big, or too small, or too something, that will 
 make the wearer of them ill at ease, and probably ridiculous. 
 
 “It is very easy for a cool, caustic critic, like Brougham, to take to pieces 
 the fine gossamer of Dr. Channing’s style, 7 which has charmed thousands 
 of readers in this country and in Europe, and the Doctor would be a fool 
 to give up his glorious mystifications — if they are such — for the home- 
 spun, matter-of-fact materials out of which a plainer and less imaginative 
 mind would make its tissue. It would be impossible for Brougham — in 
 his way of writing, tolerably set and sometimes pedantic, with an occa 
 sional air of familiarity that matches the rest of the sentences badly 
 enough—to ascend into the regions of the true sublime, as Dr. Channing 
 does, or to call up such a strong sense of the beautiful. It may be the 
 best style for criticism, however,—the best for the practical, ordinary uses 
 of life. But I should not advise the Doctor to take it up, and still less 
 the Ex-Chancellor to venture into the Doctor’s balloon, or — as his ad¬ 
 mirers might think — his chariot of fire. 
 
 “ How many varieties of beauty and excellence there are in this world ! 
 As many in the mental as the material creation, and it is a pedantic spirit 
 which, under the despotic name of taste, would reduce them all to one 
 dull uniform level. A writer who has succeeded in gaining the public 
 favor should be cautious how he makes any innovation in his habitual 
 style. The form of expression is so nicely associated with the idea ex¬ 
 pressed, that it is impossible to say how much of his success is owing to 
 the one or the other. It is very certain, however, that no work in any of 
 the departments of the belles-lettres can dispense with excellence of style 
 of some kind or other. If this be wanting, a work, however sound or 
 original in the conception, can hardly be popular, for it cannot give pleas 
 ure or create interest, — things essential in every kind of composition 
 which has not science exclusively for its end. 
 
 “ Let the writer, therefore, who has once succeeded in gaining the public 
 suffrages, — the suffrages of the higher public, the well-educated, — let 
 him beware how he tampers with the style in which he has before ap¬ 
 proached them. Let him be still more slow to do this in obedience to the 
 suggestions of a few ; for style is the very thing which, all-important as 
 it is, every well-educated man is competent to judge of. In fact, he had 
 better not make any serious innovation in it, unless, like Sharon Turner 
 or Jeremy Bentham, it is the object of such universal censure as shows he 
 has succeeded in spite of it, and not in consequence of it. Innovation is 
 not reform in writing any more than in politics. The best rule is to dis¬ 
 pense with all rules except those of grammar, and to consult the natural 
 bent of one’s genius.” 
 
 Saving the last sweeping sentence, — which I suspect was 
 
 1 This refers to a somewhat bitter review of Dr. Channing, in the “ Edin¬ 
 burgh ” for October, 1829, by Lord Brougham, — a man who could no more 
 comprehend Dr. Channing, as an eminent person who knew him well once 
 said, than Dickens could comprehend Laplace. 
 
 N 
 
210 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 prompted by the half-play upon the word “rules,” and to 
 whose doctrine the author of the “ Conquest of Mexico ” and 
 of “ Philip the Second ” by no means conformed in his own 
 practice, — I do not know where, within the same compass, 
 so much good sense on the subject of style is uttered with so 
 much spirit and point. 
 
 But, whatever we may think of the opinions contained in 
 these striking extracts, one fact is plain from them; I mean 
 that, while their author was willing and even glad to profit 
 by Mr. Ford’s criticisms in the “ Quarterly Review,” he was 
 thoroughly independent in the use he made of them, and thor¬ 
 oughly determined that, at all hazards, his style should be his 
 own, and should not be materially modified by anybody’s un¬ 
 favorable opinion of it, unless he were satisfied the opinion was 
 just. In this he was right. The success of the “Ferdinand 
 and Isabella ” had no doubt given him increased confidence in 
 his manner of writing, and the habit of composing entirely in 
 his memory had given him both greater freedom and greater 
 facility. 8 But, even before this, his style had become substan¬ 
 tially what it always was after he was tolerably advanced in 
 the “ Ferdinand and Isabella.” It had, in fact, from its first 
 proper formation, been settled on foundations too deep to be 
 shaken. 
 
 Instead, therefore, of wilting more anxiously, in consequence 
 of Mr. Ford’s criticisms, he wrote more freely. While he was 
 employed on his next work, “ The Conquest of Mexico,” he 
 made such memoranda as the following: “ I will write calamo 
 currente, and not weigh out my words like gold-dust, which 
 they are far from being.” “ Be not fastidious, especially about 
 phraseology. Do not work for too much euphony. It is lost 
 in the mass.” “ Do not elaborate and podder over the style.” 
 “ Think more of general effect; don’t quiddle.” 
 
 When the “ Mexico ” was published, he found no reason to 
 regret the indulgence he had thus granted to himself in its 
 
 8 “ Tried to write with imperfect pre-thinking , i. e. thinking, as Irving said 
 to me, with a pen. It won’t do for bad eyes. It requires too much cor¬ 
 recting. The correcting in the mind and writing from memory suit my 
 peculiarities bodily, and, I suspect, mental, better than the other process.’’ 
 He was approaching the end of the “ Conquest of Mexico ” when he wrot/- 
 this. 
 
STYLE. 
 
 211 
 
 composition. He learned, at once, from the Reviews and in 
 many other ways, that his manner was regarded as richer, freer, 
 more animated and graceful than it had been in his “ Ferdinand 
 and Isabella.” “ This,” he says, “ is a very important fact; for 
 I wrote with much less fastidiousness and elaboration. Yet I 
 rarely wrote without revolving the chapter half a dozen times 
 in my mind. But I did not pcdder over particular phrases. 
 Had I accepted half of my good friend Folsom’s corrections, 
 what would have become of my style ? Yet they had, and 
 always will have, their value for accurate analysis of language 
 and thought.” 9 
 
 From this time to the end of his life, — a period of fifteen 
 years, — he makes hardly any memoranda on his style, and 
 none of any consequence. Nor was there reason why he 
 should. His manner of writing was, from the time he pub¬ 
 lished “ The Conquest of Mexico,” not only formed but sanc¬ 
 tioned ; and sanctioned, not only by the public at large, but 
 by those whose opinion is decisive. Mr. Milman’s review of 
 that work, and the conclusion of one in the “ Christian Ex¬ 
 aminer ” by Mr. George T. Curtis, — in both of which the 
 remarks on his style are very beautiful, and, as I know, gave 
 Mr. Prescott much pleasure, — left no doubt in his mind 
 touching this point. Hallam, too, noticed by Sir James Mack¬ 
 intosh as singularly parsimonious in commendation, wrote to 
 Mr. Prescott, December 29th, 1843 : “ Your style appears to 
 me to be nearly perfect.” With these judgments before him, 
 and others hardly less valued and safe, he had no motive for 
 reconsidering his style, if he had desired, for any reason, to do 
 so. But he was too wise to desire it. 
 
 It may, perhaps, seem singular to those who knew him little, 
 that such a style should have been formed by such a process ; 
 that the severe, minute rules and principles in which it was 
 originally laid should have been, as it were, cavalierly thrown 
 aside, and a manner, sometimes gay and sparkling, sometimes 
 rich and eloquent, but always natural and easy, should have 
 
 9 Mr. Folsom had the excellent habit of noting whatever occurred to him 
 as doubtful, no less than what he regarded as a blemish, thinking that such 
 minute suggestions were due to the author. I speak as one who has profited 
 by his skill and kindness. 
 
212 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 been the result. This, however, was characteristic of his whole 
 moral constitution and conduct, and was in harmony with the 
 principles and habits that in other respects governed his life. 
 Thus every day in his study he was rigorous with himself, and 
 watchful of those he employed ; hut in his family and with his 
 friends nobody was more free, gay, and unexacting. Those 
 who met him only at the dinner-table, or in general society, 
 would be surprised to learn that his ■wine even there was care¬ 
 fully measured, and that, if he seemed to indulge as much as 
 others did, and to enjoy his indulgence more, it was all upon a 
 system settled beforehand, just as much as was his spare every 
 day diet at home. How vigilant he was in whatever regarded 
 his character; how strictly he called himself to account in 
 those solitary half-hours on Sunday when he looked over the 
 secret record of his failings and faults, we have seen; but who 
 ever saw restraint in his manner when he was with others ; 
 who ever saw him when he seemed to be watchful of himself, 
 or to be thinking of the principles that governed his life ? And 
 just so it was with his style. He wrote rapidly and easily. 
 But the rules and principles on which his manner rested, even 
 down to its smallest details, had been so early and so deeply 
 settled, that they had become like instincts, and were neither 
 recurred to nor needed when he was in the final act of compo¬ 
 sition. 10 
 
 But there was one charm in Mr. Prescott’s style which, I 
 think, was much felt, without being much understood by the 
 great mass of his readers. He put not a little of his personal 
 character into it; a great deal more, I think, than is common 
 with writers of acknowledged eminence. The consequence 
 was, that the multitudes who knew him in no way except as 
 an author were yet insensibly drawn to him by the qualities 
 that made him so dear to his friends as a man, and felt, in 
 some degree, the attachment that is commonly the result only 
 
 10 There are some remarks by Mr. Prescott on purity of style, in his Memoir 
 of Mr. John Pickering (Massachusetts Historical Society’s Collections, 8vo, 
 Third Series, Vol. X. pp. 210, 211), which are valuable. But they relate 
 chiefly to the danger of Americanisms, as they are called, Mr. Prescott main¬ 
 taining that “ one and the same language cannot have two standards of 
 purity.” See also what Mr. Marsh says in his excellent Lectures on the 
 English Language (1860), pp. 446 sqq. 
 
STYLE. 
 
 213 
 
 of personal intercourse. They seemed to know him more than 
 they know other authors whom they have never seen ; and, as 
 most of us have favorite writers without being able always to 
 explain Avhy they are such, he became peculiarly so to many, 
 who yet never stopped to inquire what was the cause of an 
 interest so agreeable to them. 
 
 To this result — the insensible communication to his works 
 of so much that belonged to himself personally and to his in¬ 
 most nature — two circumstances, immediately connected with 
 the infirmity of his sight, I doubt not, contributed. 
 
 The first of these circumstances was the long and severe 
 thought which he felt himself compelled to give in the course 
 of his investigation of any subject, before he began to write on 
 it. For, after he had collected the materials for any chapter, or 
 other less definite portion of his subject, — that is, after every¬ 
 thing about it in the way of authority or opinion had been 
 read to him, and he had caused it all to be embodied in short 
 notes, to which he listened again and again, as the only way to 
 make himself master of their contents, — then he sat down, as 
 we have seen, in silence, and gave to the whole the benefit of 
 the most vigorous action of his own mind. Being generally 
 unable to look at all at the notes which had been thus prepared 
 for him, he turned every fact or circumstance in the case on 
 which he was employed over and over again in his memory, 
 and examined on every side whatever related to it. While 
 doing this, he put the greatest stress he was able to put on 
 his faculties, and urged his mind to the most concentrated and 
 unbroken action, so as to make sure that he had mastered all 
 the details. And this process was sometimes long-continued. 
 I knew one instance in which, after preparatory investigations 
 which occupied only two days, he gave yet three days more to 
 the mere shaping and moulding of his materials. The result 
 was sure. The general outline was right, if it was in his 
 power to make it so. But no other process, I suppose, could 
 have so completely digested and harmonized his materials, or 
 made them so completely a part of himself; no other process 
 could have tinged his works so largely and so deeply with what 
 was most characteristic of his own mind and temperament; 
 nothing could have made so certain to the reader his love of 
 
214 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PEESCOTT. 
 
 truth, of justice, of liberty, of toleration. And for these and 
 other kindred qualities, thus insensibly but thoroughly infused 
 into the very materials and fabric of his tissues, though almost 
 never seen on their surface, the reader, after a little experience, 
 came to trust the author, and take a personal interest in him, 
 without considering or knowing exactly why he did it. The 
 chord of sympathy between them was invisible, indeed, but 
 it was already there, and it was strong enough to hold them 
 together. 
 
 But thus far in the process of his work not a phrase or sen¬ 
 tence had been adjusted or thought out. The composition, as 
 that word is commonly understood, was still to be done. And 
 here again his infirmity was a controlling influence, and is to 
 be counted among the secrets of a manner which has been 
 found at once so simple and so charming. He was compelled 
 to prepare everything, down to the smallest details, in his 
 memory, and to correct and fashion it all while it was still 
 held there in silent suspense; after which he wrote it down, 
 by means of his noctograph, in the freest and boldest manner, 
 without any opportunity really to change the phraseology as 
 he went along, and with little power to alter or modify it 
 afterwards. This, I doubt not, was among the principal causes 
 of the strength as well as of the grace, ease, and attractiveness 
 of his style. It gave a life, a freshness, a freedom, both to his 
 thoughts and to his mode of expressing them. It made his 
 composition more akin than it could otherwise have been to the 
 peculiar fervor and happiness of extemporaneous discussion. 
 It not only enabled but it led him to address his reader, as it 
 were, with his natural voice, so that those who never heard a 
 word from his lips seemed yet, in this way, to find something 
 like its effects in the flow and cadence of his sentences. 
 
 By such processes and habits, Mr. Prescott’s style, which he 
 began to form with a distinct purpose in 1822, became, before 
 he had finished the “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” fifteen years 
 afterwards, in its essential characteristics, what it is in all his 
 published historical works. At first, this mode of composi¬ 
 tion — so different from the common one of composing while 
 the pen is in the author’s hand, excited and influenced as most 
 writers are by its mechanical movements, and by the associa- 
 
STYLE. 
 
 215 
 
 tions they awaken — was difficult and disagreeable. But I 
 never knew him to give up any good thing for either of these 
 reasons. On the contrary, he always went on the more ear¬ 
 nestly. And the extent to which, in this particular case, he 
 succeeded, was remarkable. For, as we have seen, he was 
 able to carry what was equal to sixty pages of printed matter 
 in his memory for many days, correcting and finishing its style 
 as he walked or rode or drove for his daily exercise. 
 
 In 1839, therefore, after going carefully over the whole 
 ground, he said, as we have noticed, “ My conclusion is, that 
 the reader may take my style for better or for worse, as it 
 now is.” And to this conclusion he wisely adhered. His man¬ 
 ner became, perhaps, a little freer and easier, from continued 
 practice, and from the confidence that success necessarily brings 
 with it; but, in its essential elements and characteristics, it was 
 never changed. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 1844- 1845. 
 
 Bits yon ms Portrait and Bust. — Visit to New York. — Miscellane¬ 
 ous Reading. — Materials for the “ Conquest of Peru.” — Begins 
 to write. — Death of his Father. — Its Effect on him. — Resumes 
 Work. — Letter from Humboldt. — Election into the French 
 Institute, and into the Royal Society of Berlin. 
 
 ND now,” he says on the 3d of February, 1844, — 
 
 “ now I propose to break ground on ‘ Peru.’ I shall 
 work the mine, however, at my leisure. Why should I 
 hurry ? ” Nor did he. On the contrary, he procrastinated, 
 as usual, from an unwillingness to begin hard work. He sat 
 to Mr. Joseph Ames for his portrait in oils, an excellent piece 
 of coloring, now in the possession of Mr. James Lawrence, and 
 to Mr. Richard S. Greenougli for a bust, now in the possession 
 of Mrs. Prescott, beautiful as a work of art, and very valuable 
 as a happy likeness at the period when it was taken. But the 
 sittings to these artists consumed a good deal of time, and broke 
 up many days in February and March. He was, however, too 
 willing to be idle. 
 
 In the middle of April he made a visit to New York, partly 
 out of listlessness, and partly in order to settle some trifling 
 affairs with his publishers. It was designed to fill only a few 
 days ; but, by the solicitations of friends and the eagerness to 
 become acquainted with him on the part of those who had not 
 earlier enjoyed that pleasure, it proved to be a visit of a fort¬ 
 night, and a very gay and happy one. 
 
 “ Three weeks since,” he says under date of May 5th, 1844, “ I went 
 to New York, thinking I might pass a couple of days. It turned out 
 twelve, and then I found it no easy matter to break away from friends 
 who, during my stay there, feasted and feted me to the top of my constitu¬ 
 tion. Not a day in which I rose before nine, dined before five or six, went 
 to bed before twelve. Two years ago I did not know half a dozen New- 
 Yorkers ; I have now made the acquaintance of two hundred at least, and 
 
IDLENESS. 
 
 217 
 
 the friendship, I trust, of many. The cordiality with which I was greeted 
 is one of the most gratifying tributes I have received from my country 
 men, coming as it did from ail classes and professions. It pleased me 
 that the head of the Roman Catholic clergy, Archbishop Hughes, a 
 highly respectable person, should openly thank and commend me for 
 1 the liberality I had shown in my treatment of the Catholics .’ 1 I have 
 stood the tug of social war pretty well. Yet, on the whole, it was too 
 long a time for such excitement. Five days should be the limit. The 
 faculties become weary, and the time does not move so fleetly as in the 
 regular occupations at home. How could I stand then a season in Lon¬ 
 don t I shall not try. Nor shall I ever exceed two, or at most three 
 days, in a great American city.” 
 
 During all this time -— I mean during the autumn, winter, 
 and spring of 1843 and 1844 — he thought very little of his 
 “ Conquest of Peru.” He even, for a large part of the peiiod, 
 made few entries among his literary memoranda; and when 
 he began the record again, after an absolute silence of almost 
 three months, he says, in relation to this unwonted neglect, 
 that it was indeed a very long interval, and that such long in¬ 
 tervals were proof either of great occupation or great idleness. 
 “ The latter,” he adds, “ will account for this.” 
 
 He had, however, not been so wholly idle as such self- 
 reproach might seem to imply. He had listened to the Inca 
 Garcilasso’s important Commentaries on the earliest history 
 and traditions of Peru; to some of the more familiar and com¬ 
 mon writers who cover the same ground; and to a manuscript 
 of Sarmiento, President of the Royal Council of the Indies, 
 who had travelled in that part of South America immediately 
 after its conquest, and who is one of the most ample and trust¬ 
 worthy authorities for its early condition. It was not, indeed, 
 much to have accomplished in so long a time, nor was any of it 
 difficult or disagreeable ; but his interruptions had been many 
 and inevitable. During his father’s illness he had watched 
 
 1 In connection with this well-deserved commendation from a man so emi 
 nent, may be aptly mentioned a remark which the late President John Quincy 
 Adams made to Mr. Edmund B. Otis, who, during four years, rendered ex¬ 
 cellent and kind ser dee to Mr. Prescott, as his secretary. “ Mr. Adams said, 
 that Mr. Prescott possessed the two great qualifications of an historian, who 
 should be apparently without country and without religion. This,” Mr. Otis 
 adds, “ he explained by saying that the history should not show the political 
 or religious bias of the historian. It would be difficult, Mr. Adams thought, 
 to tell whether Mr. Prescott were a Protestant or a Catholic, a monarchist or 
 a republican.” See Appendix (C). 
 
 10 
 
218 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 him with a care that interfered not a little with his own regu¬ 
 lar occupations, and during his convalescence had accompanied 
 him in many a long walk, from which he derived no little 
 pleasure and consolation. But his father, whose faculties had 
 not been impaired by his illness, was now restored to as much 
 physical health as he was ever likely to enjoy, and, from his 
 nature, rather preferred to be independent in his out-of-door 
 exercise than to be assisted or accompanied. The son, there¬ 
 fore, after nine months of ‘literary loafing,” as he called it, 
 instead of three, which he had proposed to himself, turned 
 resolutely to his new work. 
 
 He did not need to make a collection of materials for it. 
 That had been done when he gathered his ample stores for 
 the “ Conquest of Mexico.” His first studies were on Cieza 
 de Leon, the careful geographer of Peru, contemporary almost 
 with its conquest; on Diego Fernandez de Palencia, a some¬ 
 what tedious chronicler of the country at the same period; 
 on Fernando Montesinos, who lived a century later, and is 
 much less trustworthy ; and on the crude collections of Lord 
 Kingsborougli, made in our own time, but marked with the 
 credulity and rashness of the time of the Pizarros. This read¬ 
 ing, and more of the same sort during the summer of 1844, all 
 related to the mythical rather than to the historical period of 
 Peruvian Antiquities ; and before the month of August was 
 ended the mere notes and references for this part of his subject 
 filled above three hundred compact pages. It was not, indeed, 
 so important as the corresponding period of the Mexican an¬ 
 nals, but it was interesting, and had its peculiar attractions. 
 He made his plan for it, accordingly, and, having accumulated 
 notes to the amount of eighty large sheets, allowed five or six 
 months for the work, and a hundred pages. But here, as in 
 the case of the “ Mexico,” he was mistaken, although his error 
 was less considerable. It took eight months and made a hun¬ 
 dred and eighty pages; more troublesome and disagreeable 
 from the nature of the subject than any other part of the work, 
 and in some respects more so than the Introduction to the 
 “ Conquest of Mexico.” 
 
 But before he could put pen to paper, the course of his 
 studies was again interrupted, first by the death of his brother 
 
IDLENESS. 
 
 219 
 
 Edward, 2 which occurred at sea on a voyage to Europe, and 
 afterwards by a journey to Niagara on account of his daughter’s 
 health, which for some months had given cause for anxiety. 
 At last, however, after reading Alfieri’s life to quicken his 
 courage, he began his work in earnest. “ I find it very diffi 
 cult,” he said, “ to screw up my wits to the historic pitch; so 
 much for the vagabond life I have been leading; and breaking 
 ground on a new subject is always a dreary business.” 
 
 He wrote the first sentences on the 12th of August, 1844, a 
 little more than a year from the time when he had completed 
 his “ Conquest of Mexico.” He was at Nahant, where — what 
 with the rheumatism which often troubled him much in that 
 damp climate, and the interruptions of company, which at such 
 a watering-place could not always be avoided, he found his 
 progress both slow and uneasy. But he made vigorous efforts 
 with himself, and succeeded, before he left the sea-shore, so far 
 as to make the following record : — 
 
 Industry good, and with increased interest. Spirits — an amiable word 
 for temper — improved. Best recipe, occupation with things, not self. 
 
 At Pepperell, where, as was his custom, he passed the early 
 autumn, he pursued his labors in a manner still more satisfac¬ 
 tory to himself. 
 
 “Industry,” he says, referring to the good effects of a tranquil country- 
 life, — “ industry, as usual, excellent; interest awakened ; progress sen¬ 
 sible ; the steam is up.” 
 
 And again a few days later : — 
 
 1 have got my working-tackle on board, and should be delighted not 
 to quit these highland solitudes till they are buried under snow-drifts. 
 Now, how glorious they are to eye and ear and every other sense, — 
 the glories of an American autumn. Surely a man is better, and forms a 
 better estimate of life and its worthlessness here in the country than any¬ 
 where else. 
 
 The town, as he anticipated, was less favorable to work. 
 When he had been there some time, he noted: “ Nearly three 
 weeks in town, and not looked at ‘ Peru.’ The old sin of the 
 town. Shall I never reform ? ” Still, after the pressure of 
 
 2 For a notice of his brother Edward, see Appendix (A), on the Prcsccit 
 family. 
 
220 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 affairs which had accumulated during his absence was re- 
 moved, and a little gay lounging among his friends was over, 
 he was going on well again, when he was stopped by a great 
 sorrow. His father died suddenly on Sunday morning, the 
 8th of December, and an hour afterwards I received from him 
 the following note : — 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I write to tell you, what you may learn from other sources, and what 
 will give you much pain. My father was taken with a fainting turn this 
 morning, about eight o’clock, which has terminated fatally. Nathan, 
 who takes this, will give you the account. 
 
 We are all very tranquil, as my writing to you now shows. Do not 
 come till after church, as nothing can be done now. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 1 went to him, of course, as soon as the morning services 
 were over, and found him tranquil, indeed, but more tenderly 
 and more easily moved than I had ever seen him before, and 
 more than I ever saw him afterwards. His mind was sorrow¬ 
 fully filled with the thought of the great tie that had been so 
 suddenly broken, and of the consequences that must follow. 
 He could talk only of his father or of his desolate mother; 
 and, although I saw him again before the day was ended, and 
 each succeeding day afterwards for some time, it was still the 
 same. He was unable to think continuously on any other 
 subject. There was, however, nothing violent or extravagant 
 in his sorrow. He saw tilings as they really were. He did 
 not seem so much oppressed with the idea of his immediate 
 loss, as with the idea that it was one he should never cease to 
 feel. And in this he judged himself rightly. He was always 
 afterwards more or less sensible of the void that had been left 
 by the death of his father, and recurred to it frequently in 
 conversation with me, down even to one of the last times I 
 saw him. 
 
 The evening after the funeral there seemed to be more of 
 bitterness in his grief than there had been before. The day 
 had been raw and cheerless, with much wind and dust in the 
 streets as the procession passed along. His eye had been seri¬ 
 ously troubled by it, and was still painful. I noticed how close 
 
LETTER FROM BARON HUMBOLDT. 
 
 221 
 
 ne had followed the body as we turned in, all on foot, to enter 
 the crypt under St. Paul’s Church, and that his head at that 
 moment was almost brought in contact with the sad drapery 
 of the hearse. “ Yes,” he said, “ my eye suffered very much 
 from the wind and dust that came out of the passage, and he 
 protected me to the last, as he always had.” 
 
 It was long before he could settle himself to his work 
 again. The world had assumed a new look to him, and its 
 ways seemed harder to tread. Burdens were hereafter to rest 
 on his shoulders which had earlier been borne by another. 
 Counsels were to fail on which he had always relied. Much 
 business was to be done requiring both time and thought. 
 More than two months, therefore, elapsed before he returned 
 to his literary labors, and when he did he found it impossible 
 to recover, in a manner at all satisfactory to himself, the 
 thoughts with which he had intended to go on, and which, 
 before his father’s death, lay all settled and spread out in his 
 memory. He found, as he said, that they had been effaced as 
 completely as if they had been wiped out by a sponge. He 
 began, therefore, a new chapter, without absolutely finishing 
 the one on which he had till then been employed. 
 
 He was soon cheered on his course by the following letter 
 from Alexander von Humboldt, which he justly deemed “ as 
 high a recompense as he could receive in this way ”: — 
 
 Monsieur, 
 
 Dans la crainte, que peut etre la premiere expression de ma juste ad¬ 
 miration, addressee, au moment ou je reyevais votre important ouvrage sur 
 le Me'xique, ne vous soit pas parvenue, je donnc ce peu de lignes a Mons 
 Lieber, qui nous est cher, et qui part pour votre beau pays. Apres avoir 
 deploye' le grand et noble talent d’historien de l’Europe dans la Yie de 
 Ferdinand et d’Isabelle, — apres avoir retrace des evenements que les ca- 
 lamites rccentes de l’Espagne rendent doublement instructives aux peuples 
 “ qui oublient et apprenncnt peu,” — Mons. Prescott a daigne jetter une 
 vive lumiere sur un pays qui a eu l’independance avant les ele'ments de la 
 liberte civile ; mais auquel je tiens par tous les liens de la reconnaissance 
 et des souvenirs, croyant avoir le faible merite d’avoir fait connaitre le pre¬ 
 mier, par des observations astronomiques et des mesures de hauteur, la 
 merveilleuse configuration du Me'xique, et le reflet de cette configuration 
 sur les progres et les entraves de la civilization. Ma satisfaction a ete 
 bien grande en e'tudiant ligne par ligne votre excellent ouvrage, Monsieur. 
 On est un juge se'vere, souvent enclin a 1’injustice, lorsqu’on a eu la vi- 
 rante impression des lieux et que 1’ctude de l’histoire antique dont je me 
 
222 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 euis oeoupec avec predilection a ete suivie sur le sol meme, ou une partie 
 des grands evenemcnts s’est passe'e. La seve'rite est desarmee, Monsieur, 
 a la lecture de votre “ Conquete du Me'xique.” Yous peignez avec suc- 
 ces parce que vous avez vu des yeux de l’e'sprit, du sens inte'rieur. C’est 
 UB bonheur pour moi, citoyen du Mexique, d’avoir vecu assez longtemps 
 pour vous lire ; pour vous parler de ma reconnaissance des expressions de 
 liienveillancc dont vous avez honore mon nom. L’Amerique Espagnole, 
 bien malheureuse aujourd’hui, dechiree par d’ignobles guerres intestines — 
 trop grand.i heureusement, pour que l’importation d’un joug e'tranger soit 
 possible — trouvera avec toute societe humaine son e'quilibre inte'rieur. 
 Je ne desespere pas. Je dirai avec Christophe Columb, dans le reve a la 
 riviere de Belem : Que le Seigneur tient dans son pouvoir une longue 
 he're'dite d’anne'es ; muchas heredades tiene el Scnor y grandisimas. 3 Si 
 je n’etais tout occupe de mon Cosmos — d’une Physique du Monde — 
 que j’ai l’imprudence d’imprimer, j’aurais voulu traduire votre ouvrage 
 dans la langue de mon pays. 
 
 Je suis heureux de savoir que votre sante s’est solidement amelioree, et 
 que nous pouvons esperer vos travaux sur le Perou et son antique et mys- 
 terieuse civilization. 
 
 Agre'ez, Monsieur, je vous prie, l’expression rcnouvelce du respectueux 
 attachement avec lequel j’ai l’honneur d’etre, 
 
 Monsieur, 
 
 Votre tres humble et trcs obcissant serviteur, 
 
 Alexandre de Humboldt. 
 
 A Sans Souci, ce 26 Octobre, 1844. 
 
 On devrait se rappeler un jour, que lorsque j’ai publie mon Atlas du 
 Mexique et l’Essai Politique il n’existait aucune autre carte du pays, que 
 celle qu’Alzate a offert a l’Aeademie des Sciences a Paris. 
 
 Such a letter was, as he intimated, an honor second to few 
 that he could receive. Other honors, however, were not want¬ 
 ing. Four months later — in February, 1845 — ne was elected 
 into the French Institute, as a Corresponding Member of the 
 Academy of Moral and Political Science, and into the Royal 
 Society of Berlin, as a Corresponding Member of the Class of 
 Philosophy and History. He had no intimation of either until 
 
 8 The words which Humboldt has here cited from memory, and which he 
 has a little spiritualized, are found in a letter which Columbus wrote from 
 Jamaica, July 7, 1603, to Ferdinand and Isabella, giving an eloquent and 
 solemn account of a vision which he believed himself to have had on the 
 coast of Veragua, — one of the magnificent illusions which occasionally filled 
 his mind, and persuaded him that he was inspired and commissioned of 
 Heaven to discover the passage to the Indies, and perhaps the terrestrial 
 Paradise. The exact words referred to by Humboldt are, muchas heredade* 
 tiene El grandisimas. They refer to God, and, with the context, intimate 
 that Columbus himself was to receive some of these reserved “hereda¬ 
 des,” — possessions, or inheritances. 
 
ELECTED INTO THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF BERLIN. 223 
 
 he received the diploma announcing it; and it was not until 
 some weeks afterwards, April 23d, 1845, that he made the 
 following entry among his literary memoranda: — 
 
 In my laziness I forgot to record the greatest academic honor I have 
 received, — the greatest I shall ever receive, — my election as Correspond¬ 
 ing Member of the French Institute, as one of the Academy of Moral and 
 Political Science. I was chosen to fill the vacancy occasioned by the 
 death of the illustrious Navarrete. This circumstance, together with the 
 fact, that I did not canvass for the election, as is very usual with the can¬ 
 didates, makes the compliment the more grateful to me. 
 
 By the last steamer I received a diploma from the Royal Society of 
 Berlin also, as Corresponding Member of the Class of Philosophy and 
 History. This body, over which Humboldt presides, and which has been 
 made famous by the learned labors of Niebuhr, Von Raumer, Ranke, &c., 
 &c., ranks next to the Institute among the great Academies of the Conti¬ 
 nent. Such testimonies, from a distant land, are the real rewards of a 
 scholar. What pleasure would they have given to my dear father 1 I feel 
 as if they came too late ! 
 
 Similar remarks, as to the regret he felt that his father could 
 no longer share such honors with him, he had made earlier to 
 more than one of his friends, with no little emotion. 4 They 
 were honors of which he was always naturally and justly 
 proud, — for they had been vouchsafed neither to Bowditch 
 nor to Irving, — but sorrow for a time dimmed their bright¬ 
 ness to him. As Montaigne said on the death of Boetie, 
 “We had everything in common, and, now that he is gone, I 
 feel as if I had no right to his part.” 
 
 Of the election at Berlin, which, according to the diploma, 
 was made in February, 1845, I have no details ; but at Paris, 
 I believe, the forms were those regularly observed. On the 
 18th of January, 1845, M. Mignet, on behalf of the Section 
 of History, reported to the Academy of Moral and Political 
 Science the names of those who were proposed as candidates 
 
 4 This seems, indeed, to have been his first feeling on receiving the intelli¬ 
 gence. Dr. George Hayward, the distinguished surgeon, met him on the 
 steps of the post-office as he came with the official notice of his election to 
 the Institute in his hand, and told me a few days afterwards, that, while Mr. 
 Prescott showed without hesitation how agreeable to him was the intelligence 
 he had received, he added immediately a strong expression of his regret that 
 the unsolicited and unexpected honor had not come to him before the death 
 of his father. Mr. Parsons, Mr. Prescott’s early friend, has sent me a state¬ 
 ment somewhat similar. Both agree entirely with my own recollections and 
 those of his family, as to his feelings at the same period. 
 
224 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 to fill the place of Navarrete, who had died the preceding 
 year; viz. in the first rank, Mr. Prescott; in the second rank, 
 ex cequo, Mr. Turner and Mr. Bancroft; in the third, Mr. 
 Dahlmann. M. Mignet at this meeting explained the grounds 
 for his report, and the President inquired whether the Acad¬ 
 emy would confine itself to the list of candidates thus offered 
 M. Berenger, 6 without proposing to add the name of M. Cesare 
 Cantu, called the attention of the Section to his claims. M. 
 Mignet and M. Cousin then spoke, and the subject was passed 
 over. At the next meeting, — that of January 25th, — when 
 the subject came up in course, no discussion took place; and 
 on the 1st of February, when the election was made, Mr. Pres¬ 
 cott was chosen by eighteen ballots out of twenty, one being 
 for Mr. Bancroft and one blank. 
 
 In a letter of business to his friend, Colonel Aspinwall, at 
 London, dated March 30th, Mr. Prescott says, with his accus¬ 
 tomed frankness : — 
 
 Yon will be pleased to learn that by the last steamer I received a di¬ 
 ploma of Corresponding Member of the Institute of France, to fill the. 
 vacancy occasioned by the death of the Spanish historian Navarrete. 
 This academic honor is often canvassed pretty zealously for; but, as I 
 got it without the asking on my part, it is the more welcome. I don’t 
 know how they came to think of an out-of-the-way Yankee for it.® 
 
 MEMORANDA. 
 
 June 30, 1844. —Nahant, where lighted the 28th. Returned from my 
 tour to Trenton and Niagara Falls on the 25th, being fifteen days. A 
 most romantic excursion of eleven hundred miles through the whole 
 length of the great Empire State, which the traveller sees in all its glory 
 of vegetation and wonderful fertility, — its noble streams, lofty woods, 
 and matchless cataracts, — the valley of the Mohawk, the broad Hudson, 
 with its navy of little vessels, the Erie Canal, winding like a silver snake 
 through its cultivated fields, — its cities and villages rising up like fairy 
 creations in the wide expanse of its clearings, and all the evidences of a 
 busy, thriving population amidst the wreck of gigantic forests, that show 
 the contest with savage nature had not been of very long date. It is 
 indeed the “ Empire State,” and Niagara is a fitting termination to such 
 a noble tour. But I grow twaddling. A pleasant tour of a couple ot 
 weeks — not more — with pleasant companions (mine were so), is not a 
 
 ® Not the poet, who spelt his name differently, but a distinguished jurist 
 *nd statesman. 
 
 ® See Appendix (D), for other literary honors. 
 
LITERARY ACTIVITY. 
 
 225 
 
 Dad break intc tbs still life of the student. It gives zest to the quiet 
 course of literary labor. Yet it is not easy, after such a vagabond life, 
 to come up to the scratch. The hide gets somewhat insensible to the 
 spur of lofty ambition, — that last infirmity which the poet speaks of. 
 Yet may I never be insensible to it. 
 
 July 21, 1844. — Industry and literary ardor improve. Been reading, 
 or rather listening to, Alfieri’s Life, — a strange being, with three ruling 
 passions, literary glory, love, and horses ! the last not the least powerful. 
 His literary zeal — by fits only, it is true — is quite stimulating, and, like 
 Gibbon’s Memoirs, rouses the dormant spark in me. It is well occasion¬ 
 ally to reinvigorate by the perusal of works so stirring to the flagging 
 student. I ought not to flag with such an audience as I am now sure to 
 have. Life out of Boston, whether at Nahant or Pepperell, very favor¬ 
 able to regular studious habits and scholar-like ardor. My ideal would be 
 best accomplished by a full six months’ residence in the quiet country. 
 But would my general vigor, and especially that of the stomach, allow 
 it 1 I fear not. This is a good place for effective work, even in the dog- 
 days. But my eyes are better in the country, and rheumatism becomes a 
 formidable enemy on these bleak and misty shores. 
 
 The face of nature, whether here or in the country, is most tranquilliz¬ 
 ing, and leads to contemplative occupation. I feel as if my studies, 
 family, and the sight of a few friends, — turn brevi intervallo, — not con¬ 
 vivial friends, would answer all my desires, and best keep alive the best 
 source of happiness in me; literary ambition, not the mere ambition of 
 fame, — I have obtained that, — but of advancing the interests of hu¬ 
 manity by the diffusion of useful truth. I have been more truly gratified 
 by several messages I have received since the publication of the “ Con¬ 
 quest,” thanking me for the solace I had afforded in a sick-chamber, than 
 by commendations from higher sources. Yet I read with satisfaction a 
 passage in our Minister Wheaton’s letter from Berlin this week, in which 
 he says: “ M. de Humboldt never ceases praising your book, and he is 
 not a little difficult in his judgment of those who venture on his Ameri¬ 
 can ground.” Humboldt is the most competent critic my work has to 
 encounter. 
 
 This week I have been reviewing my notes for the Introduction, 
 already reaching to seventy sheets, and not done yet. I have been 
 arranging under what heads I must distribute this farrago of facts and 
 fiction. The work of distribution, by the appropriate figure for each sen¬ 
 tence, will be no joke. 
 
 Been to town twi ;e last week, — most uncommon for me, — once to 
 see my friend Calderon, returned as Minister from Spain, and once to see 
 my poor friend Sumner, who has had a sentence of death passed on him 
 by the physicians. His sister sat by his side, struck with the same dis¬ 
 ease. It was an affecting sight to see brother and sister, thus hand in 
 hand, preparing to walk through the dark valley. 7 I shall lose a good 
 friend in Sumner, and one who, though I have known him but a few 
 ’’ears, has done me many kind offices. 
 
 7 It is not necessary to say that Mr. Sumner recovered from this attack. 
 The prognostications relating'to his sister were unhappily fulfilled. 
 
 10 * 
 
 o 
 
226 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLLNG PRESCOTT. 
 
 August 18, 1844. — Began Chapter I. of Book I., tile Introduction of 
 the “ Conquest of Peru,” on Monday, August 12th ; wrote 8 noctograph 
 = 10 pp. print, — slow work and not particularly to my mind either. 
 I have found it best to alter my plan, and throw military policy into 
 another chapter, and continue this chapter by treating of the civil admin¬ 
 istration, else it comes cart before the horse. 
 
 My spirits this season at Nahant have been variable, and my temper 
 ditto ; I am convinced that I am to expect contentment only, or rather 
 chiefly, from steady and engrossing literary occupation. When one woik is 
 finished, don’t pause too long before another is begun, and so on till eyes, 
 ears, and sense give way ; then resignation ! I doubt even the policy o f 
 annual journeys; am clear against episodical excursions for a few days in 
 addition to the one journey of two weeks at most. I suspect my summer 
 migrations for residence will be enough for health, and better for spirits. 
 Locomotion riles up all the wits, till they arc as muddy as a dirt-puddle, 
 and they don’t settle again in a hurry. Is it not enough to occupy my¬ 
 self with my historical pursuits, varying the scene by change of residence 
 suited to the season, and by occasionally entertaining and going into 
 society, — occasionally, not often 1 What a cursed place this is for rheu¬ 
 matism and company, yet good for general vigor. No dog-days here, 
 and all might be working-days if I had pluck for it. 
 
 TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 Peppekell, Oct. 13, 1844. 
 
 My deak Friend, 
 
 I am glad to receive your very kind letter of August 28th, and to learn 
 that you have at length accomplished the residencia at Simancas. Fifty- 
 two days was a long while, and, if you had had the command of all your 
 time, would have enabled you to have sifted, at the rapid rate at which 
 you go on, half the library. But what absurd rules ! I think you 
 made the most of that precious bom - allowed for the papeles reservados. 
 Your use of ciphers stood you in good stead. It was a rare piece of for¬ 
 tune to have stumbled on such a budget, which nobody else has. But 
 how can a government wish to exclude the light from those who are occu¬ 
 pied with illustrating its history, necessarily compelling the historian to 
 take partia and limited views, and that, too, of events three hundred 
 years old ! There will be a great trastorno when the archives are poured 
 into the Escorial. 8 
 
 TO COUNT ADOLPHE DE CIRCOURT. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Boston, Jan. 30, 1846. 
 
 I am truly obliged by your kind letter, and the beautiful pieces of 
 
 8 It was proposed to remove the collections of Simancas to the Escorial 
 and there unite all the documents of the kingdom relating to the nationsi 
 history, as had been so admirably done in Seville for the history of Spanish 
 America. 
 
liETTEK TO COUNT CIRCOURT. 
 
 227 
 
 criticism from your pen which accompanied it. I have read them with 
 the greatest pleasure. The account of the Venetian language is full of 
 novel historical details, as well as of architectural criticisms, that carry 
 me back to those witching scenes where in earlier life I passed some very 
 happy days. The sketch of the German pastor Hebei is conceived in the 
 tranquil and beautiful spirit which so well accords with his own life and 
 character. And the translations of the Tartar poems have all the fresh¬ 
 ness of original composition, with a singular coloring of thought alto¬ 
 gether different, from the Europeau. Why do you not gather these little 
 gems of criticism together, which you thus scatter at random, into one 
 collection, where they may be preserved as the emanation of one and the 
 same mind 1 I was talking this over with Ticknor the other day, and we 
 both agreed that few volumes of any one author would present such a 
 rich variety of criticism and disquisition on interesting and very diversified 
 topics. And yet you write with the ease and fulness of one who had 
 made each of these topics his particular study. I assure you I am saying 
 to you what I have said to our common friend, and he, with a superior 
 judgment to mine, fully confirmed. 
 
 I must also thank you for M. Chevalier’s article in the “ Journal dcs 
 Debats,” which contains a spirited analysis of my historical subject. It 
 is very kind in him to bestow so much time on it, and I have now written 
 to thank him ; and shall request his acceptance of a copy of the American 
 edition of the work, which I shall send this week by the New York 
 packet, with another copy to the French translator. I esteem myself 
 fortunate in the prospect of seeing my thoughts clothed in the beautiful 
 tongue of Racine and Rousseau. Did I mention to you that the work is 
 in process of translation in Berlin and in Rome ? In Mexico, a Spanish 
 translator has undertaken to make such alterations (according to his pro¬ 
 spectus) as shall accommodate my religious ideas and my opinions of 
 modern Mexico more satisfactorily to the popular taste! 
 
 Should you find leisure to write the notice which you contemplate in 
 the “ Bibliotheque Universelle,” you will, of course, have the kindness to 
 forward me a copy ; though I trust you will not allow this subject 
 to make such demands on your time as my former history did, or else the 
 publication of a new work by me will be no day of jubilee to you. 
 
 A little while before I had the pleasure of receiving your letter, I met 
 with a domestic calamity of which I shall allow myself to speak to one 
 who has shown such a friendly interest in my literary reputation. This 
 is the death of my father, who has been my constant companion, coun¬ 
 sellor, and friend from childhood to the present time ; for we have always 
 lived under the same roof together. As he had the most cultivated tastes 
 himself, and took the deepest interest in my literary career, his sympathy 
 had become almost a necessary part of my existence; and now that he is 
 gone life wears a new aspect, and I feel that much of the incentive and 
 the recompense of my labors is withdrawn from me. But I have no right 
 to complain; he was spared to me, in the full possession of his powers of 
 head and heart, to a good old age. I take the liberty to enclose you a 
 little obituary notice of him from the pen of our friend Ticknor, as I 
 know you will read what he has written with pleasure, and it gratifies my 
 own feelings to think that one for whom I feel as high a regard as vour- 
 
228 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 self, in a distant land, should hold my father’s name in honor, i nopa 
 you will not think this is a weakness. 
 
 I pray you, my dear Sir, to accept the assurance of the sincere respect 
 with which I remain 
 
 Your obliged friend, 
 
 Wm. H. Pbescott. 
 
 MEMORANDA. 
 
 February 6, 1845. — A long interval since my last entry, and one preg¬ 
 nant with important and most melancholy results to me, for in it I have 
 lost my father, my counsellor, companion, and friend from boyhood to the 
 hour of his death. This event took place on Sunday morning, about 
 eight o’clock, December 8th, 1844. I had the sad comfort of being with 
 him in his last moments, and of witnessing his tranquil and beautiful 
 death. It was in keeping with the whole tenor of his mild and philosoph¬ 
 ical life. He had complained of a slight obstruction or uneasiness in his 
 left side for ten days before, and the bad weather confined him in the 
 house, and prevented his getting his customary exercise. The physicians 
 thought it a rheumatic affection. But he did not feel confidence in this 
 His strength became impaired by confinement, and half an hour before his 
 death, while in the library in which he spent so many happy and profit¬ 
 able hours of his life, he was taken with a faintness. His old domestic, 
 Nathan Webster, was there with him, and immediately ran for assistance. 
 My father recovered, but soon after relapsed. He was laid on the floor, 
 aud we were all apprehensive of a recurrence of the melancholy attack 
 with which he had been visited at Pepperell, the year preceding. But his 
 mind was not affected otherwise than with the languor approaching to in¬ 
 sensibility which belongs to faintness. On the speedy arrival of the 
 physician he was carried up stairs to his own apartment, in the arms of the 
 family, and in fifteen minutes his spirit took its departure to a happier 
 world. On an examination, it was found that the arteries leading from 
 the heart had not conducted off the blood, and the pressure of this had 
 caused the uneasy sensation. The machinery was worn out. The clock— 
 to borrow the simile of the poet — had run down, and stopped of its own 
 accord. 
 
 He lived to a good old age, being eighty-two August 19th, 1844, and 
 we have certainly great reason for gratitude that he was spared to us so 
 long, and that he did not, even then, outlive his noble faculties. To have 
 survived the decay of his mind would have been a blow which even he, 
 with all his resignation, could not well have borne. But the temporary 
 cloud of the preceding year had passed away, and he died in the full pos¬ 
 session of the powers which he has now returned, strengthened and increased 
 by unceasing industry and careful cultivation, into the hands of his merci¬ 
 ful Father. Yet, though there is much, very much to be thankful for, it 
 is only time that can reconcile me to the rupture of a tie that has so long 
 bound us closely together. It is a great satisfaction that his eminent vir. 
 tncs have been so justly appreciated by the community in which he lived. 
 Rarely has a death excited such wide and sincere sorrow. For his high 
 intellectual character commanded respect; but his moral qualities, his 
 
CHARACTER OF HIS FATHER. 
 
 229 
 
 purity of prin.'iple, his high sense of honor, his sympathy with others, es¬ 
 pecially those who stood most in need of it, insured veneration and love. 
 Yet those only who have dwelt under his roof, and enjoyed the sweet 
 pleasures of the most intimate domestic intercourse, can estimate the real 
 extent of his excellence. The nearer the intimacy, the deeper and more 
 constant was the impression produced by his virtues. His character stood 
 the test of daily, hourly inspection. 
 
 It would be most ungrateful in me not to acknowledge the goodness of 
 that Providence which has spared such a friend to be the guide of my 
 steps in youth, and my counsellor in riper years. And now that he is 
 gone, it must be my duty and my pleasure to profit by this long inter¬ 
 course, and to guide myself through the rest of my pilgrimage by the 
 memory of his precepts and the light of his example. He still lives, and 
 it must be my care so to live on earth as to be united with him again and 
 forever. 
 
 I have not felt in heart to resume my historical labors since his death, 
 and my time has been much engrossed by necessary attention to family 
 affairs. But I must no longer delay to return to my studies, although 
 my interest in them is much diminished, now that I have lost my best rec¬ 
 ompense of success in his approbation. Yet to defer this longer would 
 be weakness. It will at least be a satisfaction to me to pursue the literary 
 career in which he took so much interest, and the success of which, it is 
 most consoling for me to believe, shed a ray of pleasure on the evening 
 of his days. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 1844- 1845. 
 
 Publication of a Volume of Miscellanies.—Italian Literature.— 
 Controversy with Da Ponte. — Charles Brockden Brown. — Blind 
 Asylum. — Moliere. — Cervantes. — Scott. — Irving. — Bancroft. 
 — Madame Calderon. — History of Spanish Literature. — Opin¬ 
 ions of Review-writing. 
 
 UST at this time — the winter of 1844-5 — Mr. Prescott 
 
 made an arrangement with Bentley in London for pub¬ 
 lishing a volume of Miscellanies, entitled in the English edi¬ 
 tion, “ Critical and Historical Essays ”; chiefly articles from 
 the “ North American Review,” for which, though his contri¬ 
 butions had already become rare, and subsequently ceased 
 altogether, he wrote witli some regularity for many years. 
 
 The subjects he had discussed were almost wholly literary, 
 and, having little relation to anything local, political, or per¬ 
 sonal, were likely, on many accounts, to be read with interest 
 in England. He therefore selected a few of his contributions 
 as a specimen, and sent them to his friend Colonel Aspinwall, 
 in London, with a good-humored letter, dated November 15th, 
 1844, in which he says : — 
 
 As the things are already in print, and stale enough here, I can’t expect 
 the London publishers will give much for them. Possibly they may not 
 be willing to give a farthing. I would not advise them to. But you will 
 probably think best to ask sometliing, as I shall still have to select and 
 dress them up a little. But, though I will not insist on a compensation 
 if I can’t get it, I had rather not have them published than to have them 
 appear in a form which will not match with my other volumes in size. I 
 would add, that at all events I should be allowed a dozen copies for my¬ 
 self. If Bentley, who should have the preference, or Murray, do not 
 think them worth the taking, I would not go farther with the trumpery. 
 Only, pray see that they are returned safely to your hands to be destroyed. 
 
 Now, I hope this will not put you to much trouble. It is not worth it, 
 and I do not intend it. Better accede to any proposition, — as far as 
 profits are concerned, they must be so trilling,—than be bothered with 
 negotiations. And, after all, it may be thought this rechauffe of old bones 
 
MISCELLANIES PUBLISHED. 
 
 231 
 
 is not profitable enough to make it worth while for a publisher to under¬ 
 take it at all. If so, I shall readily acquiesce. There will be no labor 
 lost. 
 
 Bentley, however, thought better of the speculation than 
 the author did, and accepted, with a just honorarium , the 
 whole of what, a few months later, was sent to him. It made 
 a handsome octavo volume, and appeared in the summer of 
 1845 ; but there was prefixed to it an engraved portrait, which, 
 though great pains were taken to have it a good one, was a 
 total failure. 1 The articles were fourteen in number, marking 
 very well the course of the author’s studies, tastes, and associa¬ 
 tions during the preceding twenty years. Some of them had 
 cost him no little labor ; all were written with a conscientious 
 fidelity not common in such contributions to the periodical 
 press. They were therefore successful from the first, and 
 have continued to be so. An edition by the Harpers at New 
 York appeared contemporaneously with Bentley’s; a second 
 London edition was called for in 1850; and these have been 
 followed by others both in England and the United States, 
 making in all, before the end of 1860, a sale of more than 
 thirteen thousand copies. The misgivings of the author, there¬ 
 fore, about his “ rechauffe, of old bones ” were soon discovered 
 to be groundless. 
 
 The first article in the volume, reckoning by the date of 
 its composition, is on “ Italian Narrative Poetry,” and was 
 originally published in the “ North American Review ” for 
 October, 1824. At that time, or a little earlier, Mr. Prescott 
 had, it will be remembered, occupied himself much with the 
 literature of Italy, and, among other things, had taken great 
 pleasure in listening to an accomplished Italian, who had read 
 parts of Dante, Tasso, Ariosto, and Alfieri, in a succession of 
 mornings, to two or three friends who met regularly for the 
 purpose. He was, therefore, in all respects, well qualified to 
 discuss any department of Italian literature to which he might 
 direct a more especial attention. The choice he made on this 
 occasion was fortunate; for narrative poetry is a department in 
 which Italian genius has had eminent success, and his treatment 
 
 1 When he sent me a copy of the English edition, he said, in the note a*> 
 companying it: “ You will recovnize everything in it except the portrait.” 
 
232 
 
 WILLIAM KICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 of the subject was no less happy than the choice; especially, 1 
 think, in whatever regarded his judgments on Politian, Berni, 
 and Bojardo. 
 
 But excellent and pleasant as was the article in question, it 
 was not satisfactory to a very respectable Italian, then living 
 in the United States, who seems to have been more keenly 
 sensitive to the literary honor of his country than he needed to 
 have been. This gentleman, Signor Lorenzo Da Ponte, had 
 been the immediate successor of Metastasio as Imperial Poet — 
 Poeta Gesareo — at Vienna, and had early gained much reputa¬ 
 tion by writing to “ Don Giovanni ” the libretto which Mozart’s 
 music has carried all over the world. But the life of the Im 
 perial Poet had subsequently been somewhat unhappy; and, 
 after a series of adventures and misfortunes, which he has 
 pleasantly recorded in an autobiography published in 1823, at 
 New York, he had become a teacher of his native language in 
 that metropolis, where he was deservedly much regarded and 
 respected. 
 
 Signor Da Ponte was an earnest, — it may fairly be said, — 
 an extravagant admirer of the literature of his native country, 
 and could ill endure even the very cautious and inconsiderable 
 qualifications which Mr. Prescott had deemed it needful to 
 make respecting some of its claims in a review otherwise over¬ 
 flowing with admiration for Italy and Italian culture. In this 
 Signor Da Ponte was no doubt unreasonable, but he had not 
 the smallest suspicion that he was so ; and in the fervor of his 
 enthusiasm he soon published an answer to the review. It 
 was, quaintly enough, appended to an Italian translation, which 
 he was then editing, of the first part of Dodsley’s “ Economy 
 of Human Life,” and fills nearly fifty pages. 2 
 
 2 The title-page is, “ Economia della Vita Humana, tradotta dal Inglese da 
 L. Giudelli, resa alia sna vera lezione da L. Da Ponte, con una traduzione del 
 medesimo in verso rimato della Settima Parte, che ha per titolo La Religione, 
 con varie lettere dei suoi allievi. E con alcune osservazioni sull’ articolo quarto, 
 pubblicato nel North American Review il mese d’Ottobre 1824, ed altre Prose e 
 Poesie. Nuova Yorka, 1825 ” (16mo, pp. 141). This grotesquely compound¬ 
 ed little volume is now become so rare, that, except for the kindness of Mr. 
 Henry T. Tuckerman, who found it only after long search, I should probably 
 now have been unable to obtain the use of a copy of it. I, however, recol¬ 
 lect receiving one from the author when it first appeared, and the circum¬ 
 stances attending and following its publication. 
 
CONTROVERSY WITH DA PONTE. 
 
 233 
 
 As a matter almost of course, an answer followed, which 
 appeared in the “North American Review” for July, 1825, 
 and is reprinted in the “ Miscellanies.” It treats Signor Da 
 Ponte with much respect, and even kindness ; but, so far as it 
 is controversial in its character, its tone is firm and its success 
 complete. No reply, I believe, was attempted, nor is it easy 
 to see how one could have been made. The whole affair, in 
 fact, is now chiefly interesting from the circumstance that it is 
 the only literary controversy, and indeed I may say the only 
 controversy of any kind, in which Mr. Prescott was ever en¬ 
 gaged, and which, though all such discussion was foreign from 
 his disposition and temperament, and although he was then 
 young, he managed with no little skill and decision. 
 
 In the same volume is another review of Italian Literature, 
 published six years later, 1831, on the “Poetry and Romance 
 of the Italians.” The curious, who look into it with care, 
 may perhaps notice some repetition of the opinions expressed 
 in the two preceding articles. This is owing to the circum¬ 
 stance that it was not prepared for the journal in which it 
 originally appeared, and in which the others were first pub¬ 
 lished. It was written, as I well remember, in the winter 
 of 1827-8, for a leading English periodical, and was gladly 
 accepted by its scholar-like editor, who in a note requested the 
 author to indicate to him the subjects on which he might be 
 willing to furnish other articles, in case he should indulge 
 himself further in the same style of writing. But, as the 
 author did not give permission to send his article to the press 
 until he should know the sort of editorial judgment passed on 
 it, it happened that, by a series of accidents, it was so long 
 before he heard of its acceptance, that, getting wearied with 
 waiting, he sent for the paper back from London, and gave it 
 to the “North American Review.” Mr. Prescott adverts to 
 these coincidences of opinion in a note to the article itself, 
 as reprinted in the “ Miscellanies,” but does not explain the 
 reason for them. 
 
 The other articles in the same volume are generally of not 
 less interest and value than the three already noticed. Some 
 of them are of more. There is, for instance, a pleasant “ Life 
 of Charles Brockden Brown,” our American novelist, in which, 
 
234 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 perhaps, his merits are overstated. At least, the author after¬ 
 wards thought so himself; but the task was voluntarily under 
 taken as a contribution to the collection of biographies by his 
 friend Mr. Sparks, in 1834, and he felt that it would be some¬ 
 what ungracious to say, under such circumstances, all he might 
 otherwise have deemed becoming. No doubt, too, he thought 
 that Brown, who died in 1810, and was the best of the pioneers 
 in romantic fiction on this side of the Atlantic, had a claim to 
 tenderness of treatment, both from the difficult circumstances 
 m which he had been placed, and from the infirmities which 
 had carried him to an early grave. It should, however, be 
 understood, while making these qualifications, that the Life 
 itself is written with freedom and spirit, and shows how well 
 its author was fitted for such critical discussions. 
 
 Another article, which interested him more, is on the condi¬ 
 tion of those who suffer from the calamity which constituted 
 the great trial of his own life, and on the alleviations which 
 public benevolence could afford to their misfortunes. I refer, 
 of course, to the blind. 
 
 In 1829, by the exertions mainly of the late excellent Dr. 
 John D. Fisher, an “Asylum for the Blind,” now known as 
 “The Perkins Institution,” was established in Boston, — the 
 earliest of such beneficent institutions that have proved success¬ 
 ful in the United States, and now one of the most advanced in 
 the world. It at once attracted Mr. Prescott’s attention, and 
 from its first organization, in 1830, he was one of its trustees, 
 and among its most efficient friends and supporters. 3 
 
 He began his active services by a paper published in the 
 “ North American Review ” in July, 1830, explaining the 
 nature of such asylums, and urging the claims of the one in 
 which he was interested. His earnestness was not without 
 
 8 A substantial foundation for this excellent charity was laid somewhat 
 later by Colonel Thomas H. Perkins, so well known for his munificence to 
 many of our public institutions. He gave to it an estate in Pearl Street, 
 valued at thirty thousand dollars, on condition that an equal sum should be 
 raised by subscription from the community. This was done; and the insti¬ 
 tution bears in consequence his honored name. In the arrangements for this 
 purpose Mr. Prescott took much interest, and bore an important part, not 
 only as a trustee of the “Asylum,” but as a personal friend of ColoneJ 
 
 erkins. 
 
ASYLUM FOR THE BLIND. 
 
 235 
 
 fruits; and the institution which he helped with all his heart 
 to found is the same in which, under the singularly successful 
 leading of Dr. Samuel G. Howe, a system has been devised 
 for printing books so as to enable the blind to read with an 
 ease before deemed unattainable, and is the same institution in 
 which, under the same leading, the marvel has been accom¬ 
 plished of giving much intellectual culture to Laura Bridgman, 
 who, wholly without either sight or hearing, has hardly more 
 than the sense of touch as an inlet to knowledge. Mr. Pres¬ 
 cott’s sympathy for such an institution, so founded, so managed, 
 was necessarily strong, and he continued to serve it with fidel¬ 
 ity and zeal as a trustee for ten years, when, its success being 
 assured, and other duties claiming his time and thoughts more 
 urgently, he resigned his place. 
 
 Some parts of the article originally published in the “ North 
 American Review,” in order to give to the Boston Asylum for 
 the Blind its proper position before the public, are so obviously 
 the result of his personal experience, that they should be re¬ 
 membered as expressions of his personal character. Thus, in 
 the midst of striking reflections and illustrations connected with 
 his general subject, he says : — 
 
 The blind, from the cheerful ways of men cut off, are necessarily ex¬ 
 cluded from the busy theatre of human action. Their infirmity, however, 
 which consigns them to darkness, and often to solitude, would seem 
 favorable to contemplative habits, and the pursuits of abstract science and 
 ure speculation. Undisturbed by external objects, the mind necessarily 
 turns within, and concentrates its ideas on any point of investigation with 
 greater intensity and perseverance. It is no uncommon thing, therefore, 
 to find persons sitting apart in the silent hours of evening for the purpose 
 of composition, or other purely intellectual exercise. Malebranche, when 
 he wished to think intensely, used to close his shutters in the daytime, 
 excluding every ray of light; and hence Democritus is said to have put 
 out his eyes in order that he might philosophize the better ; a story, the 
 veracity 4 of which Cicero, who relates it, is prudent enough not to 
 vouch for. 
 
 Blindness must also be exceedingly favorable to the discipline of the 
 memory. Whoever has had the misfortune, from any derangement of 
 that organ, to be compelled to derive his knowledge of books less from 
 the eye than the ear, will feel the truth of this. The difficulty of recall¬ 
 ing what has once escaped, of reverting to or dwelling on the passages 
 
 4 Addison so uses the word, and I suppose his authority is sufficient. But 
 veracity is strictly applicable only to a person, and not to a statement of 
 facts. 
 
23G 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PKESCOTT. 
 
 read aloud by another, compels the hearer to give undivided attention to 
 the subject, and to impress it more forcibly on his own mind by subse¬ 
 quent and methodical reflection. Instances of the cultivation of this 
 faculty to an extraordinary extent have been witnessed among the blind. 6 
 
 And, near the end of the article, he says, in a noble tone, 
 evidently conscious of its application to himself: — 
 
 There is no higher evidence of the worth of the human mind, than its 
 capacity of drawing consolation from its own resources under so heavy 
 a privation, so that it not only can exhibit resignation and cheerfulness, 
 but energy to burst the fetters with which it is encumbered. 8 
 
 These words, it should be remembered, were written at the 
 moment when their author was just stretching forth his hand, 
 not without much anxiety, to begin the composition of his 
 “Ferdinand and Isaoella,” of which the world knew nothing 
 and suspected nothing for nearly ten years. But the words, 
 which had little meaning to others at that time, are instinct 
 with the spirit which in silence and darkness animated him to 
 hi3 bold undertaking, and not only earned him through it, but 
 gave to the rest of his life its direction and character. 7 
 
 The other articles in this volume, published in 1845, less 
 need to be considered. One is a short discussion on Scottish 
 popular poetry, written as early as the winter of 1825 - 6, and 
 published in the following summer, when he was already busy 
 with the study of Spanish, and therefore naturally compared 
 the ballads of the two countries. 8 Another is on Moliere, dat¬ 
 ing from 1828, and was the cause of directing his thoughts, ten 
 years later, while he was uncertain about his success as au 
 historian, to inquiries into the life of that great poet. 9 A third 
 is on Cervantes, and was written as an amusement in 1837, 
 immediately after the “ Ferdinand and Isabella ” was com- 
 
 * Critical and Historical Essays, London, 1850, pp. 40,41. 
 
 8 Ibid., p. 69. There are also some striking remarks, in the same tone, 
 and almost equally applicable to himself, in his notice of Sir Walter Scott’s 
 power to resist pain and disease, with the discouragements that necessarily 
 accompany them. Ibid., pp. 144, 146. 
 
 7 I think he took pleasure, for the same reason, in recording (Article on 
 Molibre) that “ a gentleman dined at the same table with Corneille for six 
 months, without suspecting the author of the Cid.” 
 
 8 Critical and Historical Essays, pp. 66 sqq. 
 
 * Ibid., pp. 247 sqq. 
 
REVIEWS. 
 
 237 
 
 pleted, and before it was published. And a fourth and fifth, 
 on Lockhart’s Life of Scott and on Chateaubriand, followed 
 soon afterwards, before he had been able to settle himself down 
 to regular work on his “ Conquest of Mexico.” 
 
 A few others he wrote, in part at least, from regard for 
 the authors of the books to which they relate. Such were a 
 notice of Irving’s “ Conquest of Granada”; 10 a review of the 
 third volume of Bancroft’s “History of the United States”; 
 one of Madame Calderon’s very agreeable “ Travels in Mexico,” 
 which he had already ushered into the world with a Preface; 
 and one on my own “ History of Spanish Literature.” This 
 last, which was published in January, 1850, and which, there¬ 
 fore, is not included in the earliest edition of the “ Miscella¬ 
 nies,” was the only review he had written for seven years. 
 His record in relation to it is striking: — 
 
 October 25th, 1849. — Leave Pepperell to-morrow; a very pleasant 
 autumn and a busy one. Have read for and written an article in the 
 “ North American Review ” on my friend Ticknor’s great work ; my last 
 effort in the critical line, amounting to forty-nine sheets noctograph! The 
 writing began the 12th, and ended the 21st of the month ; not bad as to 
 industry. No matter how often I have reviewed the ground, I must still 
 review it again whenever I am to write, — when I sit down to the task. 11 
 Now, Muse of History, never more will I desert thy altar! Yet I shall 
 have but little incense to offer. 
 
 This promise to himself was faithfully kept. He never 
 wrote another article for a review. 
 
 In tills, I do not doubt, he was right. He began, when 
 he was quite young, immediately after the failure of the 
 “ Club-Room,” and wrote reviews upon literary subjects of 
 consequence, as an exercise well fitted to the general course 
 of studies he had undertaken, and as tending directly to the 
 results he hoped at last to reach. It was, he thought, a 
 healthy and pleasant excitement to literary activity, and an 
 
 10 It may be worth notice here, that, in the opening of this review, writ¬ 
 ten in 1829, Mr. Prescott discusses the qualifications demanded of an histo¬ 
 rian, and the merits of some of the principal writers in this department of 
 literature. 
 
 11 This is among the many proofs of his conscientious care in writing. He 
 had read my manuscript, and had made ample notes on it; but still, lest he 
 should make mistakes, he preferred to go over the printed book, niw that he 
 was to review it. 
 
238 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 obvious means of forming and testing his style. For twelve 
 years, therefore, beginning in 1821, he contributed annually 
 an article to the “ North American Review.” At one time he 
 thought of writing occasionally, from the same motives, for 
 the more eminent English periodicals; but from this he was 
 diverted partly by accident, but chiefly by labors more impor¬ 
 tant and pressing. Indeed, from 1833, when he was in the 
 midst of his “Ferdinand and Isabella,” to 1837, when its 
 composition was completed, he found no time for such lighter 
 occupations ; and, during the last six and twenty years of his 
 life, his contributions were only eight, nearly all of which 
 were undertaken from motives different from those that had 
 prompted his earlier efforts. As far as he himself was con¬ 
 cerned, re view-writing had done its work, and he was better 
 employed. 12 
 
 But, besides his own engrossing occupations, he had another 
 reason for abandoning the habit of criticising the works of 
 others. He had come to the conclusion that this form of 
 literary labor is all but worthless. In his review of the Life 
 of Scott, he had noticed how little of principle is mingled 
 with it, and in his memoranda five years later, when his own 
 
 12 Even before the publication of the “ Ferdinand and Isabella ” he had 
 begun to see the little value of American Reviews. This is plain from the 
 following extract from a letter discovered since this memoir was finished, and 
 dated October 4, 1837. It was addressed from Pepperell by Mr. Prescott to 
 his friend, Mr. Gardiner, in Boston. 
 
 “ The last number of the ‘ North American ’ has found its way into our 
 woods. I have only glanced at it, but it looks uncommonly weak and water- 
 ish. The review of Miss Martineau, which is meant to be double-spiced, is 
 no exception. I don’t know how it is; but our critics, though not pedantic, 
 have not the business-like air, or the air of the man of the world, which gives 
 manliness and significance to criticism. Their satire, when they attempt it, 
 — which cannot be often laid to their door, — has neither the fine edge of 
 the ‘ Edinburgh,’ nor the sledge-hammer stroke of the ‘Quarterly.’ They 
 twaddle out their humor as if they were afraid of its biting too hard, or else 
 they deliver axioms with a sort of smart, dapper conceit, like a little parson 
 laying down the law to his little people. I suppose the paltry price the 
 ' North ’ pays (all it can bear, too, I believe) will not command the variety of 
 contributions, and from the highest sources, as with the English journals. 
 Then, in England, there is a far greater number of men highly cultivated, — 
 whether in public life or men of leisure, — whose intimacy with affairs and 
 with society, as well as books, affords supplies of a high order for periodical 
 criticism. For a’ that, however, the old ‘ North ’ is the best periodica) we have 
 ever had, or, considering its resources, are likely to have, for the present.” 
 
REVIEW-WRITING. 
 
 239 
 
 experiences of it had become abundant, be says: “ Criticism 
 bas got to be an old story. It is impossible for one who has 
 done that sort of work himself to have any respect for it. How 
 can one critic look another in the face without laughing ? ” He 
 therefore gave it up, believing neither in its fairness, nor in its 
 beneficial effect on authors or readers. Sir James Mackintosh, 
 after long experience of the same sort, came to the conclusion 
 that review-writing was a waste of time, and advised Mr. 
 Tytler, the historian, who had occasionally sent an article to 
 the “ Edinburgh,” to abandon the practice; 13 and in the same 
 spirit, De Tocqueville, writing at the end of his life, said, some¬ 
 what triumphantly: “ Je n’ai jamais fait de ma vie un article 
 de revue.” I doubt not they were all right, and that society, 
 as it advances, will more and more justify their judgment. 
 
 18 Mr. Prescott’s articles in the “ North American Review ” are as follows, 
 those marked with an asterisk (*) constituting, together with the Life of 
 Charles Brockden Brown, the volume published in London with the title of 
 “Critical and Historical Essays,” and in the United States with that of 
 “ Biographical and Critical Miscellanies ”: — 
 
 1821. Byron’s Letters on Pope. 
 
 1822. Essay-Writing. 
 
 1823. French and English Tragedy. 
 
 1824. Italian Narrative Poetry.* 
 
 1S25. Da Ponte’s Observations.* 
 
 1826. Scottish Song.* 
 
 1827. Novel-Writing. 
 
 1828. Molifere* 
 
 1829. Irving’s Granada.* 
 
 1830. Asylum for the Blind.* 
 
 1831. Poetry and Romance of the Italians.* 
 
 1832. English Literature of the Nineteenth Century. 
 
 1837. Cervantes.* 
 
 1838. Lockhart’s Life of Scott.* 
 
 1839. Kenyon’s Poems. 
 
 1839. Chateaubriand. 
 
 1841. Bancroft’s United States.* 
 
 1842. Mariotti’s Italy. 
 
 1843. Madame Calderon’s Mexico.* 
 
 1850. Ticknor’s Spanish Literature.* 
 
 At one period, rather early, he wrote a considerable number of short arti¬ 
 cles for 6ome of our newspapers; and even in the latter part of his life 
 occasionally adopted this mode of communicating his opinions to the publio. 
 But he d.d not wish to have them remembered. “ This sort of ephemeral 
 trash,” he said, when recording his judgment of it, “ had better be forgotten 
 by me as soon as possible.” 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 1845-1843. 
 
 His Domestic Relations. — “ Conquest of Peru.” — Pepperell. — Let¬ 
 ters.— Removal in Boston. — Difficulties. — Fiftieth Birthdat. 
 — Purlisiies the “ Conquest of Peru.” — Doubts. — Success. — 
 Memoranda. — “ Edinburgh Review.” — Life at Pepperell. — Let¬ 
 ter from Miss Edceworth. 
 
 O N the 4th of May, 1845, Mr. Prescott made, with his 
 own hand, what is very rare in his memoranda, a notice 
 of his personal feelings and domestic relations. It is simple, 
 touching, true; and I recollect that he read it to me a few days 
 afterwards with the earnest tenderness which had dictated it. 
 
 “ My forty-ninth birthday,” he says, “ and my twenty-fifth wedding- 
 day ; a quarter of a century the one, and nearly half a century the other. 
 An English notice of me last month speaks of me as being on the sunny 
 side of thirty-five. My life has been pretty much on the sunny side, for 
 which I am indebted to a singularly fortunate position in life ; to inesti¬ 
 mable parents, who both, until a few mouths since, were preserved to me 
 in health of mind and body ; a wife, who has shared my few troubles 
 real and imaginary, and my many blessings, with the sympathy of 
 another self; a cheerful temper, in spite of some drawbacks on the score 
 of health ; and easy circumstances, which have enabled me to consult my 
 own inclinations in the direction and the amount of my studies. Family, 
 friends, fortune, — these have furnished me materials for enjoyment 
 greater and more constant than is granted to most men. Lastly, I must 
 not, omit my books ; the love of letters, which I have always cultivated 
 and which has proved my solace — invariable solace — under afflictions 
 mental and bodily, — and of both I have had my share,—and which 
 have given me the means of living for others than myself, — of living, I 
 may hope, when my own generation shall have passed away. If what 
 I have done shall be permitted to go down to after times, and my soul 
 shall be permitted to mingle with those of the wise and good of future 
 generations, I have not lived in vain. I have many intimations that I 
 am now getting on the shady side of the hill, and as I go down, the 
 shadows will grow longer and darker. May the dear companion who has 
 accompanied me thus far be permitted to go with me to the close, < till 
 we sleep together at the foot ’ as tranquilly as we have lived.” 
 
 Immediately after this entry occurs one entirely different, 
 
SUMMER AT PEPPERELL. 
 
 241 
 
 and yet not less characteristic. It relates to the early chapters 
 of his “ Conquest of Peru,” which, it will be remembered, he 
 had begun some months before, and in which he had been so 
 sadly interrupted by the death of his father. 
 
 May llth, 1845.—Finished writing — not corrected yet, from secre¬ 
 tary’s illness — Chapters I. and II. of narrative, text. On my nocto- 
 graph these two chapters make just twenty-nine sheets, which will scarcely 
 come to less than thirty-eight pages print. But we shall see, when the 
 copy, by which I can alone safely estimate, is made. I began composi¬ 
 tion Wednesday; finished Saturday noon ; about three days, or more than 
 twelve pages print per diem. I never did so much, I think, before in the 
 same time, though I have done more in a single day. At this rate, I 
 should work up the “ Peru ” — the two volumes — in just about two 
 months. Lord, deliver me ! What a fruitful author I might become, 
 were I so feloniously intent! Fdo de se, it would be more than all 
 others. 
 
 I have great doubts about the quality of this same homespun that has 
 run off so rapidly. I never found it so hard to come to the starting-point. 
 The first chapter was a perfectly painful task, as painful as I ever per¬ 
 formed at school. 1 II I should not have scraped over it in a month, but I 
 bound myself by a forfeit against time. Not a bad way (Mem.) to force 
 things out, that might otherwise rot from stagnation. A good way 
 enough for narrative, which requires only a little top-dressing. But for 
 the philosophy and all that of history, one must delve deeper, and I query 
 the policy of haste. It is among possibilities that I may have to rewrite 
 said first chapter, which is of the generalizing cast. The second, being 
 direct narrative, was pleasant work to me, and as good, I suppose, as the 
 raw material will allow. It is not cloth of gold by a long shot 1 A 
 hero that can’t read 1 I must look at some popular stories of high¬ 
 waymen. 
 
 May 18th, 1845.—The two chapters required a good deal of correction; 
 yet, on the whole, read pretty well. I now find that it only needed a 
 little courage at the outset to break the ice which had formed over my 
 ideas, and the current, set loose runs on naturally enough. I feel a return 
 of my old literary interest; am satisfied that this is the secret of content¬ 
 ment, of happiness, for me; happiness enough for any one in the passing 
 [day] and the reflection. I have written this week the few notes to be 
 hitched on here and there. They will be few and far between in this 
 work. The Spanish quotations corroborative of the text must be more 
 frequent. 
 
 The summer of 1845 he passed entirely at Peppered; the 
 first he had so spent for many years. It was, on the whole, a 
 most agreeable and salutary one. The earliest weeks of the 
 season were, indeed, saddened by recollections of his father, 
 
 1 This is tire first chapter and is on the civilization of the Incas. 
 
 II P 
 
242 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 peculiarly associated with everything about him on that spot 
 where from his infancy their intercourse had been more free 
 and unbroken than it could be amidst the business and cares 
 of the town. The mingled feelings of pleasure and sadness 
 which scenes and memories like these awakened are, I think, 
 very naturally and gracefully expressed in a letter, addressed 
 to Mrs. Ticknor, at Geneseo, New York, where we were pass¬ 
 ing the summer for her health, in frequent intercourse with 
 the cultivated family of the Wadsworths, to which our friend 
 alludes among the pleasures of our condition. 
 
 Pepperell, June 19, 1845. 
 
 Mi dear Anna, 
 
 I took a letter out of the post-office last evening which gladdened my 
 eyes, as I recognized the hand of a dear friend; and now take the first 
 return of daylight to answer it, and, as you see, ■with my own hand, 
 though this will delay it; for I cannot trust my broken-down nags to a 
 long heat. 
 
 I am rejoiced to hear that you are situated so much to your mind. 
 Fine scenery, with the rural quiet broken only by agreeable intercourse 
 with two or three polished families ; pleasant drives; books; the last 
 novel that is good for anything, and, of course, not very new; old books, 
 old friends, and most of these at corresponding distances; — what could 
 one desire more for the summer, except, indeed, not to be baked alive 
 with the heat, and a stomach not beset by the foul fiend Dyspepsia, 
 abhorred by gods and men, who has laid me on my back more than one 
 day here ? But we should not croak or be ungrateful. And yet, when 
 the horn is filled with plenty, it is apt to make the heart hard. 
 
 We lead a very rational way of life. A morning ride among these 
 green lanes, never so green as in the merry month of June, when the 
 whole natural world seems to be just turned out of the Creator’s hand; 
 a walk at noon, under the broad shades that the hands of my father pre¬ 
 pared for me ; a drive at evening, with Will or the Judge 2 officiating in 
 
 the saddle as squire of dames to Miss B-or to Miss C-, who 
 
 happens to be on a visit here at present; the good old stand-by, Sii 
 Walter, to bring up the evening. Nor must I omit the grateful fumes of 
 the segar to help digestion under the spreading branches of the old oilnut- 
 trees. So wags the day. “ How happily the hours of Thalaba went 
 
 s It was customary, in the affectionate intercourse of Mr. Prescott’s family, 
 to call the eldest son sometimes Will and sometimes “the Colonel,” because 
 his great-grandfather, of Bunker Hill memory, had been a Colonel; but the 
 youngest son, who was much of a pet, was almost always called “ the Judge,” 
 from the office once held by his grandfather. The historian himself long 
 wore the sobriquet of “ the Colonel,” which Dr. Gardiner gave him in his 
 school-boy days, and it was now handed down to another generation by 
 himself. 
 
LIFE IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 243 
 
 by! ” I try between-whiles to pick some grains of gold out of the 
 Andes. I hope the manufacture will not turn out mere copper-wash. 
 
 June 20. 
 
 Another day has flitted by, and with it my wife has flitted also ; gone 
 to town for a cook. 0 the joys, the pains of housekeeping ! The “ neat- 
 handed Phyllis ” who prepares our savory messes is in love, and fancies 
 herself homesick. So here I am monarch of all I survey, — a melan¬ 
 choly monarchy! The country never looked so charming to my eves ; 
 the fields were never spread with a richer green ; the trees never seemed 
 so flourishing; the streams never rolled fuller or brighter; and the moun 
 tain background fills up the landscape more magnificently than ever. 
 But it is all in mourning for me How can it be otherwise I Is it not 
 full of the most tender and saddening recollections"! Everything here 
 whispers to me of him; the trees that he planted ; the hawthorn hedges ; 
 the fields of grain as he planned them last year ; every occupation, — the 
 rides, the rambles, the social after-dinner talks, the evening novel, — all 
 speak to me of the friend, the father, with whom I have enjoyed them 
 from childhood. I have good bairns, as good as fall to the lot of most 
 men; a wife, whom a quarter of a century of love has made my better 
 half; but the sweet fountain of intellectual wisdom of which I have 
 drunk from boyhood is sealed to me forever. One bright spot in life has 
 become dark, — dark for this world, and for the future how doubtful 1 
 
 I endeavor to keep everything about me as it used to be in the good 
 old time. But the spirit which informed it all, and gave it its sweetest 
 grace, is fled. I have lead about the heart-strings, such as I never had 
 there before. Yet I never loved the spot half so well. 
 
 I am glad to hear that George is drinking of the old Castilian fount 
 again, so much at his leisure. I dare say, he will get some good 
 draughts at it in the quiet of Geneseo. I should like to break in on him 
 and you some day. Quien sabe ? as they say in the land of the hidalgo. 
 If I am obliged to take a journey, I shall set my horses that way. But 
 I shall abide here, if I can, till late in October. 
 
 Pray tell your old gentleman, that I have had letters from the Harper’s 
 expressing their surprise at an advertisement they had seen of a volume 
 of “ Miscellanies, Biographical and Critical,” in the London papers, and 
 that this had led to an exchange of notes, which will terminate doubtless 
 in the republication of the said work here, in the same style with its his¬ 
 torical predecessors. 
 
 My mother has not been with us yet. She is conducting the great 
 business of transmigration, and we get letters from her every other day. 
 The days of the auld manse are almost numbered. 3 
 
 The children send love to you and Anika. Elizabeth says she shall 
 W"ite to you soon. Pray remember me to your caro sposo, and believe 
 me always 
 
 Most truly and affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 * They were then removing from Bedford Street to Beacon Street, and the 
 old house in Bedford Street was about to be pulled down. 
 
244 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 But, notwithstanding the discouragements suggested in the 
 preceding letter, his work went on well in the country. His 
 habits were as regular as the most perfect control of his own 
 time could enable him to make them, and the amount of exer¬ 
 cise he took was more than usual; for the heats of the interior, 
 so much greater than anything of the sort to which he had 
 been accustomed on the sea-co^at, had made the assaults of 
 his old enemy, the dyspepsia, more active than ever, and had 
 compelled him to be more than ever in the open air. He rose, 
 as he always did, early, and, unless prevented by rain, got an 
 hour and a half in the saddle before breakfast. At noon he 
 walked half an hour in the shade of his own trees, and towards 
 evening drove an hour and a half, commonly stopping so as to 
 lounge for a mile or two on foot in some favorite woodland. 
 In this way he went through the summer without any very 
 severe attack, and did more work than usual. 4 One result of 
 it, however, was, that he became more than ever enamored of 
 his country life, and hoped that he should be able to enjoy it 
 for at least six months in every year. But he never did. 
 Indeed, he was never at Pepperell afterwards as long, in any 
 summer, as he was during this one. 
 
 On reaching town, he established himself at once in a house 
 he had bought in Beacon Street, overlooking the fine open 
 ground of the Mall and the old Common. The purchase had 
 been made in the preceding spring, when, during the adjust¬ 
 ment of his father’s affairs, he determined on a change of 
 residence, as both useful and pleasant. He did not, however, 
 leave the old house in Bedford Street without a natural regret. 
 When he was making his first arrangements for it, he said, 
 “ It will remove me from my old haunts and the scenes of 
 many a happy and some few sad hours. May my destinies he 
 as fortunate in my new residence ! ” 
 
 The process of settlement in his new house, from which he 
 expected no little discomfort, was yet more disagreeable than 
 he had anticipated. He called it, “ a month of Pandemonium; 
 
 4 He records, for instance, that he wrote in June two chapters, one of 
 twenty-five, and the other of twenty-six printed pages, in four days, adding: 
 “ I never did up so much yarn in the same time. At this rate, Peru would 
 not hold out six months. Can 1 finish it in a year ? Alas for the reader 1 
 
TROUBLE IN HIS EYE. 
 
 245 
 
 An unfurnished house coming to order; parlors without furni¬ 
 ture ; a library without boohs ; books without time to open 
 them. Old faces, new faces, but not the sweet face of Nature.” 
 
 Early in December, however, the removal was complete; 
 the library-room, which he had built, was filled with his 
 books ; a room over it was secured for quiet study, and his 
 regular work was begun. The first entry in his memoranda 
 after this revolution was one on the completion of a year from 
 his father’s death. “ How rapidly,” he says, “ has it flitted. 
 How soon will the little [remaining] space be over for me and 
 mine ! His death has given me a new position in life, — a 
 new way of life altogether, — and a different view of it from 
 what I had before. I have many, many blessings left; family, 
 friends, fortune. May I be sensible of them, and may I so 
 live that I may be permitted to join him again in the long 
 hereafter.” 
 
 He was now in earnest about the “ Conquest of Peru,” and 
 determined to finish it by the end of December, 1846. But 
 he found it very difficult to begin his work afresh. He there¬ 
 fore, in his private memoranda, appealed to his own conscience 
 in every way he could, by exhortation and rebuke, so as to 
 stimulate his flagging industry. He even resorted to his old 
 expedient of a money wager. At last, after above a month, 
 he succeeded. A little later, he was industrious to his heart’s 
 content, and obtained an impulse which carried him well 
 onward. 
 
 His collection of materials for the. “ History of the Conquest 
 of Peru ” he found to be more complete even than that for 
 the corresponding period in Mexico. The characters, too, that 
 were to stand in the foreground of Iris scene, turned out more 
 interesting and important than he had anticipated, and so did 
 the prominent points of the action and story. No doubt the 
 subject itself, considered as a whole, was less grave and grand 
 than that of the “ Conquest of Mexico,” but it was ample and 
 interesting enough for the two volumes he had devoted to it; 
 and, from the beginning of the year 1846, he went on his 
 course with cheerfulness and spirit. 
 
 Once, indeed, he was interrupted. In March he “ strained,” 
 as he was wont to describe such an access of trouble, the nerve 
 
246 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 of the eye severely. “ Heaven knows how,” he says, “ proba¬ 
 bly by manuscript-digging; and the last fortnight, ever since 
 March 10th, I have not read or written, in all, five minutes 
 on my History, nor ten minutes on anything else. My notes 
 have since been written by ear-work; snail-like progress. I 
 must not use my eye for reading nor writing a word again, till 
 restored. When will that be ? Eheu ! pazienza ! ” 
 
 It was a long time before he recovered any tolerable use of 
 his sight; — never such as he had enjoyed during a large part 
 of the time when he was preparing the “ Conquest of Mexico.” 
 On the 4th of May, 1846, he records : — 
 
 My fiftieth birth-day ; a half-century ! This is getting on with a ven¬ 
 geance. It is one of those frightful halting-places in a man’s life, that 
 may make him reflect a little. But half a century is too long a road to 
 be looked over in half an hour; so I will defer it — till when ? But 
 what have I done the last year I Not misspent much of it. The first 
 eleven months, from April 26th, 1845, to March 26th, 1846, I wrote five 
 hundred and twenty pages, text and notes, of my “ Conquest of Peru.” 
 The quantity is sufficient, and, in the summer especially, my industry was 
 at fever-heat. But I fear I have pushed the matter indiscreetly. 
 
 My last entry records a strain of the nerve, and my eye continued in so 
 disabled a state that, to give it a respite and recruit my strength, I made a 
 journey to Washington. I spent nearly a week there, and another at New 
 York on my return, which, with a third, on the road, took up three weeks. 
 I was provided with a very agreeable fellow-traveller in my excellent 
 friend, Charles Sumner. The excursion has done me sensible benefit, 
 both bodily and mental. I saw much that interested me in Washington; 
 made many acquaintances that I recollect with pleasure; and in New 
 York I experienced the same hearty hospitality that I have always found 
 there.I put myself under Dr. Elliott’s hands, and his local ap¬ 
 
 plications to the eye were of considerable advantage to me. The appliea 
 tion of these remedies, which I continue to use, has done much to restore 
 the morbid circulation, and I have hope that, with a temperate use of the 
 eye, I may still find it in order for going on with my literary labors. But 
 I have symptoms of its decay not to be mistaken or disregarded. I shall 
 not aspire to more than three hours’ use of it in any day, and for the rest 
 I must facit per aiium . 5 This will retard my progress; but I have time 
 enough, being only half a century old ; and why should I press I 
 
 6 Qui facit per aiium, facit per se. A pun made originally by Mr. T. Bige¬ 
 low, a distinguished lawyer of this neighborhood, who was at one time Speaker 
 of the House of Representatives, and otherwise much connected with the 
 government of the Commonwealth. The pleasantry in question may be 
 found happily recorded at p. 110 of a little volume of “ Miscellanies,” pub¬ 
 lished in 1821, by Mr. William Tudor, a most agreeable and accomplished 
 person, who died as our Charge ctAffaires in Brazil. Mr. Bigelow, still re- 
 
FINISHES “CONQUEST OF PERU.” 
 
 247 
 
 But in these hopes he soon found himself disappointed. He 
 with difficulty strengthened his sight so far that he was able to 
 use his eye half an hour a day, and even this modicum soon 
 fell back to ten minutes. He was naturally much disheartened 
 by it. “ It takes the strength out of me,” he said. 
 
 But it did not take out the courage. He was abstinent from 
 work, and careful; he used the remedies appointed ; and econo¬ 
 mized his resources of all kind as well as he could. The hot 
 weeks of the season, beginning June 25th, except a pleasant 
 excursion to Albany, in order to be present at the marriage 
 of Miss Yan Rensselaer and his friend, Mr. N. Thayer, were 
 passed at Nahant, and he found, as he believed, benefit to his 
 eye, and his dyspepsia, from the sea-air, although it was rude 
 in itself and full of rheumatism. He was even able, by per¬ 
 haps a rather too free use of the active remedies given him, to 
 read sometimes two hours a day, though rarely more than one 
 and a half; but he was obliged to divide this indulgence into 
 several minute portions, and separate them by considerable 
 intervals of repose. 
 
 The rest of the season, which he passed at Pepperell, was 
 equally favorable to effort and industry. His last chapter —• 
 the beautiful one on the latter part of Gasca’s healing adminis¬ 
 tration of the affairs of Peru, and the character of that wise 
 and beneficent statesman — was finished in a morning’s gallop 
 through the woods, which were then, at the end of October, 
 shedding their many-colored honors on his head. The last 
 notes were completed a little later, November 7th, making just 
 about two years and three months for the two volumes. But 
 he seems to have pushed his work somewhat indiscreetly at 
 last; for, when he closed it, the resources of his sight were 
 again considerably diminished. 
 
 The composition of the “ Conquest of Peru ” was, therefore, 
 finished within the time he had set for it a year previously, 
 and, the work being put to press without delay, the printing 
 wa3 completed in the latter part of March, 1847 ; about two 
 
 membered by a few of us, as be was in Mr. Tudor’s time, for “ bis stores 
 of humor and anecdote,” was the father of Mrs. Abbott Lawrence, and 
 the grandfather of Mr. James Lawrence, who, as elsewhere noted, married 
 the only daughter of Mr. Prescott the historian. 
 
248 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 years and nine months from the day when he first put pen tu 
 paper. It made just a thousand pages, exclusive of the Appen¬ 
 dix, and was stereotyped under the careful correction and super¬ 
 vision of his friend, Mr. Folsom, of Cambridge. 
 
 While it was passing through the press, or just as the stereo¬ 
 typing was fairly begun, he made a contract with the Messrs. 
 Harper to pay for seven thousand five hundred copies on the 
 day of publication at the rate of one dollar per copy, to be sold 
 within two years, and to continue to publish at the same rate 
 afterwards, or to surrender the contract to the author at his 
 pleasure ; terms, I suppose, more liberal than had ever been 
 offered for a work of grave history on this side of the Atlantic. 
 In London it was published by Mr. Bentley, who purchased 
 the copyright for eight hundred pounds, under the kind auspi¬ 
 ces of Colonel Aspinwall; again a large sum, as it was already 
 doubtful whether an exclusive privilege could be legally main¬ 
 tained in Great Britain by a foreigner. 
 
 An author rarely or never comes to the front of the stage 
 and makes his bow to the public without some anxiety. The 
 present case was not an exception to the general rule. Not¬ 
 withstanding the solid and settled reputation of “ Ferdinand 
 and Isabella,” and the brilliant success of the “ Conquest of 
 Mexico,” their author was certainly not free from misgivings 
 when his new argosy was launched. He felt that his subject 
 had neither the breadth and importance of the subjects of 
 those earlier works, nor the poetical interest that constituted 
 so attractive an element in the last of them. About negli¬ 
 gence in the matter of his style, too, he had some fears; for 
 he had written the “ Conquest of Peru ” with a rapidity that 
 might have been accounted remarkable in one who had the 
 free use of his eyes, turning off sometimes sixteen printed 
 pages in a day, and not infrequently ten or a dozen. About 
 the statement of facts he had no anxiety. He had been care¬ 
 ful and conscientious, as he always was; and, except for mis¬ 
 takes trifling, accidental, and inevitable, honest criticism, he 
 knew, could not approach him. 
 
 But whatever might have been his feelings when the “ Con¬ 
 quest of Peru ” first came from the press, there was soon noth¬ 
 ing of doubt mingled with them. The reviews, great and 
 
THE EDINBURGH REVIEW.’ 
 
 249 
 
 small, at home and in Europe, spoke out at once loudly and 
 plainly ; but the public spoke yet louder and plainer. In live 
 mouths five thousand copies of the American edition had been 
 sold. At about the same time, an edition of half that number 
 had been exhausted in England. It had been republished in 
 the original in Paris, and translations were going on into 
 French, German, Spanish, and Dutch. A more complete suc¬ 
 cess in relation to an historical work of so much consequence 
 could, I suppose, hardly have been asked by any author, how¬ 
 ever much he might previously have been favored by the 
 public. 6 
 
 MEMORANDA. 
 
 May 18th, 1845. — I received the “ Edinburgh Review ” this week. It 
 contains an article on the “ Conquest of Mexico,” written with great spirit 
 and elegance, and by far the most cordial as well as encomiastic I have ever 
 received from a British journal; much beyond, I suspect, what the public 
 will think I merit. It says, — Nothing in the conduct of the work they 
 would wish otherwise, — tiiat I unite the qualifications of the best histori¬ 
 cal writers of the day, Scott, Napier, Tytler, — is emphatic in the com¬ 
 mendation of the style, &c., &c. I begin to have a high opinion of Re¬ 
 views ! The only fault they find with me is, that I deal too hardly with 
 Corte's. Shade of Montezuma ! They say I have been blind several 
 years ! The next tiling, I shall hear of a subscription set on foot for the 
 blind Yankee author. But I have written to the editor, Napier, to set it 
 right, if he thinks it worth while. Received also twenty columns of 
 “ newspaperial ” criticisms on the “ Conquest,” in a succession of papers 
 from Quebec. I am certainly the cause of some wit, and much folly, in 
 others. 
 
 Iii relation to the mistake in the “ Edinburgh Review ” 
 about his blindness, lie expressed his feelings very naturally 
 and very characteristically, when writing immediately after¬ 
 wards, to his friend, Colonel Aspinwall, London. He was too 
 proud to submit willingly to commiseration, and too honest to 
 accept praise for difficulties greater than he had really over¬ 
 come. 
 
 “I am very much obliged to you,” he wrote May 15th, 1845, “for 
 your kind suggestion about the error in the ‘ Edinburgh Review ’ on my 
 blindness. I have taken the hint and written myself to the editor, Mr. 
 Napier, by this steamer. I have set him right about the matter, and he 
 can correct it, if he thinks it worth while. I can’t say I like to be called 
 
 « To January 1, I860, there had been sold of the American and English 
 eui 1 ions of the “ Conquest of Peru,” 16,965 copies. 
 
 11 * 
 
250 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 blind. I Lave, it is true, but one eye; but that has done me some service, 
 and, with fair usage, will, I trust, do me some more. I have been so 
 troubled with inflammations, that I have not been able use it for months, 
 and twice for several years together.” 
 
 The following letter from the editor of the “ Edinburgh 
 Review ” to Mr. Everett, then American Minister in London, 
 and the subsequent memorandum of Mr. Prescott himself, 
 show the end of this slight matter. 
 
 FROM MACVEY NAPIER, ESQ. 
 
 Edinburgh, June 10, 1846. 
 
 Dear Sie, 
 
 A short absence in the country has till now prevented me from acknowl¬ 
 edging the receipt of the flattering letter of the 2d with which you have 
 been pleased to honor me, covering a very acceptable enclosure from Mr. 
 Prescott. 
 
 Thank God, there is an extensive as well as rich neutral territory of 
 science and literature, where the two nations may, and ever ought to meet, 
 without any of those illiberal feelings and degrading animosities which too 
 often impart a malignant aspect to the intercourse and claims of civil life; 
 and it has really given me high satisfaction to find, that both you and Mr. 
 Prescott himself are satisfied that his very great merits have been kindly 
 proclaimed in the article which I have lately had the pleasure of inserting 
 in the “ Edinburgh Review.” 
 
 I hope I may request that, when you shall have any call otherwise to 
 write to Mr. Prescott, you will convey to him the expression of my satis¬ 
 faction at finding that he is pleased with the meed of honest approbation 
 that is there awarded to him. 
 
 I am truly glad to learn from that gentleman himself, that the statement 
 as to his total blindness, which I inserted in a note to the article, on what 
 I thought good authority, proves to be inaccurate; and from his wish — 
 natural to a lofty spirit—that he should not be thought to have originated 
 or countenanced any statement as to the additional merits of historical re¬ 
 search which so vast a bereavement would infer, I shall take an opportu¬ 
 nity to correct my mistake; a communication which will, besides, prove 
 most welcome to the learned world. 
 
 With respect to the authorship of the article, there needs to be no hesi¬ 
 tation to proclaim it. With the exception of a very few editorial inser¬ 
 tions and alterations, which do not by any means enhance its merits, it 
 was wholly written by Mr. Charles Phillipps, — a young barrister and son 
 of Mr. Phillipps, one of the Under-Secretaries of State for the Home-De¬ 
 partment. lie is the author of some other very valuable contributions. 
 You are quite at liberty to mention this to Mr. Prescott. 
 
 I have the honor to remain, with very great esteem, dear sir. 
 
 Your obliged and faithful servant, 
 
 Macvev Napibk. 
 
 To his Excellency E. Everett. London. 
 
LETTERS TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 251 
 
 MEMORANDUM. 
 
 August 10th, 1845. — The editor of last “Edinburgh Review” has 
 politely inserted a note correcting the statement, in a preceding number, 
 of my blindness, on pretty good authority, — viz. myself. So I trust it 
 will find credit. 
 
 TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 Pepperell,, Sept. 28, 1845. 
 
 .Th8 Gasca manuscript, which I believe is in the box, will be in 
 
 perfect season, as I am yet a good distance from that period. 7 I have been 
 very industrious this summer, having written half a volume in these quiet 
 shades of Pepperell. This concludes my first volume, of which the In¬ 
 troduction, about one hundred and fifty pages, took me a long while. The 
 rest will be easy sailing enough, though I wish my hero was more of a 
 gentleman and less of a bandit. I shall not make more than a brace of 
 volumes, I am resolved. Ford has sent me his “Handbook of Spain.” 
 What an olla podrida it is ! — criticism, travels, history, topography, &c., 
 &c., all in one. It is a perfect treasure in its way, and will save me the 
 trouble of a voyage to Spain, if I should be inclined to make it before 
 writing “ Philip.” He speaks of you like a gentleman, as he ought to 
 do ; and I have come better out of his hands than I did once on a 
 time. 
 
 Have you got the copy of my “Miscellanies” I ordered for you? You 
 will see my portrait in it, which shows more imagination than anything 
 else in the book, I believe. The great staring eyes, however, will show 
 that I am not blind, —- that’s some comfort. 
 
 TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 Boston, Nov. 13, 1845. 
 
 .... And now, my dear friend, I want to say a word about the man¬ 
 uscripts, which I found awaiting me on my return to town. I have as 
 yet, with the aid of my secretary’s eyes, looked through only about half 
 of them. They are very precious documents. The letters from San 
 Geronimo de Yuste have much interest, and show that Charles the Fifth 
 was not, as Robertson supposed, a retired mouk, who resigned the world, 
 and all the knowledge of it, when he resigned his crown. I see mentioned 
 in a statement of the manuscripts discovered by Gonzales, printed in our 
 newspapers and written by Mr. Wheaton, our Minister at Berlin, that one 
 of these documents was a diary kept by the Major Domo Quixada and 
 Yasquez de Molina, the Emperor’s private secretary, to be transmitted to 
 Dona Juana, the Princess of Portugal; which journal contains a minute 
 account of his health, actions, and conversation, &c., and that the diary 
 furnished one great source of Gonzales’s information. It is now, I sup- 
 
 * An important MS. relating to the administration of Gasca in Peru. 
 
252 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 pose, too late to get it, as most probably the situation of the manuscript w 
 not known to the clerks of the archives. Mignet told a friend of mine that 
 he should probably publish some of the most important documents he had 
 got from Gonzales before long. I have no trouble on that score, as I feel 
 already strong enough with your kind assistance. The documents relating 
 to the Armada have extraordinary interest. The despatches of Philip are 
 eminently characteristic of the man, and show that nothing, great or little, 
 was done without his supervision. We are just now exploring the letters 
 of the Santa Cruz collection. But this I have done only at intervals, 
 when I could snatch leisure. In a week or two I hope to be settled. 
 
 TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 Boston, Aug. 81, 1846. 
 
 .The translation 8 appears faithful, as far as I have compared it. 
 
 As to its literary execution in other respects, a foreigner cannot decide. 
 But I wish you svould give my thanks to the translator for the pleasure it 
 has given me. His notes on the whole arc courteous, though they show 
 that Senor Sabau has contemplated the ground often, from a different 
 point of view from myself. But this is natural. For am I not the child 
 of democracy 1 Yet no bigoted one, I assure you. I am no friend to 
 bigotry in politics or religion, and I believe that forms are not so impor¬ 
 tant as the manner in which they are administered. The mechanical ex¬ 
 ecution of the book is excellent. It gives me real pleasure to see myself 
 put into so respectable a dress in Madrid. I prize a translation into the 
 noble Castilian more than any other tongue. For if my volumes are 
 worthy of translation into it, it is the best proof that I have not wasted 
 my time, and that I have contributed something in reference to the insti¬ 
 tutions aud history of the country which the Spaniards themselves would 
 not willingly let die. 
 
 TO THE CAVALIERE EUGENIO ALBERI, FLOBENCE. 
 
 Boston, Oct. 13, 1846. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I have great pleasure in acknowledging the receipt of the six volumes 
 of Relazioni, which you have been so obliging as to send me through Mr. 
 Lester. 
 
 It is a work of inestimable value, and furnishes the most authentic basis 
 for history. Your method of editing it appears to me admirable. The 
 brief but comprehensive historical and chronological notices at the begin¬ 
 ning, and your luminous annotations throughout, put the reader in pos¬ 
 session of all the information he can desire in regard to the subjects 
 treated in the Relazioni. At the close of the third volume, on the Otto¬ 
 mans, you place an Index of the contents of the volume, which is a great 
 convenience. 
 
 8 Of “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” by Sabnu. 
 
LETTER FROM MISS EDGEWORTH. 
 
 253 
 
 I suppose, from what you say in the Preface, there will be a full Index 
 of the whole when completed. 
 
 I have a number of Venetian Relazioni in manuscript, copied from the 
 libraries of Berlin and Gotha. They relate to the court of Philip the 
 Second, on which you must now, 1 suppose, be occupied, and I shall look 
 forward to the conclusion of your learned labors with the greatest interest. 
 Many of your manuscripts, I see, are derived from the Marquis Gino 
 Capponi’s collection. It must be very rich indeed. — I am much grieved 
 to learn that his eyes have now failed him altogether. My own privations 
 in this way, though I have the partial use of my eyes, make me feel how 
 heavy a blow it is to a scholar like him. It is gratifying to reflect that 
 he bears up under it with so much courage, and that the misfortune does 
 not quench his generous enthusiasm for letters. Pray give my sincere 
 respects and regards to him, for, though I never saw him, I had the 
 pleasure formerly of communicating with him, and I know his character 
 so well that I feel as if I knew him personally. 
 
 FROM MISS MARIA EDGEWORTH. 
 
 Edgeworth’s Town, Aug. 28,1847. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your Preface to your “ History of the Conquest of Peru ” is most 
 interesting; especially that part which concerns the author individually. 
 That delicate integrity which made him apprehend that he had received 
 praise or sympathy from the world on false pretences, converts what 
 might have been pity into admiration, without diminishing the feeling for 
 his suffering and his privations, against which he has so nobly, so perse- 
 veringly, so successfully struggled. Our admiration and highest esteem 
 now are commanded by his moral courage and truth. 
 
 What pleasure and pride — honest, proper pride — you must feel, my 
 dear Mr. Prescott, in the sense of difficulty conquered ; of difficulties 
 innumerable vanquished by the perseverance and fortitude of genius 1 It 
 is a fine example to human nature, and will form genius to great works 
 in the rising generation and in ages yet unborn. 
 
 What a new and ennobling moral view of posthumous fame ! A view 
 which short-sighted, narrow-minded mediocrity cannot reach, and probably 
 would call romantic, but which the noble-minded realize to themselves, 
 and ask not either the sympathy or the comprehension of the common¬ 
 place ones. You need not apologize for speaking of yourself to the 
 world. No one in the world, whose opinion is worth looking to, will 
 ever think or call this “ egotism,” any more than they did in the case of 
 Sir Walter Scott. Whenever he spoke of himself it was with the same 
 noble and engaging simplicity, the same endearing confidence in the sym¬ 
 pathy of the good and true-minded, and the same real freedom from all 
 vanity which we see in your addresses to the public. 
 
 As to your judgments of the advantages peculiar to each of your His¬ 
 tories, — the “ Conquest of Mexico ” and the “ Conquest of Peru,” — 
 ot course you, who have considered and compared them in all lights, must 
 be accurate in your estimate of the facility or difficulty each subject pre- 
 
254 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PKESCOTT. 
 
 sented ; and you have well pointed out in your Preface to “ Peru " the 
 difficulty of making out a unity of subject, — where, in fact, the first 
 unity ends, as we may dramatically consider it, at the third act, when the 
 conquest of the Incas is effected, — but not the conquest of Peru for 
 Spain, which is the thing to be done. You have admirably kept the 
 mind’s eye upon this, the real end, and have thus carried on, and pro¬ 
 longed, and raised, as you carried forward, the interest sustained to the 
 last moment happily by the noble character of Gasca, with which termi¬ 
 nates the history of the mission to Peru. 
 
 You sustain with the dignity of a just historian your mottoes from 
 Claudian and from Lope de Vega. And in doing this con amore you 
 carry with you the sympathy of your reader. The cruelties of the Span¬ 
 iards to the inoffensive, amiable, hospitable, trusting Peruvians and their 
 Incas are so revolting, that, unless you had given vent to indignation, the 
 reader’s natural, irrepressible feelings would have turned against the nar¬ 
 rator, in whom even impartiality would have been suspected of want of 
 moral sense. 
 
 I wish that you could have gone further into that comparison or in¬ 
 quiry which you have touched upon and so ably pointed out for further 
 inquiry, — How far the want of political freedom is compatible or incom 
 patible with happiness or virtue 1 You well observe, that under the Incas 
 this experiment was tried, or was trying, upon the Peruvians, and that the 
 contrary experiment is now trying in America. Much may be said, 
 but much more is to be seen, on both sides of this question. There is a 
 good essay by a friend of mine, perhaps of yours, the late Abbe' Morel- 
 let, upon the subject of personal and political freedom. I wonder what 
 your negroes would say touching the comforts of slavery. They seem to 
 feel freedom a curse, when suddenly given, and, when unprepared for the 
 consequences of independence, lie down with the cap of liberty pulled 
 over their ears and go to sleep or to death in some of our freed, lazy colo¬ 
 nies and the empire of Hayti. But, I suppose, time and motives will 
 settle all this, and waken souls in black bodies as well as in white. Mean¬ 
 while, I cannot but wish you had discussed a little more tiffs question, 
 even if you had come upon the yet more difficult question of races, and 
 their unconquerable, or their conquerable or exhaustible differences. Who 
 could do this so well f 
 
 I admire your adherence to your principle of giving evidence in your 
 notes and appendices for your own accuracy, and allowing your own opin¬ 
 ions to be rejudged by your readers in furnishing them with the means of 
 judging which they could not otherwise procure, and which you, having 
 obtained with so much labor and so much favor from high and closed 
 sources, bring before us gratis with such unostentatious candor and hu 
 mility. 
 
 I admire and favor, too, your practice of mixing biography with his¬ 
 tory ; genuine sayings and letters by which the individuals give their own 
 character and their own portraits. And I thank you for the quantity of 
 information you give in the notices of the principal authorities to whom 
 you refer. These biographical notices add weight and value to the 
 authorities, in the most agreeable manner ; — though I own that I was 
 often mortified by my own ignorance of the names you mention of great 
 
LETTER FROM M. AUGUSTIN THIERRY. 
 
 255 
 
 men, your familiars. — You have made me long to have know? your 
 admirable friend, Don Fernandez de Navarrete, of whom you make such 
 honorable and touching mention in your Preface. 
 
 1 must content, myself, however, — and comfortably well I do content 
 myself, — with knowing your dear friend Mr. Ticknor, whom I do esteem 
 and admire with all my heart, as you do. 
 
 You mention Mr. O. Rich as a bibliographer to whom you have been 
 obliged. It occurred to rne that this might be the Mr. O. Rich residing 
 in London, to whom Mr. Ticknor had told me I might apply to convey 
 packets or books to him, and, upon venturing to ask the question, Mr 
 Rich answered rne in the most obliging manner, confirming, though with 
 great humility, his identity, and offering to convey any packets 1 might 
 ■wish to send to Boston. 
 
 I yesterday sent to him a parcel to go in his next box of books to Mr. 
 Ticknor. In it I have put, addressed to the care of Mr. Ticknor, a very 
 trifling offering for you, my dear sir, which, trifling as it is, I hope and 
 trust your good nature will not disdain, — half a dozen worked marks to 
 put in books ; and I intended those to be used in your books of reference 
 when you are working, as I hope you are, or will be, at your magnum 
 opus, — the History of Spain. One of these marks, that which is marked 
 in green silk, “Maria E-for Prescott’s works ” !!! is my own handi¬ 
 
 work every stitch ; in my eighty-first year, -— eighty-two almost, — I shall 
 be eighty-two the 1st of January. I am proud of being able, even in this 
 trifling matter, to join my young friends in this family in working souvenirs 
 for the great historian. 
 
 Believe me, my dear Mr. Prescott, your much obliged and highly grati¬ 
 fied friend, and admiring reader and marker, 
 
 Maria Edgeworth. 
 
 TO DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 Boston, Jan. 27, 1848. 
 
 ..... I have been overhauling my Philip the Second treasures, and 
 making out a catalogue of them. It is as beautiful a collection, printed 
 and manuscript, I will venture to say, as history-monger ever had on his 
 shelves. How much am I indebted to you! There are too many of 
 your own books in it, however, by half, and you must not fail to advise 
 me when you want any or all of them, which I can easily understand 
 may be the case at any time. 
 
 FROM M. AUGUSTIN THIERRY. 
 
 Monsieur, 
 
 Pardonnez moi le long retard qne j’ai mis is vous remercier du pre- 
 eieux envoi que vous avez eu la bontd de me faire; la lenteur de mes 
 lectures d’aveugle, surtout en langue etrangere, le peu de loisir que me 
 laisse le trine etat de ma santd et des travaux imperieux auxquels j’ai 
 peine a suffire, voila quelies ont ete' les causes de ma negligence apparent* 
 
WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT 
 
 25 G 
 
 ii remplir un devoir de gratitude et de haute estime pour vous. Je voa- 
 lais avoir completement lu vos deux nouveaux et tres remarquables 
 volumes. Je trouve que, pour le fond, pour les recherches, la nettcte et 
 la justesse des vues, ils sout egaux 'a vos prece'dentes publications, et que 
 peut-etre ils les surpassent pour la forme. Lc style est sobre et ferine, 
 l’exposition nette et la partie dramatique de l’histoire vivement traitee. 
 Poursuivez, Monsieur, des travaux dont le succbs e'gale le me'rite, et qui 
 ont rendu votre nom illustre de ce cote-ei de l’Atlantique; donnezleur 
 toute l’e'tendue que vos projets comportaient, et ne vous laissez pas 
 decourager par la menace d’un mal qui, —j’en ai fait l’experience, — est, 
 dans la carriere d’historien, une gene, un embarras, mais nullement un 
 obstacle. 
 
 Vous me demandez si la ne'cessite, mere de toute industrie, ne m’a pas 
 sugge're quelques me'thodes partieulieres, qui atte'nuent pour moi les diffi- 
 culte's du travail d’aveugle. Je suis force? d’avouer que je n’ai rien 
 d’interessant a vous dire. Ma fayon de travailler est la meme qu’au tems 
 oir j’avais l’usage de mes yeux, si ce n’est que je dicte et me fais lire; 
 je me fais lire tous les materiaux que j’emploie, car je ne m’en rapporte 
 qu’a moi-meine pour l’cxactitude des recherches et le choix des notes. II 
 re'sulte de la une eertaiue perte de temps. Le travail est long, mais voila 
 tout ; je marche lentement mais je marche. II n’y a qu’un moment diffi¬ 
 cile, e’est le passage subit de l’ecriture manuelle a la dictee; auand uno 
 fois ce point est gagne', on ne trouve plus de veri tables e'pines. Peut-etre, 
 Monsieur, avez-vous dejii l’habitude de dieter It un secretaire; si ccla est, 
 mettez vous it la faire exclusivement, et ne vous inquietez pas du reste. 
 En quelques semaines vous deviendrez ce que je suis moi-meme, aussi 
 calrne, aussi present d’esprit pour tous les de'tails du style que si je 
 travaillais avec mes yeux, la plume a la main. Ce n’est pas au point oil 
 vous etes parvenu qu’on s’arrete ; vous avez eprouve' vos forces ; elles ne 
 vous manqueront pas ; et le succCs est certain pour tout ce que vous ten- 
 terez de'formais. Je suivrai de loin vos travaux avec la sympathie d’un 
 ami de votre gloire; croyez le, Monsieur, et agre'ez avec mes remerciments 
 les plus vifs, 1’assurance de mes sentiments d’affection et d’admiration. 
 
 P. Augustin Thiebby. 
 
 22 Fevrier, 1848. 
 
 FROM MR. HALLAM. 
 
 Wilton Crescent, London, July 18, 1848. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I hope that you will receive with this letter, or at least very soon after¬ 
 wards, a volume which I have intrusted to the care of our friend, Mr. 
 Bancroft. 9 It contains only the gleanings of the harvest, and I can 
 hardly find a sufficiently modest name for it. After thirty years I found 
 more to add, and, I must say, more to correct, in my work on the “ Mid¬ 
 dle Ages,” than could well be brought into the foot-notes of a new edition. 
 I have consequently produced, under the title “ Supplemental Notes,” 
 
 8 Then Minister of the United States in London. 
 
LETTER FROM THE EARL OF CARLISLE. 
 
 257 
 
 almost a new volume, but referring throughout to the original work, so 
 that it cannot be of any utility to those who do not compare the two. 
 This is, perhaps, rather a clumsy kind of composition, and I am far from 
 expecting much reputation by it: but I really hope that it may be useful 
 to the readers of the former volumes. A great deal required expansion 
 and illustration, besides what I must in penitence confess to be the over¬ 
 sights and errors of the work itself. I have great pleasure, however, in 
 sending copies to my friends, both here and what few I possess in the 
 United States; and among them I am proud to rank your name, sep¬ 
 arated as we are by the Atlantic barrier, which at my age it would be too 
 adventurous to pass. Rumors have from time to time reached me, that, 
 notwithstanding the severe visitation of Providence under which you labor, 
 you have contemplated yourself so arduous a voyage. May you have 
 health and spirits to accomplish it, while I yet remain on earth! But I 
 have yesterday entered my seventy-second year. 
 
 I will not speak of the condition of Europe. You have been conver¬ 
 sant with the history of great and rapid revolutions; but nothing in the 
 past annals of mankind can be set by the side of the last months. We 
 rejoice in trembling, that God has hitherto spared this nation ; but the 
 principles of disintegration, which France and Germany are so terribly 
 suffering under, cannot but be at work among us. 
 
 I trust that you are proceeding as rapidly as circumstances will permit 
 with your fourth great History, that of Philip the Second. It always 
 appears marvellous to me, how you achieve so much under so many im¬ 
 pediments. 
 
 Believe me, my dear sir. 
 
 Most faithfully yours, 
 
 Henry Hallam. 
 
 TO MRS. LYELL. 
 
 Naiiant, Fitful Head, Aug. 5, 1848. 
 
 .We are passing our summer in our rocky eyrie at Nahant, tak¬ 
 ing in the cool breezes that blow over the waters, whose spray is dashing 
 up incessantly under my window. I am idly-busy with looking over my 
 Philip the Second collection, like one who looks into the dark gulf, into 
 which he is afraid to plunge. Had I half an eye in my head, I should not 
 “ stand shivering on the brink ” so long. The Ticknors are at a very 
 pleasant place on the coast, some twenty miles off, at Manchester. I hear 
 from them constantly, but see them rarely. 
 
 FROM THE EARL OF CARLISLE. 
 
 London, Nov. 18, 1848. 
 
 Mr dear Prescott, 
 
 I sadly fear that, if a strict investigation of my last date took place, it 
 would be found that I had lagged behind the yearly bargain; and I fear I 
 am the delinquent. I will honestly own why I put off writing for some 
 
 Q 
 
258 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLLNG PRESCOTT. 
 
 time; I wished to have read your “ Peru” before I did so, and to tell you 
 what I thought of it. I will carry my honesty further, and intrepidly 
 avow, that I still labor under the same disqualification, though in fact this 
 is both my shame and my merit, for I am very sure it would have been a 
 far more agreeable and delightful occupation to me than the many tedious, 
 harassing shreds of business which engross and rule all my horns. I can 
 as honestly tell you, that I have heard very high and most concurrent 
 praise of it, and there are many who prefer it to “ Mexico.” I wonder 
 what you are engaged upon now; is it the ancient project of “ Philip the 
 Second ” t 
 
 Europe is in the meanwhile acting history faster than you can write it. 
 The web becomes more inextricable every day, and the tissues do not wear 
 lighter hues. I think our two Saxon families present very gratifying con¬ 
 trasts, on the whole, to all this fearful pother. 
 
 You will probably be aware, that my thoughts and feelings must have 
 of late been mainly concentrated upon a domestic bereavement, 10 and, at 
 the end of my letter, you will read a new name. After my long silence, I 
 was really anxious to take a very early opportunity of assuring you that it 
 inherits and hopes to perpetuate all the esteem and affection for you that 
 were acquired under the old one. My dear friend, absence and distance 
 only rivet on my spirit the delight of claiming communion with such a one 
 as yours; for I am sure it is still as bright, gentle, and high-toned, as 
 when I first gave myself to its spell. 
 
 I must not write to his brother-historian without mentioning that Ma¬ 
 caulay tells me the two first volumes of bis History will be out in less than 
 a fortnight. Tell Sumner how unchangedly I feel towards him, though, 
 I fear, I have been equally guilty to him. 
 
 Does Mrs. Ticknor still remember me ? 
 
 Ever, my dear Prescott, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 Carlisl*. 
 
 » The death of his father, sixth Earl of Carlisle. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 1848. 
 
 it *. Motley. — Hesitation about beginning tiie History of Philip 
 the Second. — State of his Sight bad. — Preparations. — Doubts 
 about taking the whole Subject. — Memoir of Pickering.— 
 Early Intimations of a Life of Philip the Second. — Collec¬ 
 tion of Materials for it. — Difficulty of getting them. — 
 Greatly assisted by Don Pascual de Gayangos. — Materials at 
 last ample. — Prints for his own Use a Portion of Ranke’s 
 Spanish Empire. 
 
 S OMEWHAT earlier than the period at which we are now 
 arrived, — in fact, before the “ Conquest of Peru ” was 
 published, — an interesting circumstance occurred connected 
 immediately with the “ History of Philip the Second,” which 
 Mr. Prescott was at this time just about to undertake in ear¬ 
 nest, and for which he had been making arrangements and 
 preparations many years. I refer to the fact, now well known, 
 that Mr. J. Lothrop Motley, who has since gained so much 
 honor for himself and for his country as an historian, was — 
 in ignorance of Mr. Prescott’s purposes — already occupied 
 with a kindred subject. 1 The moment, therefore, that he was 
 aware of this condition of things and the consequent possibility 
 that there might be an untoward interference in their plans, he 
 took the same frank and honorable course with Mr. Prescott, 
 that Mr. Prescott had taken in relation to Mr. Irving, when 
 he found that they had both been contemplating a “ History 
 of the Conquest of Mexico.” The result was the same. Mr. 
 Prescott, instead of treating the matter as an interference, 
 earnestly encouraged Mr. Motley to go on, and placed at his 
 disposition such of the books in his library as could be useful 
 to him. How amply and promptly he did it, Mr. Motley’s 
 own account will best show. It is in a letter, dated at Rome, 
 26th February, 1859, — the day he heard of Mr. Prescott’s 
 
 ' “ The Bise of the Dutch Republic,” not published until 1856. 
 
260 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Jeath, — and was addressed to his intimate friend, Mr. William 
 Amoiy, of Boston, Mr. Prescott’s much loved brother-in-law. 
 
 It seems to me but as yesterday, though it must be now twelve years 
 ago, that I was talking with our ever-lamented friend Stackpole 2 about 
 my intention of writing a history upon a subject to which I have since 
 that time been devoting myself. I had then made already some general 
 studies in reference to it, without being in the least aware that Prescott 
 had the intention of writing the “ History of Philip the Second.” Stack- 
 pole had heard the fact, and that large preparations had already been made 
 for the work, although “Peru” had not yet been published. I felt nat¬ 
 urally much disappointed. I was conscious of the immense disadvantage 
 to myself of making my appearance, probably at the same time, before the 
 public, with a work, not at all similar in plan to Philip the Second, but 
 which must, of necessity, traverse a portion of the same ground. 
 
 My first thought was inevitably, as it were, only of myself. It seemed 
 to me that I had nothing to do, but to abandon at once a cherished dream, 
 and probably to renounce authorship. For I had not first made up my 
 mind to write a history, and then cast about to take up a subject. My 
 subject had taken me up, drawn me on, and absorbed me into itself. It 
 was necessary for me, it seemed, to write the book I had been thinking 
 much of, eveu if it were destined to fall dead from the press, and I had no 
 inclination or interest to write any other. When I had made up my miud 
 accordingly, it then occurred to me that Prescott might not be pleased 
 that I should come forward upon his ground. It is true, that no announce¬ 
 ment of his intentions had been made, and that he had not, I believe, even 
 commenced his preliminary studies for Philip. At the same time, I thought 
 it would be disloyal on my part not to go to him at once, confer with him 
 on the subject, and, if I should find a shadow of dissatisfaction on his mind 
 at my proposition, to abandon my plan altogether. 
 
 I had only the slightest acquaintance with him at that time. I was 
 comparatively a young man, and certainly not entitled, on any ground, to 
 more than the common courtesy which Prescott never could refuse to any 
 one. But he received me with such a frank and ready and liberal sym¬ 
 pathy, and such an open-hearted, guileless expansiveness, that I felt a 
 personal affection for him from that hour. I remember the interview as 
 if it had taken place yesterday. It was in his father’s house, in Ins own 
 library, looking on the garden. House and garden, honored father and 
 illustrious son, — alas! all numbered with the things that were 1 He as¬ 
 sured me that he had not the slightest objection whatever to my plan, 
 that he wished me every success, and that, if there were any books in his 
 library bearing on my subject that I liked to use, they were entirely at 
 my service. After I had expressed my gratitude for his kindness and cor¬ 
 diality, by which I had been, in a very few moments, set completely at 
 ease, — so far as my fears of his disapprobation went, — I also, very nat 
 urally stated my opinion, that the danger was entirely mine, and that it 
 
 s Mr. J. L. Stackpole, a gentleman of much cultivation, and a kinsman of 
 Mr. Motley by marriage, was suddenly killed by a railroad accident in 
 1847. 
 
LETTER OF MR. MOTLEY TO MR. AMORY. 
 
 2G1 
 
 was rather wilful of me thus to risk such a collision at my first venture, 
 the probable cousequence of which was utter shipwreck. I recollect how 
 kindly and warmly he combated this opinion, assuring me that no two 
 books, as he said, ever injured each other, and encouraging me in the 
 warmest and most earnest manner to proceed on the course I had marked 
 out for myself. 
 
 Had the result of that interview been different, — had he distinctly 
 stated, or even vaguely hinted, that it would be as well if I should select 
 some other topic, or had he only sprinkled me with the cold water of con¬ 
 ventional and commonplace encouragement, — I should have gone from 
 him with a chill upon my mind, and, no doubt, have laid down the pen at 
 once ; for, as I have already said, it was not that I cared about writing a 
 history, but that I felt an inevitable impulse to write me particular history. 
 
 You know how kindly he always spoke of and to me ; and the generous 
 manner in which, without the slightest hint from me, and entirely unex¬ 
 pected by me, he attracted the eyes of his hosts of readers to my forth¬ 
 coming work, by so handsomely alluding to it in the Preface to his own, 
 must be almost as fresh in your memory as it is in mine. 
 
 And although it seems easy enough for a man of world-wide reputation 
 thus to extend the right hand of fellowship to an unknown and struggling 
 aspirant, yet I fear that the history of literature will show that such in¬ 
 stances of disinterested kindness are as rare as they are noble. 3 
 
 To this frank and interesting statement I can add, that Mr. 
 Prescott told it all to me at the time, and then asked me 
 whether I would not advise him to offer Mr. Motley the use 
 of his manuscript collections for “ Philip the Second,” as he 
 had already offered that of his printed books. I told him, that 
 I thought Mr. Motley would hardly be willing to accept such 
 an offer; and, besides, that, if there were anything peculiarly 
 his own, and which he should feel bound to reserve, as giving 
 especial authority and value to his History, it must be the 
 materials he had, at so much pains and cost, collected from 
 the great archives and libraries all over Europe. The idea, I 
 confess, struck me as somewhat extravagant, and no doubt he 
 would have felt pain in giving away personal advantages so 
 obvious, so great, and so hardly earned; but, from the good- 
 
 * The whole of this striking letter is to be found in the Proceedings of 
 the Massachusetts Historical Society for 1858, 1859, pp. 266 - 271. It is a 
 true and touching tribute to Mr. Prescott’s personal character and intellect¬ 
 ual eminence, the more to be valued, since, in 1860, Mr. Motley was elected 
 to the place left vacant in the French Institute by Mr. Prescott’s death, — an 
 honor not only fit in itself, but peculiarly appropriate, since it preserves the 
 succession of Spanish historians in the same chair unbroken, from the time 
 of Navarrete’s election, half a century earlier. 
 
262 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLTNG PRESCOTT. 
 
 ness of Ms nature, I have no doubt that he was capable of the 
 sacrifice. 
 
 In due time, as we have seen, the “ Conquest of Peru ” was 
 published; and Mr. Prescott naturally turned to the next great 
 work he was to undertake, and wMch had been ten years, at 
 least, among Ms well-digested plans for the future. 
 
 His position for such an undertaking was, in many respects, 
 fortunate. The state of Ms eyes indeed was bad, and his gen¬ 
 eral health seemed a little shaken. But he was only fifty-two 
 years old ; his spirits and courage were as high as they had 
 been in Ms youth ; his practice as a writer and his experience 
 of the peculiar difficulties he had to encounter were as great as 
 they well could be ; and, above all, success had set a seal on 
 his previous brilliant efforts which seemed to make the future 
 sure. 
 
 Still he paused. The last sheets of the “ Conquest of Peru ” 
 were corrected for the press, and the work was therefore en¬ 
 tirely off his hands, in March, 1847 ; as, in fact, it had been 
 substantially since the preceding October. But in March, 
 1848, he could not be said to have begun in earnest Ms studies 
 for the reign of Philip the Second. This long hesitation was 
 owing in part to the reluctance that always held him back from 
 entering promptly on any new field of labor, and partly to the 
 condition of Ids sight. 
 
 The last, in fact, had now become a subject of such serious 
 consideration and anxiety, as he had not felt for many years. 
 The power of using his eye — Ms only eye, it should always 
 be remembered — had been gradually reduced again, until it 
 did not exceed one hour a day, and that divided into two por¬ 
 tions, at considerable intervals from each other. On exami¬ 
 nation, the retina was found to be affected anew, and incipient 
 amaurosis, or decay of the nerve, was announced. Hopes were 
 held out by an oculist who visited Boston at tMs period, and 
 whom Mr. Prescott consulted for the first time, that relief 
 more or less considerable might still be found in the resources 
 of the healing art, and that he might yet be enabled to prose¬ 
 cute his labors as well as he had done. But he could not accept 
 these hopes, much as he desired to do so. He knew that for 
 tliirty-four years one eye had been compelled to do the work of 
 
JlSCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 263 
 
 two, and that the labor thus thrown upon the single organ — 
 however carefully he had managed and spared it — had been 
 more than it could bear. He felt that its powers were decay¬ 
 ing ; in some degree, no doubt, from advancing years, but more 
 from overwork, which yet could not have been avoided with¬ 
 out abandoning the main hopes of his literary life. He there¬ 
 fore resorted for counsel to physicians of eminence, who were 
 his friends, but who were not professed oculists, and laid his 
 case before them. It was not new to them. They had known 
 it already in most of its aspects, but they now gave to it again 
 their most careful consideration. The result of their judg¬ 
 ment coincided with his own previously formed opinion; and, 
 under their advice, he deliberately made up his mind, as he 
 has recorded it, “ to relinquish all use of the eye for the future 
 in his studies, and to be content if he could preserve it for the 
 more vulgar purposes of life.” 
 
 It was a hard decision. I am not certain that he made it 
 without a lingering hope, such as we are all apt to indulge, 
 even in our darkest moments, concerning whatever regards 
 health and life; — a hope, I mean, that there might still be a 
 revival of power in the decayed organ, and that it might still 
 serve him, in some, degree, as it had done, if not to the same 
 extent. But if he had such a hope, he was careful not to fos¬ 
 ter it or rely on it. His record on this point is striking and 
 decisive. 
 
 Thus was I in a similar situation with that in which I found myself 
 on beginning the “ History of Ferdinand and Isabella ”; — with this 
 important difference. Then I had hopes to cheer me on; the hope of 
 future improvement, as the trouble then arose from an excessive sensi¬ 
 bility of the nerve. But this hope has now left me, and forever. And 
 whatever plans I am to make of future study must be formed on the same 
 calculations as those of a blind man. As this desponding conviction 
 pressed on me, it is no wonder that I should have paused and greatly 
 hesitated before involving myself in the labyrinth of researches relating to 
 one of the most busy, comprehensive, and prolific periods of European 
 history. The mere sight of this collection from the principal libraries 
 and archives of Europe, which might have daunted the resolution of a 
 younger man, in the possession of his faculties, filled me with apprehen¬ 
 sion bordering on despair; and I must be pardoned if I had not the 
 heart to plunge at once into the arena, and, blindfold as I was, engage 
 again in the conflict. 
 
 And then I felt how slow must be my progress. Any one who has had 
 
2G4 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 occasion to consult numerous authorities, — and those, too, in foreign Ian- 
 guages, — for every sentence, will understand how slow and perplexing. 
 And though, once entered on this career, I could have gone on in spite 
 of obstacles, as, at times, I had already done, yet I hesitated before thus 
 voluntarily encountering them. 
 
 The first six months after the publication of my “ Peru ” were passed 
 in that kind of literary loafing in which it is not unreasonable to indulge 
 after the completion of a long work. As I tired of this, I began to 
 coquet with my Philip the Second, by reading, or rather listening to, the 
 English histories which had any bearing on the story, and which could 
 show me the nature and compass of it. Thus, I have heard Robertson’s 
 “ Charles the Fifth,” Whitson's “ Philip the Second,” Ranke’s “ Popes,” 
 and other works of Ranke and Von Raumer done into English, and 
 Dunham’s volume relating to the period in his “ Spain and Portugal.” 
 I have, also, with the aid of my Secretary, turned over the title-pages and 
 got some idea of the contents of my books and manuscripts;—a truly 
 precious collection of rarities, throwing light on the darkest corners of 
 this long, eventful, and, in some respects, intricate history. 
 
 The result of the examination suggests to me other ideas. There is so 
 much incident in this fruitful reign, — so many complete and interesting 
 episodes, as it were, to the main story, — that it now occurs to me I may 
 find it expedient to select one of them for my subject, instead of attempt¬ 
 ing the ivhole. Thus, for example, we have the chivalrous and fatal expe¬ 
 dition of Don Sebastian and the conquest of Portugal; the romantic 
 siege of Malta ; the glorious war of the revolution in the United Provin¬ 
 ces. This last is by far the greatest theme, and has some qualities — as 
 those of unity, moral interest, completeness, and momentous and benefi¬ 
 cent results — which may recommend it to the historian, who has the 
 materials for both at his command, in preference to the Reign of Philip 
 the Second. 
 
 One obvious advantage to me in my crippled state is, that it would not 
 require more than half the amount of reading that the other subject would. 
 But this is a decision not lightly to be made, and I have not yet pondered 
 it as I must. Something, I already feel, I must do. This life of far 
 niente is becoming oppressive, and “ I begin to be aweary of the sun.” I 
 am no longer young, certainly; but at fifty-two a man must be even more 
 crippled than I am to be entitled to an honorable discharge from service 
 
 With such mingled feelings, — disheartened by the condition 
 of his eye, and yet wearied out with the comparative idleness 
 his infirmity had forced upon him, — it is not remarkable that 
 he should have hesitated still longer about a great undertaking, 
 the ample materials for which lay spread out before him. Just 
 at this time, too, other things attracted his attention, or de¬ 
 manded it, and he gladly occupied himself with them, feeling 
 that they were at least an apology for not turning at once to 
 his severer work. 
 
DOUBTS. 
 
 265 
 
 One of these was a Memoir of Mr. John Pickering, a wise, 
 laborious, accurate scholar, worthy every way to be the son of 
 that faithful statesman, who not only tilled the highest places 
 in the government under Washington, but was Washington’s 
 personal, trusted friend. This Memoir the Massachusetts 
 Historical Society had appointed Mr. Prescott to prepare 
 for its Collections, and his memorandum shows with what feel¬ 
 ings of affection and respect he undertook the work assigned 
 to him. 
 
 “ It will not be long,” he says, “ but, long or short, it will be a labor 
 of love; for there is no man whom I honored more than this eminent 
 scholar, estimable alike for the qualities of his heart and for the gifts of 
 his mind. He was a true and kind friend to me; and, from the first 
 moment of my entering on my historic career down to the close of his 
 life, he watched over my literary attempts with the deepest interest. It 
 will be a sad pleasure for me to pay an honest tribute to the good man’s 
 worth.” 
 
 The Memoir is not long nor eulogistic; but as a biography it 
 is faithful and sincere, and renders to Mr. Pickering’s intellect¬ 
 ual and moral character the honors it so richly deserved. The 
 style throughout is simple and graceful, without the slight¬ 
 est approach to exaggeration ; such, in short, as was becom¬ 
 ing the modest man to whose memory the Memoir itself was 
 devoted. 4 
 
 Another of the subjects that occupied a good deal of his 
 time during the spring of 1848 was a careful revision which he 
 gave to my manuscript “ History of Spanish Literature,” then 
 nearly ready for the press. It was an act of kindness for 
 which I shall always feel grateful, and the record of which I 
 preserve with care, as a proof how faithful he was and how 
 frank. It took him some weeks, — too many, if he had not 
 then been more than usually idle, or, at least, if he had not 
 deemed himself to be so. 
 
 But he was not really idle. In comparison with those days 
 of severe activity which he sometimes gave to his “ Mexico,” 
 when his eyes permitted him to do for two or three hours a 
 day what he could never do afterwards, his work might not 
 
 4 It is in the “ Collections of the Massachusetts Historical Society,’’ 
 Third Series, Vol. X. 
 
 12 
 
266 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING 1’RESCOIT. 
 
 now be accounted bard ; but still, during tbe summer of 1848, 
 it was real work, continuous and effective. 
 
 The great subject of the reign of Philip the Second had, as I 
 have already intimated, been many years in his mind. As early 
 as the spring of 1838, when he had only just sent to Madrid 
 for the materials on which to found his histories of the Con¬ 
 quest of Mexico and Peru, and while he was still uncertain of 
 success about obtaining them, he said: “ Should I succeed in 
 my present collections, who knows what facilities I may find 
 for making one relative to Philip the Second’s reign, — a fruit¬ 
 ful theme if discussed under all its relations, civil and literary 
 as well as military, the last of which seems alone to have occu¬ 
 pied the attention of Watson.” 
 
 In fact, from tliis time, although he may occasionally have 
 had doubts or misgivings in relation to his resources for writing 
 it, the subject itself of the reign of Philip the Second was 
 never long out of his mind. Somewhat more than a year later 
 he says : “ By advices from Madrid this week, I learn that the 
 archives of Simancas are in so disorderly a state, that it is next 
 to impossible to gather materials for the reign of Philip the 
 Second. I shall try, however ” ; — adding that, unless he can 
 obtain the amplest collections, both printed and manuscript, he 
 shall not undertake the work at all. 
 
 The letters to which he refers were very discouraging. One 
 was from Dr. Lembke, who had so well served him in collect¬ 
 ing manuscripts and books for his Conquests of Mexico and 
 Peru, but who seemed now to think it would be very difficult 
 to get access to the archives of Simancas, and who was assured 
 by Navarrete, that, even if he were on the spot, he would find 
 everything in confusion, and nobody competent to direct or 
 assist his researches. The other letter, which was from the 
 Secretary of the American Legation, — his old college friend, 
 Middleton, — was still more discouraging. 
 
 *<I enclose you,” he writes, “Lembke’s letter, and confirm what he 
 says as to the difficulty of getting at the Simancas papers, or even obtain¬ 
 ing any definite notion of their subjects. A young gentleman who had 
 free access to them during six months, under the auspices of a learned 
 professor, assured me that, with the exception of those relating to the 
 Bourbon dynasty (i. e. since 1700), the papers are all thrown together 
 without order or index. Whatever step, therefore, you may be inclined 
 
MATERIALS FOR THE HISTORY OF PHILIP THE SECOND. 267 
 
 to take in the matter, would be a speculation, and the question is, whether 
 it would be worth your while.” 6 
 
 But, as Mr. Prescott well knew, Simancas must necessarily 
 be the great depository for original, unpublished documents 
 relating to the reign of Philip the Second, the collection of 
 which was begun there by that monarch; and he therefore 
 determined to persevere in his efforts, and by some means 
 obtain access to them. Indeed, as we have all along seen, he 
 was not of a temper readily to give up anything important 
 which he had once delibex-ately undertaken. 
 
 Just at this moment, however, he was deprived of the ser¬ 
 vices of Dr. Lembke. That gentleman had become obnoxious 
 to the Spanish government, and was ordered out of the country 
 with hardly the fox mality of a warning. But his first refuge 
 was Paris, and there he was again able to be useful to Mr. 
 Prescott. M. Mignet and M. Ternaux-Compans opened to 
 him freely their own rich manuscript collections, and indicated 
 to him yet other collections, from which also he caused copies 
 to be made of documents touching the affaii'S of Philip. But 
 Dr. Lembke, I think, remained in Paris only a few months, and 
 never was able to return to Madrid, as he intended and hoped 
 when he left it. His services to Mr. Prescott, therefore, which 
 had been, up to this time, both important and kind, could no 
 longer be counted upon. 
 
 Happily, however, Mr. Prescott was now able to turn to Don 
 Pascual de Gayangos, the Spanish scholar, who, as we have 
 noticed, had written eighteen months earlier a pleasant article 
 in the “Edinburgh Review” on “Ferdinand and Isabella,” 
 and who was now in London publishing for “ The Oriental 
 Fund Society ” his translation of A1 Makkari on the Moham¬ 
 medan rule in Spain. Some correspondence of a friendly 
 nature had already passed between them, 6 and Mr. Prescott 
 
 * These letters were written in 1839. In 1841, Mr. Middleton ceased to be 
 connected with the Spanish Legation. When Mr. Prescott received the last 
 results of his friend’s care for his wants, he said: “ I have received another 
 supply, — the last of the manuscripts from Middleton, in Madrid. I lose 
 there a good friend, who has been efficient and true in his labors for me.” 
 
 ® I have not been able to procure the earliest letters in the correspondence 
 between Mr. Frescott and Don Pascual de Gayangos, and suppose they are 
 lost. The earliest one that has come to my hands is from Don Pascual, and 
 
2C8 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 now asked Don Pascual’s counsel and aid in collecting the 
 materials he needed for his work on the reign of Philip the 
 Second. He could not have addressed himself more fortu¬ 
 nately. Don Pascual entered into the literary projects of Mr. 
 Prescott, as we have already seen, in his previous correspond¬ 
 ence, with great disinterestedness and zeal. He at once caused 
 above eighteen hundred pages of manuscript to be copied in 
 the British Museum and the State-Paper Office, London, and 
 went with an assistant, to the remarkable collection of Sir 
 Thomas Piiillips, in Worcestershire, where he again obtained 
 much that proved valuable. Subsequently he visited Brussels, 
 and, with letters from Mr. Van de Weyer, the accomplished 
 Minister of Belgium in London, was permitted to take copies 
 of whatever could be found in the archives there. Still later, 
 he went to Paris, and, assisted by M. Mignet, discovered other 
 rich materials, which were immediately transcribed and sent 
 to their destination. The mass cf manuscripts was, therefore, 
 in 1842, already considerable. 
 
 But Spain was, after all, the country where the chief mate¬ 
 rials for such a subject were to be found; and nobody knew 
 this better than Mr. Prescott. While, therefore, he neglected 
 no resource outside of the Pyrenees ; and while, by the kind¬ 
 ness of Mr. Edward Everett, our statesman at once and our 
 scholar, who happened then to be in Florence; by that of Dr. 
 Ferdinand Wolf of Vienna, learned in everything Spanish ; and 
 by that of Humboldt and Ranke, at Berlin, each primus inter 
 pares on such matters, he had obtained a great deal that was 
 most welcome from the public offices and libraries of Tuscany, 
 Austria, Prussia, and Gotha, — still he kept his eye fastened 
 on Spain, as the main resource for his great undertaking. 
 
 Is dated Dec. 1,1839. From this I infer that Mr. Prescott had written to 
 him on the 30th of March preceding, to thank him for his review of the 
 “Ferdinand and Isabella,” and on the 6thof July concerning his literary 
 projects generally; but that illness and absence from London had prevented 
 Don Pascual from answering earlier. On the 28th of December, 1841, Mr. 
 Prescott records in his memoranda: “I have had the satisfaction to learn 
 from that accomplished scholar, Gayangos, that he will undertake the col¬ 
 lection of manuscripts for me relating to Philip the Second’s history, so far 
 as it can be effected in Paris and London.” A part of Mr. Prescott’s corre¬ 
 spondence with Don Pascual about the materials for a history of Philip the 
 Second has already been given, as its dates required, while Mr. Prescott was 
 emoloved on hi* “ Cononest of Peru.” 
 
DON PASCUAL DE GAYANGOS. 
 
 269 
 
 And here again he was fortunate. Don Pascual de Gayan- 
 gos, having finished his important work for the “ Oriental 
 Fund,” naturally returned to Madrid, with whose University 
 he became connected as Professor of Arabic Literature. This 
 was in 1842, and from that time he never ceased to send Mr. 
 Prescott, not only rare books in large numbers, but manuscripts, 
 both original and copied, of the greatest value. 7 Already, in 
 1849, these collections seemed to be complete ; but for several 
 years more they were continued and increased. The muni¬ 
 ment rooms of the great families in Spain — the Alvas, the 
 Santa Cruz, and others — were thrown open; the Public 
 Archives, the National Library, in short, whatever could be 
 used as a resource, were all visited and examined. In 1844, 
 Don Pascual spent nearly two months at Simancas, under the 
 most favorable auspices, and brought away and subsequently 
 secured, from this great treasure-house and tomb of the Span¬ 
 ish government and its diplomacy, spoils which one less familiar 
 with the history of the times would hardly have been able to 
 discover amidst the confusion that had so long reigned there 
 undisturbed. 
 
 The collection thus made with great labor in the course of 
 nearly twenty years is, no doubt, one of the richest and most 
 complete ever made on any subject of historical research. Set¬ 
 ting aside the books in Mr. Prescott’s library that relate only 
 incidentally to the affairs of Spain in the sixteenth century, the 
 number of which is very considerable, there are above three 
 hundred and seventy volumes that regard especially the times 
 of Philip the Second ; and, when the manuscript copies that had 
 been made for him all over Europe were brought together and 
 bound, they made fifteen thick folios, not counting those which 
 came to him already bound up, or which still remain unbound, 
 to the amount of eight or ten volumes more. 8 It needed many 
 
 7 In a letter to Don Pascual, dated March 27, 1842, he says: “I wish you 
 could spend only three months in Spain, and I should ask no better luck.” 
 And again, July 14: “ It will be very fortunate for me, if you can visit both 
 Paris and Spain. It will leave me nothing to desire.” Before the year was 
 over, this wish was most unexpectedly fulfilled. 
 
 8 The greater part of his rich collection of manuscripts for the “ Mexico,” 
 “ Peru,” and “ Philip the Second,” stood together, well bound in morocco, 
 and maae quite a striking appearance in his library. He sometimes called 
 this part of it his Seraglio.” 
 
270 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 skilful, kind, and faithfnl hands in many countries to form such 
 a collection ; but without the assistance of a scholar to superin¬ 
 tend and direct the whole, like Don Pascual de Gayangos, full 
 of knowledge on the particular subject, proud of his country, 
 whose honor he knew he was serving, and disinterested as a 
 Spanish hidalgo of the olden temper and loyalty, Mr. Prescott 
 could never have laid the foundations he did for his “ History of 
 Philip the Second,” or executed his purpose so far and so well. 
 
 Some of these treasures arrived in the course of the last 
 two or three years of his life ; but most of them were already 
 on his shelves in the summer of 1848, when he had not yet 
 given himself up to severe labor on his “ History of Philip 
 the Second,” and when, indeed, as we have seen, he was com¬ 
 plaining of his idleness. But he was somewhat unjust to him¬ 
 self on this point now, as he had occasionally been before. He 
 had not, in fact, been idle during the summer. When the 
 autumn set in and he returned to town, he had read, or rather 
 listened to, San Miguel’s “ Historia de Felipe Segundo,” pub¬ 
 lished between 1844 and 1847 in four goodly octavos; the “ His- 
 toire de l’Espagne,” by Weiss ; the portion of Tapia’s “ Civili- 
 zacion Espanola,” which covers the sixteenth century; and the 
 corresponding parts of Sismondi’s “ Histoire des Frangais,” and 
 of Lingard’s “ History of England.” But, above all, he had 
 read and studied Ranke’s “ Spanish Empire ”; a book which 
 whoever writes on the history of Spain must, if he is wise, 
 consider carefully in all its positions and conclusions. In his 
 memoranda Mr. Prescott truly describes Ranke as “ acute 
 and penetrating; gathering his information from sources little 
 known, especially the reports of the Venetian Ambassadors.”® 
 “ His book,” the personal memoranda go on, “ contains inesti¬ 
 mable material for a more minute and extended history. It 
 is a sort of skeleton, the bone-work of the monarchy. It must 
 be studied for the internal administration, the financial system, 
 the domestic politics, &c.; —just the topics neglected by Wat¬ 
 son and the like common, uncommonplace writers. The his¬ 
 torian of Philip the Second will be largely indebted to Ranke, 
 to his original acuteness and to his erudition.” 
 
 9 Since published at Florence, under the able editorship of the Cavalier# 
 Eugenio Alb6ri. 
 
RANKE’S “SPANISH EMPIRE.’ 
 
 271 
 
 This portion of Ranke’s work, therefore, became now to Mr. 
 Prescott what Clemencin’s dissertation on Queen Isabella had 
 been in the composition of his History of the Catholic Sover¬ 
 eigns. Indeed, foreseeing from the outset how important it 
 would be, and finding it ill printed in the English translation, 
 he caused four copies of the part touching Philip the Second 
 to be struck off on a large type, so that, whenever his eye 
 would permit the indulgence, be might recur to it as to his 
 manual and guide. It makes in this form barely one hundred 
 and sixty-eight pages in octavo; and being printed on thick 
 paper and only on one side of each leaf, so as to render every 
 letter perfectly distinct, it was as well fitted to its peculiar pur 
 pose as it could be. Probably he never looked on it for ten 
 minutes together at any one time ; but we have already no¬ 
 ticed how thoughtful and ingenious he was in whatever related 
 to the means of encountering the many obstacles laid in his 
 way by his great infirmity, and how little he cared for money 
 or ease when anything of this sort was to be accomplished. 
 This reprint of Ranke was, in truth, one of his contrivances 
 fox an end that never was long absent from his thoughts. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 1848- 1850. 
 
 General Scott’s Conquest of Mexico. — Summer at Pepperell. — 
 Difficulties and Doubts about “Philip the Second.” — Memoirs 
 
 OR REGULAR HISTORY. — ANXIETY ABOUT HIS HEARING.—.JOURNEY FOR 
 
 Health. — Not sufficient. — Project for visiting England.— Re¬ 
 solves to go. — Voyage and Arrival. — London. 
 
 HILE Mr. Prescott was going on with his “ Philip the 
 
 f t Second ” as well as he could, considering the slow pro 
 cess for work to which he was now reduced, — “ dull sailing,” 
 as he called it, — he was surprised by a tempting invitation to 
 write a history of the Second Conquest of Mexico, — the one, 
 I mean, achieved by General Winfield Scott in 1847. The 
 subject was obviously a brilliant one, making, in some respects, 
 a counterpart to the history of the first conquest under Cortes; 
 and, as to the bookselling results that would have accrued from 
 such a work glowing with the fervent life Mr. Prescott’s style 
 would have imparted to it, and devoted to the favorite national 
 hero of the time, there can be no doubt they would have ex¬ 
 ceeded anything he had ever before dreamed of as the profits 
 of authorship. But his course in another direction was plainly 
 marked out, and had long been so. Contemporary events, tran¬ 
 sient and unsettled interests, personal feelings and ambitions, 
 had never entered into his estimates and arrangements for a 
 literary life. He felt that he should hardly know how to deal 
 with them. He therefore declined the honor, — and an honor 
 it certainly was, — without hesitation. “ The theme,” he said, 
 “would be taking; but I had rather not meddle with heroes 
 who have not been under ground two centuries at least.” 1 
 
 1 He often expressed this feeling. In a letter to me in 1856, he says: “ 1 
 belong to the sixteenth century, and am quite out of place when I sleep else¬ 
 where,” — a remark which reminds one of old Bernal Diaz, who, it has been 
 said, wore his armor so long and so constantly in the conquest of Mexico 
 that afterwards he could not sleep in comfort without it 
 
PHILIP THE SECOND. 
 
 278 
 
 His weeks at Pepperell in the subsequent autumn of 1849 
 were agreeable, as they always were, but not as fruitful of 
 literary results as they had been in many preceding years. 
 “ The delicious stillness of the fields,” he writes soon after his 
 emigration there from Nahant, “ is most grateful after the in¬ 
 cessant, restless turmoil of the ocean, whose melancholy beat 
 makes no music like the wind among the boughs of the forest. 
 The sweet face of Nature is the only face that never grows 
 old, —• almost the only one that we never tire of.” 
 
 But in truth the trouble lay deeper. He could do little 
 work. His eyes were in a very bad state, and sometimes 
 occasioned him much suffering. He therefore was able to 
 “ Philippize,” as he called it, very little ; and when he returned 
 to town at the end of October, he recorded that he had had 
 “a pleasant villeggiatura” but added: “ The country is now 
 dark with its sad autumnal splendors. Is it not my true 
 home ? Monadnock and his brotherhood of hills seemed to 
 look gloomily on me as I bade them farewell. What may 
 betide me of weal or woe before I see them again ? ” 
 
 But this was not a permanent state of feeling with him. 
 During that autumn and winter, he went slowly, but with 
 much regularity, over the whole ground, which, as he foresaw, 
 must be occupied by a history of Philip the Second and his 
 times, endeavoring to get a bird’s-eye Hew of it in its general 
 relations and proportions without descending to details. When 
 he had done this, he felt that the time for a final decision as to 
 the nature and form which his labors should take was come, 
 and he made it promptly and decisively. 
 
 “ I have, indeed,” lie says, looking back over the eighteen months’ 
 deliberation on this subject, and considering at the same time the bad con¬ 
 dition of his eyes and of his general health, —- “ I have, indeed, hardly 
 f'elt courage to encounter the difficulties of a new work, de longm haleine, 
 in my crippled state. But if I am crippled, I am not wholly disabled 
 yet; and I have made up my mind to take the subject — the whole sub¬ 
 ject — of Philip the Second. I can, by a little forecast, manage so that it 
 will cost me no more labor or research than a fraction of the subject, 
 which I should treat, of course, more in exteraso. I must select the most 
 important and interesting features of the reign, and bring these, and these 
 only, into as clear a light as possible. All the wearisome research into 
 constitutional, financial, ecclesiastical details, I must discard, or at least go 
 into them sparingly; — only so as to present a background to the great 
 transactions of the reign. 
 
 12 * 
 
 R 
 
274 
 
 WILLIAM PICKLING PEESC0T1. 
 
 “ The brilliant passages are numerous, and must be treated, of couroe, 
 with reference to one another, as well as to their individual merit, so as to 
 preserve their respective proportions, and harmonize into one whole. A 
 dominant and central interest for the mighty and richly varied panorama 
 must be ever kept in view. The character of Philip will be the dominant 
 principle controlling every other ; and his policy will be the central object 
 of interest, to which almost every event in the reign must be in a great 
 degree referred. That policy, doubtless, will be found to be the establish¬ 
 ment of the Eoman Catholic religiou and of absolute power. These 
 were the ends ever kept in view by him, and they must be so, therefore, 
 by his historian, as furnishing the true clew to his complicated story. 
 
 “ There will be no lack of great events of the highest interest and the 
 most opposite character ; the war with the Turks, and the glowing battle 
 of Lepanto ; the bloody revolt of the Moriscos; the conquest of Portu¬ 
 gal, and, preceding it, the Quixotic expedition of Don Sebastian; the 
 tragic domestic story of'Don Carlos, and the mysterious adventures of 
 Antonio Perez ; the English invasion, and the gallant days of the 
 Armada; and above all, and running through all, the glorious war of 
 the Netherlands, — the war of freedom then begun and not yet ended. 
 
 “ As for portraits, great events call forth great men, and there is good 
 store of them, — Don John of Austria, frank and chivalrous ; the great 
 Duke of Alva, a name of terror; William of Orange, the Washington 
 of Holland; Farnese, the greatest captain of his times ; Don Sebastian, 
 the theme for romance rather than history ; contemporary foreign princes, 
 Henry the Fourth, Elizabeth, &c., and at home Charles the Fifth in his 
 latter days, of which so little has hitherto been known; and Philip the 
 Second, the master-spirit, who, in the dark recesses of the Escorial, him¬ 
 self unseen even by his own subjects, watches over the lines of communi¬ 
 cation which run out in every direction to the farthest quarters of the 
 globe. 
 
 “ I propose to go on with sober industry, — the festina lente sort, — 
 working some four hours a day, and if the whole should run to four vol¬ 
 umes, which is enough, I may get out two at a time, allowing four years 
 for each brace. Da, Jupiter annos ! Put I must mend my habits, or I 
 shall not get out a volume in as many centuries. 
 
 “ I am not sure that it will not be better for me to call the work Me¬ 
 moirs, instead of History, &c. This will allow a more rambling style 
 of writing, and make less demand on elaborate research, and so my eyes 
 and my taste both be accommodated.” 
 
 To these general remarks he added, as he was wont in such 
 cases, a synopsis or summary of the whole work he was about 
 to undertake, — one intended to suggest the different subjects 
 and points upon which he should chiefly concentrate his atten¬ 
 tion, but not intended to govern his treatment of the details. 
 It was a sort of outline map, and was made in February, 1849. 
 
 But his doubts and anxieties at that time, and for a long 
 while afterwards, were very considerable, both as to the form 
 
AT NAHANT. 
 
 275 
 
 of his work, whether memoirs or history, and as to the amount 
 of labor which his advancing years and infirmities might war¬ 
 rant him in hoping to bestow upon it. While his mind contin¬ 
 ued thus unsettled, he talked with me much on the embarrass¬ 
 ments he felt, and I endeavored to strengthen him in a purpose 
 of taking up the whole subject under the gravest forms of 
 regular history, and treating it with absolute thoroughness as 
 such ; anxious neither as to how slow his progress might be, 
 nor how laborious it might prove. 
 
 One ground of my judgment at that time 2 — but unhappily 
 one which failed at last — was, that I counted upon a long life 
 for him, like that of his father and of his mother. But I felt, 
 too, whether he lived many years, as I fondly hoped, or few, 
 that the most active and earnest occupation of his faculties was 
 necessary to his own happiness, and that he would become dis¬ 
 contented with himself, if he should not fulfil his own idea of 
 what his subject implied in its widest and most serious requisi¬ 
 tions. I did not, in short, believe that he would be satisfied to 
 write Memoirs of Philip the Second after having written the 
 History of Ferdinand and Isabella. Nor did I believe that 
 scholars or the public would be better satisfied than he would 
 be himself. 
 
 He expresses his state of mind on this subject in his memo¬ 
 randa : — 
 
 June 28th, 1849. —At Nahant, where we arrived on the 23d, after a 
 week of tropical heats in town, that gave me the dyspepsia. These sum¬ 
 mer months were once my working months. But now, alas! all times 
 and places are alike to me. I have even ceased to make good resolutions, 
 — the last infirmity of feeble minds. Since last summer, what have I 
 done 1 My real apology for doing nothing is still my health, which 
 hedges me round, whichever way I attempt to go. Without eyes I can¬ 
 not read. Yet I constantly try to do something, and as constantly strain 
 the nerve. An organic trouble causes me pain, if I sit and write half an 
 hour, so that I am baffled and disheartened, and I find it impossible (shall 
 I say the coward’s word ?) to get up a lively interest, — the interest I felt 
 in happier days in my historical labors. 
 
 Yet I am determined to make one serious trial before relinquishing the 
 
 a This was in 1849. He did not determine to write a history rather than 
 memoirs, until he came to the troubles in the Netherlands, in October, 1861. 
 And the change of purpose is to be noted after page 360 of the first volume 
 of the American edition. 
 
27G 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 glorious field, on which I have won some laurels, and on which I had 
 promised myself a long career. I will make up my mind to dispense 
 with my eyes nearly all the time. I will dictate, if I cannot write. I 
 will secure three hours every day for my work, and, with patience, I may 
 yet do something . 3 
 
 I will not seek to give that minute and elaborate view of the political 
 and economical resources of the country which I attempted in “ Ferdi¬ 
 nand and Isabella,” and for which I have such rich materials for this 
 reign. But I must content myself with a more desultory or a pictu¬ 
 resque view of things, developing character as much as possible, illustrat¬ 
 ing it by the anecdote, and presenting the general features of the time and 
 the court. The work in this way, though not profound, may be amusing, 
 and display that philosophy which consists in the development of human 
 passion and character. 
 
 Great events, told with simplicity, will interest the reader, and the 
 basis on which the narrative throughout will rest will be of the most au¬ 
 thentic kind, enabling me to present facts hitherto unknown, and, of 
 course, views and deductions not familiar to the student of history. The 
 book will lose much of its value compared with what it might have had 
 under happier auspices ; but enough may remain to compensate both the 
 reader aud myself for the time bestowed on it. But, then, I must proceed 
 on the right principle; content with accomplisliitig what the embarrass¬ 
 ments of my situation will permit me to accomplish, without aiming at 
 what, by its difficulties, would disgust me in its progress, and by its fail 
 ure iu the end bring only mortification and chagrin. I will try. 
 
 The conditions were hard, and the first efforts he made to 
 break ground were anything but cheerful or encouraging; for 
 his eyes were in a very bad state, and he was otherwise not a 
 little disordered. After an experiment of nearly a month, he 
 says: — 
 
 Looked over various works for an introductory chapter. Worked about 
 three hours per diem, of which with my own eyes (grown very dim,—alas ! 
 perceptible in this strong light) about thirty minutes a day. I can man¬ 
 age with this to make progress on a less searching plan of study. Am 
 now prepared to think. But after this long repose, the business of fixing 
 thought is incredibly difficult. It must be done. 
 
 And it was done. On the 29th of July, 1849, at Nahant, he 
 records : “ Last Thursday (July 26th), at 6 P. M., began the 
 composition of Chapter First of ‘ Philip the Second,’ whether 
 memoirs or history time will show. Heavy work this starting. 
 I have been out of harness too long.” 
 
 * He did not, in fact, succeed in getting so much work as this out of him 
 self in the summer and autumn of 1849. 
 
FEARS LOSS OF HEARING. 
 
 277 
 
 At Pepperell, where he went with his accustomed eagerness 
 on the 6th of September, his eyes were rather worse than they 
 had been at Nahant, and he was more troubled with dyspepsia 
 and his other chronic ailments. But he worked, against wind 
 and tide, as earnestly, if not as hopefully, as if both had been 
 in his favor. 
 
 On his return to town, about the end of October, he talked 
 with me afresh concerning his plans in relation to “ Philip the 
 Second,” of which he had been able to complete only two 
 chapters. On the whole, he was confirmed in his decision 
 that he would take the entire reign of that monarch for his 
 subject, and not any episode of it, however brilliant, like the 
 war with the Turks, or the siege of Malta, or however im¬ 
 portant, like the grand tragedy of the contest with the Nether¬ 
 lands. But he did not feel strong enough to make more of it 
 than memoirs, as distinguished from history. On the first 
 point, I concurred with him entirely; on the last, I regretted 
 his decision, but submitted to it, if not as to something inevi¬ 
 table, at least as to a result concerning which his health and 
 years afforded grounds, of which he was to judge rather than 
 anybody else. 
 
 His decision, however, which seemed then to be final, had 
 one good effect immediately. He worked more freely, and 
 for a time made a degree of progress that satisfied himself. 
 But about Christmas his strength began to fail. He lost flesh 
 visibly, and his friends, though they certainly did not look on 
 the state of his health with anxiety, yet felt that more than 
 ordinary care had become necessary. He himself did not 
 share their feelings ; but he had other doubts and misgivings 
 more disheartening than theirs. In February, 1850, he said : 
 “ Increasing interest in the work is hardly to be expected, con¬ 
 sidering it has to depend so much on the ear. As I shall have 
 to depend more and more on this one of my senses, as I grow 
 older, it is to be hoped that Providence will spare me my hear¬ 
 ing. It would be a fearful thing to doubt it.” 
 
 Happily he was never called to encounter this terrible trial. 
 Not infrequently, indeed, a suspicion occurred to him, espe¬ 
 cially about this period, that the acuteness of his hearing was 
 impaired, as, in truth, I think it was, but in so small a degree, 
 
278 
 
 WILLIAM RICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 that he was rarely admonished of it, even by his own fears, 
 and certainly never so much as to interfere with the course 
 which his studies necessarily took. But whenever the thought 
 came to him of what might possibly be the result in this re¬ 
 spect, darkness seemed to settle on his thoughts; and, although 
 his elastic spirits soon obtained the mastery, it was not until 
 after a struggle such as they had not heretofore been sum 
 moned to make. A few of my conversations with him on this 
 subject were among the most painful that I remember ever to 
 have had. But the most painful of them were later, in the last 
 two years of his life. 
 
 In the early spring of 1850, finding that he was less able 
 to work than he had previously been, and that he could not 
 command his thoughts for the concentrated efforts he had 
 always found important to success, he made a journey south¬ 
 ward, to anticipate the milder season. He was accompanied 
 by his daughter, by Mrs. Charles Amory, by Mrs. Howland 
 Shaw, and by his brother-in-law, Mr. William Amory, — a 
 party as agreeable as affection and friendship could have col¬ 
 lected for him. I chanced to be in Washington when he ar¬ 
 rived there, and was witness to the pleasure with which he was 
 everywhere received. All sorts of hospitalities were offered to 
 him by General Taylor, then President of the United States ; 
 by the Calderons, his old and faithful friends; by the British 
 Minister, Sir Henry Bulwer; by our own great New-England 
 statesman, Mr. Webster, who had always entertained the sin- 
 cerest veneration for the elder Mr. Prescott, and always wel¬ 
 comed the son as worthy of his ancestry; in short, he was 
 received by whatever was eminent in the diplomatic society 
 of Washington, or among those collected there to administer 
 our own affairs, with a distinction not to be mistaken or misin¬ 
 terpreted. His friends sought eagerly to enjoy as much of his 
 society as he could give them, and strangers gladly seized the 
 opportunity to know personally one with whom in so many 
 other ways they u T ere already familiar. But he was little in a 
 condition to accept the kindness which under different circum¬ 
 stances would have been so pleasant to him. He was not well. 
 He was not happy. He felt that he needed the comforts and 
 the solace to which he was accustomed at home. He remained 
 
EMBARKS FOR ENGLAND. 
 
 279 
 
 in Washington, therefore, only a short time, and then returned 
 to Boston. 
 
 The comforts of home, however, were not all that he needed. 
 He needed a change of life for a time, — something that should, 
 as it were, renew, or at least refresh and strengthen the re¬ 
 sources of a constitution which had so long been touched with 
 infirmities, not of the gravest sort, indeed, but yet constantly so 
 pressing on the springs of life, and so exhausting their elas¬ 
 ticity, that neither his physical nor his mental system was any 
 longer capable of the severe efforts which he had always claimed 
 from them, and almost always with success. 
 
 After some time, therefore, the project of visiting England, 
 which he had partly entertained at different times for many 
 years, but had constantly rejected, recurred with new force. 
 His friends, who had heretofore urged it on the ground of the 
 personal enjoyment he could not fail to derive from such a 
 visit, now urged it on the stronger ground of health, and of 
 the sort of renovation which so great a change of climate and 
 of his modes of life and thought often give to the whole moral 
 and physical constitution at the age which he had now reached. 
 He acknowledged the force of what they pressed upon him, but 
 still he hesitated. His domestic life was so wisely regulated; 
 everything about him was so carefully adjusted and adapted, 
 by the watchfulness of affection, to his peculiar infirmities, and 
 the wants they entailed on him ; in short, his condition in his 
 own home, and with his daily occupations, was so entirely such 
 as demanded only gratitude to God, that he naturally felt un¬ 
 willing to interrupt its long-settled, even, and happy course. 
 But the strong hours conquered, as they always must in what 
 regards health and life. The reasons for a European excur¬ 
 sion grew every week more distinct and decisive, and at last 
 he yielded. 
 
 He embarked from New York the 22d day of May, 1850. 
 On board the steam-packet in which he took passage he found, 
 as he did everywhere, the kindness that was drawn out by the 
 magnetism of his own affectionate nature, and by his obvious 
 infirmities, added to the strong interest he had excited as an 
 author. He was at once provided with readers for all the 
 hours when he was well enough to listen, and among them 
 
280 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 were some members of the Middleton family of South Carolina, 
 who were connections of Iris old classmate, and who became at 
 once not only interesting and agreeable companions, but per¬ 
 sonal friends. Notwithstanding, therefore, the usual tribute of 
 sea-sickness, which he paid like others, and complained of as 
 bitterly, his passage was far from being disagreeable. 
 
 Just so it was when, at midnight, on Monday, the 3d of 
 June, the vessel on which he was embarked arrived in the 
 Mersey, at Liverpool. The first voice he heard through the 
 darkness, from a boat which came alongside five minutes after 
 the steamer’s anchor had been dropped, was that of an English 
 friend whose face he had not seen for three and thirty years, 
 but whose regard had survived unimpaired from the days when 
 they had been together almost as boys in Italy. At the house 
 of that friend, Mr. Alexander Smith, he found at once an affec¬ 
 tionate reception, and remained there hospitably entertained 
 until two days later, when he hurried up to London. 
 
 “ On Wednesday, June 5th,” lie says in his second letter to Mrs. Pres¬ 
 cott, “ I came by railway to < London town,’ through the English garden, 
 lawns of emerald green, winding streams, light arched bridges, long lines 
 stretching out of sight between hedges of hawthorn, — all flowering, — 
 rustic cottages, lordly mansions, and sweeping woods; flocks of sheep, 
 and now and then peasants shearing off the fat fleeces ; cattle of the 
 Durham breed, but all more or less white, often wholly so, — white as 
 snow ; the whole landscape a miracle of beauty, all of the cultivated sort, 
 too tame on the whole ; and before I reached the great leviathan, I would 
 have given something to see a ragged fence, or an old stump, or a bit of 
 rock, or even a stone as big as one’s fist, to show that man’s hand had not 
 been combing Nature’s head so vigorously. I felt I was not in my own 
 dear, wild America.” 
 
 London hospitality had met him at Liverpool. Lady Lyell, 
 to whom, like everybody else who was permitted to become 
 really acquainted with her during her visits to the United 
 States, he was already much attached, had sent him charming 
 words of welcome, which he received as he stepped on shore in 
 the night. 4 JMr. Lawrence, too, his friend and kinsman, then 
 
 4 I add the answer to Lady Lyell’s kind note, welcoming him to England. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Liverpool, June 4 , 1860. 
 
 My dear Lady Lyell, 
 
 I have just received your kind note, in the midst of trunks, luggage (you 
 
FIRST EVENING IN LONDON. 
 
 281 
 
 American Minister at the Court of St. James, had begged him 
 in the same way to be in season for a large diplomatic dinner 
 which he was to give on the evening that Mr. Prescott would 
 naturally reach London. Others had, in other ways, sent salu¬ 
 tations both courteous and cordial. It was all very flattering 
 and kindly, and, accompanied as he was by his faithful and 
 intelligent secretary, Mr. Kirk, he did not, from the moment 
 of his landing, feel for an instant that he was either alone or 
 upon a stranger soil. 
 
 On reaching London, he drove at once to Mivart’s Hotel, 
 where lodgings had been engaged for him ; but he had hardly 
 alighted when Sir Charles Lyell entered and gave him his first 
 London greeting, which he loved always afterwards to remem¬ 
 ber for its affectionate warmth. The dinner at Mr. Lawrence’s 
 he had declined, being too fresh from a long journey to enjoy 
 it; but he took tea a little later with Lady Lyell, and went 
 with her to the evening party at the Minister’s, which followed 
 the more serious dinner, and was, in fact, a part of it. His 
 introduction to much of what was most distinguished in Eng¬ 
 lish society, including Lord Palmerston and several others of 
 the Ministers, could hardly have been more agreeable or more 
 graceful. 
 
 It was on this occasion that he first saw the Milmans, with 
 whom he had long felt acquainted, and to whom he soon be¬ 
 came personally much attached. It was then, too, that he first 
 saw the venerable mother of his friend Lord Carlisle, and 
 many other persons of distinction, his meeting with whom he 
 often afterwards recalled with peculiar pleasure. But that with 
 Lord Carlisle went to his heart, and well it might, for it was 
 warmer than he intimates it to have been, even in a letter to 
 
 Bee my Yankee breeding), and all the other custom-house trumpery from 
 which it is so difficult a matter, after a voyage, to disentangle one’s self. I 
 am passing a day here with an old friend, and to-morrow shall take the eleven 
 o'clock train for London. Many thanks for your agreeable invitation, which 
 I shall have the pleasure of answering in person to-morrow evening. I have 
 declined an invitation to dine with our Minister, as I shall not be in condition 
 to dine, so soon after my journey, with an array of Ministers and Ministers’ 
 ladies. But I shall be in first-rate condition for seeing friends whom I value 
 so much as you and your husband. 
 
 Pray remember me warmly to him, and believe me, my dear Lady 
 Lyell, &c. 
 
282 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Mrs. Prescott, in which he says, that it made him “ feel aa 
 awkward as a young girl.” A person who was present said 
 that Lord Carlisle almost embraced him. But he remained at 
 this first London party only a little while. He was too tired 
 after his journey. 
 
 From this moment his table was covered with cards and 
 invitations. His preference and pleasure were undoubtedly for 
 the more cultivated and intellectual society which received him 
 on all sides with earnest cordiality; but he was also the fash¬ 
 ion. He was invited everywhere. He was the lion of the 
 season. 6 
 
 His own letters to his family, and his more intimate friends, 
 will show this in the simplest and pleasantest manner. 
 
 TO MBS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 London, Tuesday, June 11, 1850. 
 
 Dearest Susan, 
 
 I returned last evening from a visit to the Horners, Lady Lyell’s 
 parents and sisters, a very accomplished and happy family-circle. They 
 occupy a small house, with a pretty lawn stretching between it and the 
 Thames, that forms a silver edging to the close-shaven green. The family 
 gather under the old trees, on the little shady carpet, which is sweet with 
 the perfumes of flowering shrubs, and you see sails gliding by and stately 
 swans of which there are several hundreds on the river. Any injury to 
 these birds is visited with a heavy penalty. The next day, Sunday, after 
 dinner, — which we took at four, — we strolled through Hampton Court 
 and its royal park. The entrance to the park is not more than half a 
 mile from Mr. H.’s house. We spent a couple of hours in rambling over 
 it, — a most superb green lawn stretching in all directions, covered with 
 avenues of stately trees planted in the time of William and Mary, mostly 
 the English elm. Troops of deer were standing and lying idly round, 
 and every now and then we started a hare. Whole companies of rooks 
 — a bird seen everywhere here — sailed over the tops of the trees, — such 
 
 6 The Nepaulese Princes were in London that year, and were much stared 
 at for their striking costumes and magnificent diamonds. Alluding to this 
 circumstance, Mr. Lockhart, the first time he met Mr. Prescott, said, play¬ 
 fully, but not without a touch of the cynical spirit always in him, that “ he 
 was happy to make the acquaintance of Mr. Prescott, who, as he had heard, 
 was the great lion of London, — he and the Nepaulese Princes.” “ You 
 forget the hippopotamus!” retorted Mr. Prescott. It was not, perhaps, the 
 most auspicious and agreeable beginning of an acquaintance, but it did not 
 prevent them from being a good deal together afterwards, and liking each 
 other much. A parting dinner with Ford and Stirling at Lockhart’s wai 
 always remembered by Mr. Prescott as peculiarly gay and gratifying. 
 
LETTER TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 283 
 
 trees! In front of the old palace were broad red gravel walks through 
 the green turf, with artificial basins of water. In short, the real scene 
 looked like the picture in our camera at Pepperell. Here was the favorite 
 residence of William and Marv, and of their predecessor, the merry 
 Charles the Second, whose beauties, by the hands of Sir Peter Lely, still 
 decorate the walls. I fancied, as I strolled through the grounds, I could 
 see the gallant prince and his suite sauntering among the lordly avenues, 
 playing with his spaniels and tossing crumbs to the swans in the waters. 
 We walked home at twilight, hearing the nightingale at his evening song, 
 and the distant cuckoo, sounding so like the little toy the children play 
 with! 
 
 The next day we had our picnic at Box-Hill, — a sweet, romantic spot 
 in Surrey, on a high hill, looking over half the country, and fragrant with 
 the odors of the box, which rises here into trees. There was a collection 
 of seven and twenty persons in all, friends of the family. So we spread 
 our cloth in a shady spot, and produced our stores of good things, and 
 with the aid of a little of the spiritual with the material, we had a merry 
 
 time of it. T-A-will tell you all about it, as he returns by the 
 
 next steamer; so he intends, at least, at the present moment. The 
 
 P-s return by it also. To think that I should have missed them ! 
 
 William was at just such a picnic last year, and I heard many kind things 
 of him. He made some good friends here, and left everywhere, I believe, 
 a good impression. I have written to our Minister at Madrid to look him 
 up, for I have not yet heard from him. Unlucky enough ! but I think he 
 must soon turn up. 9 
 
 Friday noon. 
 
 I have so many things to tell you of since my last date, and so little 
 time to do it in, dear Susan, that I don’t know which to take, — the 
 Ascot races, dinner at Sir Robert Peel’s, — or I will begin (probably end) 
 
 with the visit to Lady S-s, which I was about to make when I left off. 
 
 I went at eleven, and found myself in the midst of a brilliant saloon, filled 
 with people, amongst whom I could not recognize one familiar face. You 
 may go to ten parties in London, be introduced to a score of persons in 
 each, and in going to the eleventh party not see a face that you have ever 
 seen before ; so large is the society of the Great Metropolis ! I was soon 
 put at my ease, however, by the cordial reception of Lord and Lady 
 C-, who presented me to a number of persons. 
 
 In the crowd I saw an old gentleman, very nicely made up, stooping a 
 good deal, very much decorated with orders, and making his way easily 
 along, as all, young and old, seemed to treat him with deference. It was 
 the Duke, — the old Iron Duke, — and I thought myself lucky in this 
 
 opportunity of seeing him. Lord C-asked me if I would like to 
 
 know him, and immediately presented me to him. He paid me some 
 pretty compliments, on which I grew vain at once, and I did my best to 
 
 * The reference is to Mr. Prescott’s eldest son, who had been some time in 
 Europe, but with whom Mr. Prescott had found it difficult to come into com¬ 
 munication at this time. The son did not yet know that his father had 
 thought of leaving America, and he was, in fact, now in Africa. 
 
284 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 repay him in coin that had no counterfeit in it. He is a striking figure, 
 reminding me a good deal of Colonel Perkins in his general air, 7 though 
 his countenance is fresher. His aquiline nose is strongly cut, as in earlier 
 days, when I saw him at the head of his troops in Paris, and his large 
 forehead has but few wrinkles. He does not show the wear and tear of 
 time and thought, and his benevolent expression has all the iron worked 
 out of it. He likes the attention he receives in this social way, spending 
 half an hour in working his way quietly through the rooms, and, having 
 received the general homage, disappears. He wore round his neck the 
 ribbons and ornaments of the Golden Pleece, and on his coat the diamond- 
 star of the Order of the Garter. He is in truth the lion of England, not 
 to say of Europe, and I could not take my eyes off him while he re¬ 
 mained. 
 
 We had a stately dinner at Sir Robert’s, — four and twenty guests. 
 He received us in a* long picture-gallery. The windows of the gallery at 
 one end look out on the Thames, its beautiful stone bridges with lofty 
 arches, Westminster Abbey with its towers, and the living panorama on 
 the water. The opposite windows look on the Green Gardens behind the 
 palace of Whitehall, — gardens laid out by Cardinal Wolsey, and near 
 the spot where Charles the Eirst lived and lost his life on the scaffold. 
 The gallery is full of masterpieces, especially Dutch and Flemish, — 
 among them the famous Chapeau de Paille, which cost Sir Robert over five 
 thousand pounds, or twenty-two thousand dollars. In his dining-room are 
 also superb pictures, — the famous one by Wilkie, of John Knox preach¬ 
 ing, which did not come up to the idea I had formed from the excellent 
 engraving of it; and Waagen, the German critic, who was there, told me, 
 asl sakAhis to him, that I was perfectly correct in the judgment. So I 
 find I am a connoisseur! There was a portrait of Dr. Johnson, by Rey¬ 
 nolds, — the portrait owned by Mrs. Thrale, and engraved for the Diction¬ 
 ary. What a bijou ! 
 
 We sat at dinner, looking out on the moving Thames. We dined at 
 eight, but the twilight lingers here till half past nine o’clock at this season. 
 Sir Robert was exceedingly courteous to his guests ; told some good 
 stories, at which some laughed immoderately; showed us his pictures, his 
 collection of autographs, &c. He has the celebrated letter, written by 
 Nelson, in which he says, “ If I die, frigate will be found written on my 
 heart.” 8 
 
 7 The resemblance to the Duke of Wellington of the late Colonel Thomas 
 H. Perkins, already referred to as a munificent merchant of Boston, was often 
 noticed and very obvious. 
 
 8 An anecdote of this dinner, connected with an account of another, is 
 happily given by Mr. Stirling, in a little memoir of Mr. Prescott, which was 
 originally published in “ Fraser’s Magazine,” for March, 1859, and was sub¬ 
 sequently printed privately, with additions. 
 
 “Amongst the many occasions when it was the good fortune of the author 
 af this sketch to meet Mr. Prescott, there is one which has especially stamped 
 itself on his memory. It was on a delightful summer day, at a dinner given at 
 the 4 Trafalgar,’ at Greenwich, by Mr. Murray, of Albemarle Street. Of 
 that small and well-chosen circle, the brightest lights are, alas! already 
 
LETTER TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 285 
 
 Is not this a fine life ? I am most sincerely tired of it. Not that I do 
 not enjoy the social meetings, and there are abundant objects of interest. 
 But I am weary of the dissipation, and would not exchange my regular 
 domestic and literary occupations in the good old Puritan town for thir 
 round of heedless, headless gavety, — not if I had the fortune of the 
 Marquis of Westminster, the richest peer in England. It is hard work to 
 make a life of pleasure. Wherever you go, you see wealth, splendor, and 
 fashion, — horses, carriages, houses, all brilliant and gorgeous ; — hut 
 nothing like repose, and not always good taste. All seem to be eagerly 
 pursuing the goddess Pleasure, — hard to be caught, and vanishing in the 
 grasp. If I could bring it with a wish, August 15th would be here iu 
 
 quenched. The festive humor of Ford will no more enliven the scene he 
 loved so well; nor will the wit of Lockhart and the wisdom of Hallam ever 
 more brighten or adorn banquets like that at which they met their fellow- 
 laborer from the New World. Everything was iu perfection. — the weather, 
 the preliminary stroll beneath the great chestnut-trees in Greenwich Park, 
 the cool upper room with its balcony overhanging the river, the dinner, from 
 the prefatory water-souchy to the ultimate devilled white-bait, the assort¬ 
 ment, spirits, and conversation of the guests. On our return to town in the 
 cool of the summer night, it was the good fortune of the present writer to sit 
 beside Mr. Prescott, on the box of the omnibus which Mr. Murray had 
 chartered for his party. It was there that the historian related to him the 
 fortunes of his first historical work, as told above. He likewise described 
 with great zest a more recent incident of his life. Some days before that, he 
 had dined with the late Sir Robert Peel. With the punctuality which was 
 very noticeable amidst all the bustle of Mr. Prescott’s endless London en¬ 
 gagements, he was in Whitehall gardens at the precise moment indicated on 
 the card of invitation. It followed, as a natural result, that he was for some 
 minutes the sole occupant of the drawing-room. In due time, Sir Robert 
 walked in, very bland and a little formal, somewhat more portly than he ap¬ 
 peared on the canvas of Lawrence, somewhat less rotund than he was wont 
 to be figured in the columns of Punch. Although not personally known to 
 his host, Mr. Prescott took for granted that his name had been announced. 
 It was to his great surprise, therefore, that he found himself addressed in 
 French. He replied in the same language, inly musing whether he had been 
 mistaken for somebody else, or whether to speak French to all persons from 
 beyond the sea was the etiquette of British statesmanship, or the private pre¬ 
 dilection of Peel. After some introductory topics had been got over, he was 
 still further mystified by finding the dialogue turned towards the drama, and 
 being complimented on his great success in that unfamiliar walk of letters. 
 The astonished historian was making the reply which his native modesty die 
 tated, when a second guest, a friend of his own, entered, and addressed both of 
 them in English. Mr. Prescott had been mistaken for M. Scribe, — a blunder 
 ludicrous enough to those who know the contrast that existed between the 
 handsome person of the historian, and the undistinguished appearance of the 
 most prolific of modern playwrights. By a curious chance, M. Scribe did 
 not arrive until a large party of political and literary celebrities were seated 
 at dinner, and Mr. Prescott concluded his story by remarking on the graceful 
 kindness with which Sir Robert hastened to meet him at the door, and 
 smoothed the foreigner’s way to a place amongst strangers.” 
 
286 
 
 WILLIAM HICKL1NG PRESCOTT. 
 
 less than no time, 0 — and then, Ho for Yankee-land ! Mr. Rogers has 
 just sent me a message to say, that he must at least shake hands with me. 
 How kind is this ! although his house is crowded with visitors, he sees nc 
 one but his physicians. 
 
 Remember me kindly to George and Anna, and to any other friends. 
 Kiss mother and Lizzie, and believe me, dearest, 
 
 Your loving husband, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO MISS PRESCOTT. 
 
 London, June 14,1S60. 
 
 My dear Lizzie, 
 
 As your mother tells me that you are to write me this week, I will do 
 the same good turn to you. What shall I tell you about t There are so 
 many things that would interest you in this wonderful city. But first of 
 all, I think on reflection, you judged wisely in not coming. You would 
 have had some lonely hours, and have been often rather awkwardly 
 situated. Girls of your age make no great figure here in society. One 
 never, or very rarely, meets them at dinner-parties, — and they are not so 
 numerous in the evening parties as with us, unless it be the balls. Six 
 out of seven women whom you meet in society are over thirty, and many 
 of them over forty and fifty, —not to say sixty. The older they are, the 
 more they are dressed and diamonded. Aoung girls dress little, and 
 wear very little ornament indeed. They have not much money to spend 
 on such costly luxuries. At the Ascot races yesterday, I happened to be 
 
 next to Lady-, a very pleasing girl, the youngest sister of Lord- 
 
 She seemed disposed to bet on the horses ; so I told her I would venture 
 anywhere from a shilling to a sovereign. She said she never bet higher 
 than a shilling, but on this occasion would go as high as half a crown. 
 So she did, — and lost it. It was quite an exciting race, between a horse 
 of Lord Eglinton’s, named “ Flving Dutchman,” and a little mare of 
 Lord Stanley’s, 10 named “ Canezou.” The former had won on several 
 occasions, but the latter had lately begun to make a name in the world, 
 and Lord Stanley’s friends were eagerly backing her. It was the most 
 beautiful show in the world. 
 
 But I will begin with the beginning. I went with the Lawrences. 
 Wc went by railway to Windsor, then took a carriage to Ascot, some 
 half-dozen miles distant. The crowds of carriages, horses, &c. on the 
 road filled the air with a whirlwind of dust, and I should have been 
 blinded but for a blue veil which was lent me to screen my hat and face. 
 The Swedish Minister, who furnished these accommodations, set the 
 example by tying himself up. On reaching Ascot, we were admitted to 
 the salon, which stands against the winning-post, and which is occupied by 
 the Queen, when there. It was filled with gay company, all in high 
 spirits. Lord Stanley was looking forward to a triumph, though ha 
 talked coolly about it. He is one of the ablest, perhaps the aflest, debater 
 
 » The period at which he then proposed to embark for home. 
 
 to Now (1862) the Earl of Derby. 
 
LETTER TO MISS PRESCOTT. 
 
 287 
 
 in Parliament, and next Monday will make a grand assault on the Cabi¬ 
 net. This is the way he relieves himself from the cares of public life. I 
 euspect he was quite as much interested in the result of the race yesterday 
 as he will be in the result of the Parliamentary battle on Monday. 
 
 The prize, besides a considerable stake of money from subscription, was 
 a most gorgeous silver vase, the annual present of the Emperor of Russia 
 for the Ascot races. It represents Hercules taming the horses of Dio¬ 
 mede, beautifully sculptured, making an ornament for a sideboard or a 
 table, some five feet in height, and eighteen inches square. What a trophy 
 for the castle of the Earl of Derby, or for the Eglinton halls in Scotland! 
 
 The horses were paraded up and down before the spectators, — betting 
 ran very high, — men and women, nobles and commoners, who crowd 
 the ground by thousands, all entering into it. Five horses started on 
 a heat of two miles and a half. The little bay mare led off gallantly, — 
 “ Flying Dutchman ” seemed to lose ground, — the knowing ones began 
 to shake, — and the odds rose in “ Canezou’s ” favor, — when, just as 
 they were within half a mile of the goal, Lord Eglinton’s jockey gave his 
 horse the rein, and he went off in gallant style, — not running, but touch¬ 
 ing the ground in a succession of flying leaps that could hardly have 
 brushed the wet from the grass, for it began to r ain. There was a general 
 sensation; bets changed; the cry was for the old favorite ; and as the 
 little troop shot by us, “ Flying Dutchman ” came in at the head, by the 
 length of several rods, before all the field. Then there was a shouting 
 and congratulations, while the mob followed the favorite horse as if they 
 would devour him. He was brought directly under our windows, and 
 Lady Eglinton felt, I have no doubt, as much love for him at the moment 
 as for any of her children. It was a glorious triumph, and the vase was 
 hers, — or her lord’s, whom I did not see. Now I did not feel the least 
 excited by all this, but excessively tired, and I would not go to another 
 race, if I could do it by walking into the next street; that is, if I had to 
 sit it out, as I did here, for three mortal hours. How hard the English 
 fine people are driven for amusement! 
 
 Coming home, we drove through the royal park at Windsor, among 
 trees hundreds of years old, under which troops of deer were lazily 
 grazing, secure from all molestation. The Thames is covered with swans, 
 which nobody would dare to injure. How beautiful all this is ! I wish, 
 dear Lizzie, you could have a peep at the English country, with its 
 superb, wide-stretching lawns, its numerous flocks of sheep, everywhere 
 dotting the fields, and even the parks in town, and the beautiful white 
 cows, all as clean as if they had been scrubbed down. England, in the 
 country, is without a rival. But in town, the houses are all dingy, and 
 most of them as black as a chimney with the smoke. This hangs like a 
 funeral pall over the city, penetrating the houses, and discoloring the curtains 
 and furniture in a very short time. You would be amused with the gay 
 scene which the streets in this part of the town present. Splendid equipages 
 fill the great streets as far as the eye can reach, blazing with rich colors, 
 and silver mountings, and gaudy liveries. Everything here tells of a proud 
 and luxurious aristocracy. I shall see enough of them to-day, as I have 
 engagements of one kind or another to four houses, before bed-time, which 
 is now with me very regularly about twelve, — sometimes later, but I do 
 not like to have it later. 
 
288 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Why have I no letter on my table from home ? I trust I shall find one 
 there this evening, or I shall, after all, have a heavy heart, which is far 
 from gay in this gayety. 
 
 Your affectionate father, 
 
 Wii. H. Pkescott. 
 
 The account of his presentation at Court is much in the 
 same style with the last. It is addressed to Mrs. Prescott, and, 
 after an introduction on slight subjects, goes on as follows : — 
 
 Thursday, 6 P. M 
 
 Well, the presentation has come off, and I will give you some account 
 of it before going to dine with Lord T'itzwilliam. This morning I break¬ 
 fasted with Mr. Monckton Milncs, where I met Macaulay, — the third 
 time this week. We had also Lord Lyttleton, — an excellent scholar, — 
 Gladstone, and Lord St. Germans, — a sensible and agreeable person,— 
 and two or three others. We had a lively talk; but I left early for the 
 Court affair. I was at Lawrence’s at one, in my costume: a chapeau with 
 gold lace, blue coat, and white trousers, begilded with buttons and metal, 
 — the coat buttons up, single-breasted, to the throat, — a sword, and 
 patent-leather boots. I was a figure, indeed 1 But I had enough to keep 
 me in countenance. I spent an hour yesterday with Lady M., getting in¬ 
 structions for demeaning myself. The greatest danger was, that I should 
 be tripped up by my own sword. On reaching St. James’s Palace we 
 passed up-stairs through files of the guard, — beef-eaters, — and were 
 shown into a large saloon, not larger than the great room of the White 
 House, but richly hung with crimson silk, and some fine portraits of the 
 family of George the Third. It was amusing, as we waited there an 
 hour, to see the arrival of the different persons, diplomatic, military, and 
 courtiers. All, men and women, blazing in all their stock of princely finery; 
 and such a power of diamonds, pearls, emeralds, and laces, the trains of 
 the ladies’ dresses several yards in length ! Some of the ladies wore coro¬ 
 nets of diamonds that covered the greater part of the head, others neck¬ 
 laces of diamonds, and emeralds that were a size perfectly enormous. I 
 
 counted on Lady-’s head two strings of diamonds, rising gradually 
 
 from the size of a fourpenee to the size of an English shilling, and thick 
 
 in proportion. Lady-had emeralds mingled with her diamonds, of 
 
 the finest lustre, as large as pigeon’s eggs. The parure was not always in 
 
 the best taste. The Duchess of-’s dress was studded with diamonds 
 
 along the border and down the middle of the robe,—each of the size of 
 half a nutmeg. The young ladies, a great rnanv of whom were pre¬ 
 sented, were dressed generally without ornament. I tell all this for Liz¬ 
 zie’s especial benefit. The company were at length permitted one by 
 one to pass into the presence-chamber, — a room of about the same size a* 
 the other, with a throne and gorgeous canopy at the farther end. before 
 which stood the little Queen of the mighty Isle, and her consort, sur¬ 
 rounded by her ladies in waiting. She was rather simply dressed, but ba 
 
LETTER TO MISS PRESCOTT. 
 
 289 
 
 was in a Field-Marshal’s uniform, and covered, I should think, with all 
 the orders of Europe. He is a good-looking person, but by no means so 
 good-looking as the portraits of him. The Queen is better looking than 
 you might expect. I was presented by our Minister, according to the di¬ 
 rections of the Chamberlain, as the historian of Ferdinand and Isabella, 
 in due form, — and made my profound obeisance to her Majesty, who 
 made a very dignified courtesy, as she made to some two hundred others, 
 who were presented in like manner. Owing to there having been no 
 drawing-room for a long time, there was an unusual number of presenta¬ 
 tions of young ladies ; but very few gentlemen were presented. I made 
 the same low bow to his Princeship, to whom I was also presented, and so 
 bowed myself out of the royal circle, without my sword tripping up the 
 heels of my nobility. As I was drawing off. Lord Carlisle, who was 
 standing on the edge of the royal circle, called me, and kept me by his 
 side, telling me the names of the different lords and ladies, who, after pay¬ 
 ing their obeisance to the Queen, passed out before us. He said, he had 
 come to the drawing-room to see now I got through the affair, which he 
 thought I did without any embarrassment. Indeed, to say truth, I have 
 been more embarrassed a hundred times in my life than I was here, I don’t 
 know why; I suppose, because I am getting old. I passed another hour 
 
 in talking and criticising, especially with Lady T-, whom E- 
 
 D- knew, and with Lady M- H- and Lord M-, all of 
 
 whom happened to gather in that part of the room. I had also some talk 
 with Sir Robert Peel and his wife, who has the remains of beauty, and 
 whose daughter, much admired, according to Lord C., has much beauty 
 herself. I talked also for some time with the old Iron Duke, who had 
 more gold than iron about him to-day, and looked very well, although his 
 utterance is not perfectly distinct, and he is slightly deaf. 
 
 After the drawing-room, I went at five to Stafford House, the Duchess 
 of Sutherland’s, where I lunched, and spent a couple of hours in rambling 
 through the rooms of the magnificent palace ornamented with hundreds 
 of the most exquisite paintings and statues, and commanding a beautiful 
 view of Hyde Park. Nothing can be more kind than the behavior of the 
 whole of Lord C.’s relatives to me. Luckily for me, they are of the best 
 families in England. They treat me, one and all, as if I were one of 
 themselves. What can be so grateful to the wanderer in a foreign land, 
 as to find himself at once among friends, who seem to be friends of an old 
 standing ? If I were to tell you of the cordial and affectionate greetings 
 they give me, I should seem more vain than I seem now, I fear,—if pos¬ 
 sible. But you will feel that I am talking to you, and do not say half 1 
 should if I were really talking. 
 
 I am most desirous to embark by September 1st, but I must see four or 
 five specimens of English country-life; and Parliament — confound it — 
 will not rise before the middle of August, unless the Ministry are upset, 
 which may be. I have invitations to Lord Lansdowne’s, the Duke of 
 Northumberland’s, Lord Fitzwilliam’s, the Duke of Argyll’s, and all that 
 kith and kin, — and several other places. Lord Carlisle wants me to go 
 first to Castle Howard, then to old Nawarth Castle, on the borders, which 
 he has entirely restored since the fire, and the family spend some weeks 
 there. I am afraid all this will carry me into September. But if so, 
 13 s 
 
2'jo WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 I shall abridge some of the visits. I shall try to embark by the first o. 
 September. 
 
 Your loving husband, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 To his mother he begins a letter in London, June 20th, but 
 continues it from the Bishop of Oxford’s palace. 
 
 Cuddesdox Palace, June 23. 
 
 You will be surprised at the date of my continuation, perhaps dear 
 mother. I am about seven miles from Oxford, at the residence of the 
 Bishop, called Cuddesdon Palace; a very old building, B?s“op fc 
 
 occupied from ancient times by his predecessors. The present Bishop is 
 the son of the famous Wilberforce. He is a very handsome man, polished 
 iS hTs manners, and an eloquent preacher. He invited me to stay here 
 two or three days. We have besides a dozen persons in the house, a 
 brother bishop, Thirlwall, who wrote the “ History of Greece an amiab 
 and unpretending scholar ; the Lawrences; Lord and Lady Lastlereag , 
 &c It is very convenient for me, as I am to-morrow to receive the degiee 
 of Doctor of' Laws from Oxford University. The Marquis of Northamp¬ 
 ton 11 who is also here, is to receive a degree at the same tune, and a 
 special convocation has been called for the purpose. After the cieremony 
 we all lunch at the Vice-Chancellor’s, and return in the evening to Lon 
 don' I came down to Oxford yesterday in the train^vith the^ Lawrences. 
 The Bishop was obliged unluckily to remain in London till this morning, 
 to attend the christening of the ’it royal infant. He had arranged there¬ 
 fore that we should dine with the Principal of one of the Colleges in Oxford, 
 after which, at ten, we drove over to Cuddesdon. Lord Northamp on and 
 I came over together, and I found him a lively, sensible person, lull o 
 terestin" anecdote. He has travelled a good deal, and is much connected 
 with science and scientific men. Before going to bed, the whole house- 
 Sd-guests included-went to the chapel, a very pretty b mid mg 
 erected by tire present Bishop, and heard the evening service, - very sol¬ 
 emn and' parts of it chanted by the domestics of the house. There are 
 two chaplains attached to the establishment. My bedroom looks out on a 
 1-wn dotted with old trees, over whose tops the rooks are sailing and ca - 
 i lr , while a highly gifted nightingale is filling the air with his melody. I 
 am writing vou must understand, at five o’clock in the afternoon while the 
 rest of the household have gone to the afternoon service in the pansh 
 church I went there this morning, and heard the Bishop preach. He 
 arrived here from London, late last night, after we had all retired to rest 
 Tte church is one I should much like you to see It is of the greatest 
 nnrinuitv — parts of it going back to the times of the Plantagenets, to 
 the'remns indeed, of Henry the Third and John. Is not that a glorious 
 antiquity ? We sat in the venerable pile, where prayer and praise had 
 
 it President of the Royal Society. He died the next year. 
 
LETTER TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 291 
 
 ascended for nearly seven centuries. The crumbling walls have been re- 
 stored by the present Bishop, a man of great architectural taste. The 
 light streams in through the stained panes, on which the arms and names 
 of a long roll of bishops, from the beginning of the fourteenth century, 
 were colored. The service was performed with a ceremony quite Roman- 
 Catholic. The chant was conducted by all the congregation, as it seemed to 
 me, and a great deal of the service read by us was chanted. The sermon 
 was adapted, or meant to be adapted, to a parish church ; but I did not 
 acquiesce in the views of the preacher, though the tones of his voice 
 would have melted the most obdurate heart. They started an unfortunate 
 urchin who had fallen asleep, and whom he paused in his sermon to ad¬ 
 monish in a very pastoral but decided tone. There must be little danger 
 of the good Bishop’s flock going to sleep, I should think, with this sort of 
 improvement of the discourse. In truth, he is so eloquent that there must 
 be very little danger of it at any rate. I walked with some of the ladies 
 for a long while under the old elms in the grounds, after church. 
 
 I wish you could see the pretty picture — the English picture — under 
 my window; — the green lawn, as smooth as velvet and of as deep a ver¬ 
 dure. There are circular beds of roses, and yellow and purple flowers, 
 gayly set out in one part of it, clumps of stately elms, and cypresses 
 throwing masses of shadow over the turf, and several of the party, re¬ 
 turned from church, stretched out under the trees, while the great birds, 
 the rooks, are wheeling in the air, and the woods are alive, as the evening 
 sun is withdrawing his fiercer rays. For it has been “ real ” warm 
 to-day. 
 
 Cuddesdon stands on a high terrace, and from the grounds, which are 
 not extensive, you have a wide view of the rich vale of the Isis, as it 
 winds through Oxfordshire. The pastures are covered with white or 
 white-streaked cattle, that look as if they had been groomed like horses, so 
 clean and shining are they, and flocks of sheep, that always speckle an 
 English landscape. Then there is a beautiful chime of bells, that has 
 twice sent its musical echoes to-day over hill and dale, filling the air and 
 the heart with a sober Sabbath melody. Then just beyond the grounds, 
 around the old church, lies the country churchyard, where rest the mortal 
 part of many a brave soul that lived in the times of the Edwards and 
 Henrys. What is there like these old links of Time, that bind us to the 
 past, — as much our past as it is John Bull’s ? 
 
 To-morrow morning we go to Oxford, for the ceremony of Doctorizing 
 which takes place in the theatre, before the Bigwigs. Our household 
 all go over to do us honor, and eat the Vice-Chancellor’s lunch, who 
 wrote me a note inviting me to bring my friends. So fare you well, dear 
 mother. Pray be careful of your health. Do stay, if you can, some time 
 with Susan at Nahant. Give my love to her and Lizzie, with as many 
 kisses as you please, and tell my dear wife she must take this for her letter 
 this time, as I intend to write to Ticknor. God bless you all. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 He was at Cuddesdon, as we have seen, partly in order to be 
 
292 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 near Oxford, when he was “ called up ” there, as the phrase is, 
 to be made a Doctor of Civil Law. Of this he gives a more 
 distinct account in the following letter than I find elsewhere. 
 
 TO MR. TICKNOR. 
 
 London, June 26, 1860. 
 
 My dear George, 
 
 I must thank you for your kind letter by the Asia, which made her 
 trip in ten days and a bittock. I had written to my mother from Oxford 
 that I should send you a line by this steamer; so you will consider me, 
 if you please, as quick on the trigger as yourself. 
 
 Well, here I am in the hurry-scurry of London, up to my ears in 
 dances, dinners, and breakfasts, some of the last at 10 A. M., some at 5 
 P. M., to say nothing of luncheons, the most beautiful of which that I 
 have seen, was yesterday at Lansdowne House. I am booked up for din¬ 
 ners to the middle of July, and then I intend to stop, as I may take a 
 week for a trip to Holland, — the land of my historic avenir. Meanwhile 
 I have invitations of one kind or another, often three or four a day. So 
 I shall not go to sleep till bedtime certainly; and I believe, though I have 
 been here but three weeks, I have been industrious enough to be able to 
 form a pretty good judgment of the stuff of which London society is made. 
 On the whole, it is a very extraordinary kind of life, and, as far as health 
 is concerned, agrees with me wonderfully. My eyes and many et-ceteras 
 are improved, and even the digestive organs, which must form the great 
 piece de resistance in the battle, so far come up to the mark gloriously. 
 Yet it is a life, which, were I an Englishman, I should not desire a great 
 deal of; two months, at most, although I think, on the whole, the knowl¬ 
 edge of a very curious state of society, and of so many interesting and re¬ 
 markable characters, well compensates the bore of a voyage. Yet I am 
 quite sure, having once had this experience, nothing would ever induce me 
 to repeat it. As I have heard you say, it would not pay. 
 
 The world here are all in great agitation and suspense as to the fate of 
 the Ministry. It hangs, you know, on the vote of the Commons on the 
 Greek question. I will not trouble you with the details, with which you are 
 too good a reader of English politics not to be familiar. I was in the 
 House of Peers at the grand charge of Lord Stanley, and have heard 
 some speeches in the Commons, but not the best. If government do not 
 get a majority of over thirty, at least, it is understood they will go out, 
 and then there will be such a scramble, for they reign by the weakness 
 and division of their opponents. The voting on this motion will, I im¬ 
 agine, cause no less division in the government ranks. It is curious to 
 see the interest shown by the women in political matters. 
 
 What will interest you more than the contest is the assault made so 
 brutally by Brougham on your friend Bunsen. I was present, and never 
 saw anything so coarse as his personality. He said the individual took 
 up the room of two ladies. Bunsen is rather fat, as also Madame and his 
 daughter, — all of whom at last marched out of the gallery, but not until 
 
LETTES TO ME. TICKNOR. 
 
 21)3 
 
 eyes and glasses had been directed to the spot, to make out the unfortunate 
 individual, while Lord Brougham was dying up and down, thumping the 
 table with his fist, and foaming at the mouth, tiil all his brother-peers, in¬ 
 cluding the old Duke, were in convulsions of laughter. I dined with Bun¬ 
 sen and Madame the same clay, at Ford's. He has since received scores of 
 condoling visits, as well as the most conciliatory communications from 
 Lord Palmerston, &c., &c. It will, probably, end in providing a place 
 for the Corps Diplomatique, who have hitherto been shuffled with “dis¬ 
 tinguished foreigners ” into the vacant space around the throne. 
 
 I returned day before yesterday from a visit to the Bishop of Oxford, 
 Wilberforce, you know; one of the best-bred men, and most pleasing in 
 conversation, that I have met with. However canny he may be in his 
 church politics, he is certainly amiable, for uniform good-breeding implies 
 a sacrifice of self that is founded on benevolence. There was some agree¬ 
 able company at the house, among them a lady, very well read, the daugh¬ 
 ter of a Bishop, who told me she had never heard the name of Dr. Clian- 
 ning! I gave her a great shock by telling her I was a Unitarian. The term 
 is absolutely synonymous, in a large party here, with Infidel, Jew, Mo¬ 
 hammedan ; worse even, because regarded as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. 
 
 On Monday morning our party at the Bishop’s went to Oxford, where 
 Lord Northampton and I were Doctorized in due form. We were both 
 dressed in flaming red robes (it was the hottest day I have felt here) and 
 then marched out in solemn procession with the Faculty, &c., in their 
 black and red gowns, through the public street, looking, that is, we, like 
 the victims of an auto de fe; though, I believe, on second thoughts, the 
 son benito was yellow. The house was well filled by both men and women. 
 The Archaeological Society is holding its meetings there. We were 
 marched up the aisle ; Professor Phillimore made a long Latin exposition 
 of our merits, in which each of the adjectives ended, as Southey said in 
 reference to himself on a like occasion, in isaimus ; and amidst the cheers 
 of the audience wc were converted into Doctors. We lunched with the 
 Vice-Chancellor, who told me I should have had a degree on Commem¬ 
 oration-day, the regular day ; but he wrote about me to the Dean of St, 
 Paul’s, who was absent from town, and so an answer was not received 
 until too lata. He did not tell me that the principal object of the letter 
 wau to learn my faith, having some misgivings as to my heresy, M-—- 
 wrote him word that he thought my books would be found to be vouchers 
 enough for me to obtain a degree. So a special convocation was called, 
 and my companion in the ceremony was a better man than a military 
 chief, like Lord Gough. I like Lord Northampton very much. He was 
 at the Bishop’s, and we drove together from Cuddesdon to Oxford . 12 He 
 is a man of very active mind. He told me some good anecdotes; among 
 others, an answer of the Duke to a gentleman who asked him if he had 
 
 12 Mr. Prescott had already received more than one honorary degree at 
 home; but, with his accustomed ingenuousness and simplicity, remembering 
 how lavishly and carelessly such distinctions are conferred by most of our 
 American colleges, he could not repress his satisfaction that he was “ now a 
 real Doctor.” 
 
294 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 not been surprised at the battle of Waterloo. The Duke coldly replied, 
 “ I never was surprised, as well as I can remember, till now, in my life.” 
 Did you ever hear of his fine answer to a lady who was glorifying his vic¬ 
 tories ? “A victory, ma’am, is the saddest thing in the world, except a 
 defeat.” Now that Sidney Smith is gone, Rogers furnishes the nicest 
 touches in the way of repartee. His conversation even in his dilapidated 
 condition, on his back, is full of salt, not to say cayenne. I was praising 
 somebody’s good-nature very much. “Yes,” he said, “so much good¬ 
 nature, that there is no room for good-sense.” Perhaps you have heard 
 of a good thing of Rogers’s, which Lord Lansdowne told me the ether 
 day he heard him say. It was at Lord Holland’s table, when Rogers 
 asked Sir Philip Francis (the talk had some allusion to Junius) if he, Sir 
 Philip, would allow him to ask a certain question. “ Do so at your 
 peril,” was the amicable reply. “ If he is Junius,” said Rogers in an un¬ 
 dertone to his neighbor, “ he must be Junius Brutus.” 
 
 Since writing the preceding, I have passed half an hour with Lockhart 
 in his own quarters. He showed me some most interesting memorials of 
 Scott; among the rest the diary, in which the trembling character, more 
 and more trembling, aud the tottering thoughts showed the touch of apo¬ 
 plexy. Very affecting, is it not? 
 
 Macaulay has gone to Scotland to look over topography; among the 
 rest, the scene of the massacre of Glencoe. I have met him several times, 
 and breakfasted with him the other morning. His memory for quotations 
 and illustration is a miracle, — quite disconcerting. He comes to a talk, 
 like one specially crammed. Yet you may start the topic. He told me 
 he should be delivered of twins on his next publication, which would not 
 be till ’53. I was glad to hear him say this, though it will be a disap¬ 
 pointment to brethren of the trade, who think a man may turn out his- 
 toricais, like romances and calicoes, by the yard. Macaulay’s first 
 draught — very unlike Scott’s — is absolutely illegible from erasures and 
 corrections. He showed me a sheet just written. I found cle as an 
 abridgment of castle, aud all on that plan. This draft he copies always, 
 with alteration, &c. This shows more care than I had supposed. He 
 tells me he has his moods for writing. When not in the vein, he does not 
 
 press it. Johnson, you remember, ridiculed this in Gray. II-told 
 
 me that Lord Jeffrey once told him that, haring tripped up Macaulay 
 in a quotation from “ Paradise Lost,” two days after Macaulay came 
 to him and said, “ You will not catch me again in the Paradise”; at 
 which Jeffrey opened the volume and took him up in a great number of 
 passages at random, in all of which he went on, correctly repeating the 
 original. Was not this a miraculous tour d’dspritf Macaulay does not 
 hesitate to say now, that he thinks he could restore the first 6ix or seven 
 books of the “ Paradise ” in case they were lost. 
 
 The world here is agitated by the debate still going on in the Com¬ 
 mons, on which the fate of the Ministry depends. Lord Palmerston 
 made a most able defence evening before last. The Speaker says he 
 never heard one superior to it since he has presided there, nearly a dozen 
 years. His wife heard the whole of it, and seems to feel the full glory 
 which has come upon her husband. Yet, although it has made a good 
 rally for the party, the issue is very doubtful. Day before yesterday I 
 
T. B MACAULAY 
 
 J. B.LIPPINCOTT 4 CO. PHILAD* 
 

 
LETTER TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 295 
 
 dined with your friend Kenyon. I found him kind and most cordial. It 
 is the first time I have seen him; no fault of his, for he has called, and 
 repeatedly asked me to dine; nor of mine, for I have called also. But 
 meeting any particular body in London is a small chance, — too small to 
 be counted on by any person. I have seen much of the Milmans and 
 Lyells. Nothing can be kinder. Lord Carlisle and his whole kith and 
 kin, ditto. These I had some right to count upon, but, in truth, the ex¬ 
 pressions of kindness from utter strangers have been what I had no right 
 to anticipate. I avail myself so much of this friendly feeling that I flatter 
 myself I shall see as much of London (the interior) in six weeks as most 
 of its inhabitants would in as many months. Twice this week I kept my 
 ground in the ball-room till ghost-time had passed, once till an hour after 
 dawn. Am I not a fast boy? 
 
 Of all the notabilities no one has struck me more than the Iron Duke. 
 His face is as fresh as a young man’s. He stoops much and is a little 
 deaf. It is interesting to see with what an affectionate and respectful 
 feeling he is regarded by all, — not least by the Queen. 
 
 Do you know, by the way, that I have become a courtier, and affect 
 the royal presence ? I wish you could see my gallant costume, gold-laced 
 coat, white inexpressibles, silk hose, gold-buckled patent slippers, sword, 
 and chapeau, &c. This and my Cardinal’s robe on Monday ! Am I not 
 playing the fool as well as my betters ? No wonder that the poet who 
 lived in London should find out that “ The world’s a stage, and all the 
 men,” &c. But I must conclude this long talk, so pleasant with a dear 
 friend, but not without thanking you for so kindly condensing my char¬ 
 acter into twelve hundred words; better than if you had had more words 
 
 allowed to tell it in . 13 L-, in the haste of my departure, asked if 
 
 he could not refer to some one, and I told him you ; for I had rather be 
 in your hands than in any other man’s alive. If I had not been in yours, 
 I should have been in his. I hope to get something better than the 
 
 paralysis effigy which L-got of me an hour before sailing, as I am 
 
 engaged to sit for my portrait next week to an excellent artist, Rich¬ 
 mond, in the same style as our Cheney, for Lord Carlisle ; a thing I did 
 not expect to do again. 
 
 With ever so much love to Anna, and Anika, and little Lizzie, 
 
 I remain, dear George, 
 
 Always affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 London, Sunday, June 30, 1850. 
 
 Dearest Susan, 
 
 I go this afternoon to the Dean of St Paul’s to lunch and hear his 
 afternoon service in the great Cathedral. I shall call for our good friend 
 Lady Lyell, and take her with me. What shall I tell you of the past 
 
 18 A notice of Mr. Prescott, which I prepared for a publication at New 
 York, entitled “Illustrious Americans,” where I was limited to twelve hun 
 dred words, as it was only intended to explain a portrait of him. 
 
296 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 week ? I will run over my engagements for yesterday and a day or two 
 coming, that you may know my whereabouts. I was invited to a rural 
 party at a Mrs. Lawrence’s, Ealing Park, where went the Duke of Cam¬ 
 bridge. But I could not go, having engaged to visit Lambeth, the old 
 palace of the Archbishop of Canterbury, with my friends the Milmans. 
 And friends they axe; I wish you knew Mrs. M., you would so like her. 
 Her letter to me last summer was a fair index to her character. 
 
 I received your letter, enclosing that of Amory, to whom I shall write 
 this week. But I write so much to you, that it really leaves me little 
 time for others. But writing to you is my chief happiness, as it is talking 
 with my best friends, you and mother. Well, where was I ? At the 
 Queen’s. — (The servant has just brought me a note from Alison, iuviting 
 me most cordially to make his house in Glasgow my head-quarters, should 
 I visit Scotland, where he goes in a day or two. That is kind from a 
 brother of the craft.)—After some of the company had paid their 
 respects, dancing began. The Queen danced a quadrille very gracefully 
 with the Prince of Prussia. The crowd in the neighborhood of the 
 Queen was intense, and the heat suffocating. I strolled through the whole 
 suite of magnificent apartments, all filled with a blaze of beauty, simply 
 attired in the young, and of age bejewelled from head to foot, — the men 
 in their picturesque diplomatic costumes, or military or court-dresses 
 blazing with diamond-crosses and ribbons, and noble orders. It was a 
 gorgeous sight. At midnight we went to supper, the Queen leading in 
 the procession, while the whole band played the grand national air. The 
 supper-table ran through the whole leugth of the immense hall, the 
 farther end of which was hung with gold or gilt shields of great size and 
 lighted up with a thousand lights. The rest of the room was in compara¬ 
 tive darkness. It was a grand stage effect, which I did not much admire. 
 The servants stood next to the wall. They were as many as could stand 
 at the tables, which at the end were united by a transverse table. They 
 were all gold and finery, so that I felt very diffident of calling on them 
 for anything. The Queen kept her state at the head of the room, and, 
 as well as her guests, was on the inside of the tables. The supper was 
 magnificent, especially in fruits and confectionery. You know I have a 
 failing in the way of confectionery, and the English have varieties that 
 would make the fortune of a Yankee. After supper, dancing again, till 
 I saw one young lady in a waltz before the Queen, who never waltzes, go 
 down with a thump that I thought might have broken a bone. Two 
 other couples had the like fate that evening. The floors are of hard wooa 
 and polished. At two her Majesty retired. So could not I; for my car 
 riage was more than an hour in getting to the door, and the daylight wat 
 broad in the streets before I laid my head on the pillow. There is th« 
 Court Ball! And from one you may learn all. We are now in great 
 stir here for the accident which has befallen Sir Robert Peel; I called 
 there to-day, and left my card, as do half London. It is curious to see 
 the interest excited. A police-officer is stationed at the gates to prevent 
 disorder, and bulletins are handed round to the crowd, containing the last 
 report of the physicians. You will see the particulars iD the newspaper*. 
 It is a serious, very probably a fatal accident. 
 
LETTER TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 297 
 
 July 3d. — Sir Robert Peel is dead ! The news has given a shock to 
 the whole town. He died in his dining-room, — the very room where I 
 was with him a fortnight ago. It seems a frivolous thing, this dining 
 and dancing in the midst of death. I am getting a-weary of the life, I 
 assure you. 
 
 Fourth of July. — William came in upon me to-day at noon. He 
 arrived in the Southampton steamer from Gibraltar. He has been in 
 Africa and Southern Spain, and, as his letters remained in Paris by his 
 orders, he heard nothing of my being in London till he received a note 
 from, err Minister in Madrid. He looks very well, just as he did when he 
 sailed, except that he is as black as a Moor from the African sun. It was 
 a merry meeting on both sides. He is very simple and unaffected in his 
 manners, and is full of his adventures. He has brought with him your 
 daguerrotype, the sight of which, dear, was as welcome to me as the 
 sight of him. He has left some articles in Paris, and I think I shall let 
 him run over there for a few days. On the 20th, I shall go with him for 
 a week to Belgium ; then take him with me to a few country-places, and 
 early in September I shall embark. If Parliament did not continue sitting 
 till the middle of August, I should not be so late. With love to mother 
 and Lizzie, and to E. Dexter, 
 
 I remain your loving husband, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 My eyes are much better, and health generally very good. William 
 compliments me by saying I look younger than when he left. 
 
 I am now -writing to Amory, 14 and shall send the letters to-day. It is 
 a fine day, and I go at noon on my expedition to Greenwich with Ford, 
 Lockhart, Hallam, Stirling, Rawiinson, Cummings, the African lion- 
 hunter, &c. William is to be one of the party. I sat up with him late 
 last night after my return from dinner, till one o’clock, hearing his 
 Southern adventures, and indulging with him in the fume of cigars. 
 
 TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 Wednesday evening. —Just returned from the Countess Grey’s. A small 
 party of ten. I sat between two ladies, whose united ages amounted to one 
 
 hundred and fifty, Lady-- and Lady-■. There was also a charming 
 
 lady there to whom I lost my heart, dear wife, some three weeks since. 
 Don’t be jealous, she is over seventy, — Lady Morley, a most natural, 
 lively, benevolent body. I know you would like her. I really think the 
 elder bodies here are very charming. In fact, nobody is old. I have not 
 seen any up to one I have left in Beacon Street. What a delightful letter 
 from mother ! Your letters of June 30th came in this afternoon. I have 
 sent your nice little notes to Lady Lyell and Mrs. Smith. How good it 
 was in them to write ! Your note to me was a shabby one. You must 
 
 u His younger son, William Amory Prescott. 
 
 13* 
 
298 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 not write the less that others write. I shall answer Anna Tieknor by a 
 good letter this mail for her kindness in thinking of me. 
 
 TO MRS. TICKNOR. 
 
 Loxdon, July 18, 1850. 
 
 Thank you, my dear Anna, for so kindly thinking of me in the practi¬ 
 cal way of a letter. I knew your superscription before I broke the seal, 
 and it was “good for sair e’en.” I did mean to answer yon with a bigger 
 letter, hut on returning home this evening after a visit to the city, 1 
 my friends here had cut out work enough for Mr. Kirk which could not 
 be passed over. To-morrow I go to the Continent, an historical tour, for 
 
 11 Thlve 8 now seen life in London and its environs, wealth wit, and 
 beauty and rank; sometimes without either; women talking politics, men 
 talking nonsense; literary breakfasts, fashionable dinners, convivial din¬ 
 ners, political dinners; lords without pretension, citizens with a good deal, 
 literary lions, fashionable lions, the Ncpaulese, the hippopotamus, &c., Ac. 
 But I have not seen an old woman. As to age, nobody, inan or woman 
 is old here. Even Miss Berry is but getting old. I forgot, however. 
 Miss Joanna Baillie, - decidedly old, much older than her sister. What 
 a little world it is 1 Everything is drawn into the vortex, and ‘here they 
 swim round and round, so that you may revolve for weeks, and not meet 
 a familiar face half a dozen times. Yet there is monotony in some t i gs 
 _ that everlasting turbot and shrimp-sauce. I shall never abide a turbot 
 
 ' ^ The dinners are very agreeable, if you are planted between agree 
 able people. But what a perilous affair the settling of the respective 
 grades, as you move in solemn procession to the banquet 1 It is a nation 
 & i defined as those in India. But what cordial hearts are some¬ 
 times found under the crust of shyness and reserve There are some, 
 however, so invincibly shy that they benumb the faculties of any one, 
 at least any stranger who approaches them. , 
 
 I have found the notabilities here pretty much as I had supposed. 
 Macaulay is the most of a miracle. His tours in the way of memory 
 stagger belief. He does not go about much now, except at breakfast. I 
 lost a pleasant dinner with him on Monday at Denison s. His talk is li 
 the labored, 8 but still unintermitting, jerks of a pump. But it is anything 
 but wishy-washy. It keeps the mind, however, on too great a tension for 
 table-talk. The Milmans are the most lovable people I have met wit , 
 Sways excepting our friends the Lyclls and Lord Carlisle and his family 
 These arc the people whom I have seen the most of, and enjoyed the 
 , n ost ■ - invariable kindness, shown not merely m passing hospitality 
 but active measures for promoting one’s happiness in every way that a 
 stranger could desire. I have seen Rogers several times, that is all that 
 is out of the bed-clothes. His talk is still sauce piquante. The best 
 thinv on record of his late sayings is his reply to Lady-, who at 
 
 1 5 His secretary. 
 
LETTER TO MRS. TICKNOR. 
 
 299 
 
 dinner-table, observing Mm speaking to a lady, said, “ I hope, Mr. Rogers, 
 you are not attacking me! ” “ Attacking yon ! ” he said, “ why, my 
 
 dear Lady-I have been all my life, defending you.” Wit could go 
 
 no further. 
 
 Since writing the above, I have returned from a dinner with Lockhart. 
 We had only Ford, Stirling, and Major Rawlinson. Carlyle was invited, 
 but was unwell. He came the other day to a place five minutes after I 
 left it, and I sat next but two to him at a dinner-table some time since, 
 and never knew I was in, Ms company. Odd enough ! It proves he did 
 not talk loud that day. So I have never seen him; is it not droll'? Yet 
 there are many men I should have more cared to see. Lockhart showed 
 us the diary of Sir Walter. He (Lockhart) had two copies of it printed 
 for himself. One of them was destroyed in printing the Memoir, for 
 which he made extracts. 
 
 But I must bid you good-night, dear Anna, as it is midnight. The iron 
 tongue strikes it as I write these words. Good night, dear friend. 
 Much love to George and to Anika. Thank your husband for his kind 
 letter, which he will be kind enough to consider partly answered in this. 
 Love to little Lizzie. 
 
 Believe me, now and ever, 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 Wm. H. Fbescott. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 1850. 
 
 Leaves London. — Hasty Visit to Paris, Brussels, and Antwerp 
 — Letters. — Return to London.— Visits in the Country.— Let¬ 
 ters.— End of his Visit to England. — English Character and 
 Society. 
 
 HE expedition to the Continent was begun the next day 
 
 B after the last letter was written, and on the afternoon of 
 the day following, July 20th, Mr. Prescott was in Paris. But 
 he did not stop there. He was in brilliant Paris hardly two 
 days, and one of them was a Sunday. He left it on the 22d, 
 and on the 23d wrote from Antwerp to Mrs. Prescott a long 
 letter, from which I select the portion that has a general 
 interest. 
 
 TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 Antwerp, July 23, 1850. 
 
 In Brussels I found myself in the heart of the Middle Ages. Old 
 buildings of stone, curiously carved, immense gables and fantastic archi¬ 
 traves, and cornices of the houses ; churches with antique Gothic spires. 
 The Place Rovale, in which my hotel stood, was the spot on which 
 Charles the Fifth abandoned the crown in presence of the most royal 
 assembly that ever met in Brussels. What do I dream of at night 1 Not 
 Charles the Fifth, but Boston. That is a fact; hut my waking dreams 
 were of the sixteentli century. I visited the Hotel de Ville, a most glorious 
 municipal monument of the Middle Ages, standing as it stood when, 
 directly in front of it, those gallant nobles, Egmont and Horne, were be¬ 
 headed on a public scaffold by order of Alva. I visited the house, a fine 
 old Gothic edifice, still standing, from which the Flemish patriots walked 
 out to the scaffold, and from the windows of which Alva witnessed the 
 execution. What a square that is 1 If I don’t make something out of 
 my visit to Brussels and its glorious squares, I don’t know what there is 
 in eyesight. Yet I do know what there is in the want of it too well. 
 My eyes, however, have been much better of late, and I read some every 
 day. Then the noble cathedral of Brussels, dedicated to Saint Gudule; 
 the superb organ filling its long aisles with the most heart-thrilling tones, 
 as the voices of the priests, dressed in their rich robes of purple and gold, 
 
LETTER TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 301 
 
 rose in a chant that died away in the immense vaulted distance of the 
 cathedral. It was the service for the dead, and the coffin of some wealthy 
 burgher, probably, to judge from its decorations, was in the choir. A 
 number of persons were kneeling and saying their prayers in rapt atten¬ 
 tion, little heeding the Protestant strangers who were curiously gazing at 
 the pictures and statues with which the edifice was filled. I was most 
 struck with one poor woman who was kneeling at the shrine of the saint, 
 whose marble corpse, covered by a decent white gauze veil, lay just before 
 her, separated only by a light railing. The setting sun was streaming 
 in through the rich colored panes of the magnificent windows, that rose 
 from the floor to the ceiling of the cathedral, some hundred feet in height. 
 The glass was of the time of Charles the Fifth, and I soon recognized 
 his familiar face, the wliapper-jaw of the Austrian line. As I heard I he 
 glorious anthem rise up to Heaven in this time-honored cathedral, which 
 had witnessed generation after generation melt away, and which now dis¬ 
 played the effigies of those, in undying colors, who had once worshipped 
 within its walls, I was swept back to a distant period, and felt I was a 
 contemporary of the grand old times when Charles the Fifth held his 
 Chapters of the Golden Fleece in this very building. 
 
 But in truth I do not go back quite so far. A silly woman, with whom 
 I came into Paris, said when I told her it was thirty years since I was here, 
 “ Poh ! you are not more than thirty years old ! ” — and on my repeating 
 it, still insisted on the same flattering ejaculation. The Bishop of London, 
 the other day, with his amiable family, told me they had settled my age at 
 forty, and that is just the age at which Richmond’s portrait, so excellent, 
 puts me! So I am convinced there has been some error in the calcula¬ 
 tion. Ask mother how it is. They say here that gray hairs, particularly 
 whiskers, may happen to anybody, even under thirty. On the whole, I 
 am satisfied, I am the youngest of the family. 
 
 I had a note to M. de Praet, Leopold’s Minister, who lives with him in 
 his palace at Brussels. Mr. Van der Weyer expressed a desire that I 
 should see Leopold, and gave me the letter for that purpose. It would have 
 been an easy matter, as the king is very accessible, with very little form, 
 and, as he is a clever person, is an interesting one in the line of 
 crowned heads. But Fate has decided otherwise. On calling, I found his 
 Belgian Majesty was not to come to-day (I am writing Tuesday, the 2.3d) 
 from his country-place, and had sent for his Minister, half an hour before, 
 to come to him. As I was to leave Brussels in a couple of hours, I left 
 the note, with my regrets, and thus the foundation of what might have 
 been a permanent friendship between us — I mean, of course, Leopold 
 and me — was entirely destroyed ! At three, I left Brussels for Antwerp, 
 another of the great historical cities of the Low Countries. Our road laj 
 through fat meadows, wheat spreading out for miles, all yellow as gold, 
 and as high as a man’s head ; fields of the most tender green checkering 
 the landscape; rows of willow trees, elms, and lindens, all in straight 
 lines ; hedges of hawthorn ; such a fruitful country as yotr eye never 
 rested on. It beats England all hollow. The women in the fields, reap¬ 
 ing and binding the sheaves ; the cattle all speckled white and black, 
 suggesting lots of cream, delicious butter, and Dutch cheeses, — such as 
 Mr. B-sent me, you know ; cottages wretchedly poor, shaded by old 
 
302 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 trees, and enchanting creepers and vvild-flowers; the whole as level as a 
 bowling-green. Dear Susan, I never see anything beautiful in nature or 
 art, or hear heart-stirring music in the churches, the only place where music 
 does stir my heart, without thinking of you, and wishing you could be by 
 my side, if only for a moment. But I shall be by yours before September 
 is closed. I mean to take my passage, on my return to England, for 
 the 7th. 
 
 To-morrow I go by steam to Rotterdam, take a peep into Holland, and 
 see “ the broad ocean lean against the land.” It will be but a peep. — 
 But fare thee well. Good night, dear. Love to mother and Lizzie, and a 
 hearty kiss, by way of good night, to both of them. Remember me to 
 Elizabeth and the Ticknors, and believe me, 
 
 Your affectionate husband, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 He made a little excursion in Holland, and, returning to 
 Antwerp five days afterwards, wrote to his daughter on the 
 28th another long letter, like the last to Mrs. Prescott, hut one 
 from which, as in that case, I omit such details as are of a 
 domestic nature and do not belong to the public. 
 
 TO MISS PRESCOTT. 
 
 Antwerp, Sunday, July 28,1860. 
 
 Dear Lizzie, 
 
 From Antwerp I went to Rotterdam, Delft, the Hague, Haarlem, and 
 Amsterdam. At Delft I saw the spot on which William of Orange, the 
 hero of the Netherlands, was standing when he was assassinated; the 
 very spot is indicated by a tablet in the wall. He was just coming down¬ 
 stairs when he was shot by the assassin. The pistol has been preserved, 
 and is so long that it could hardly have been presented without touching 
 William’s body in the narrow passage. Was it not an interesting spot to 
 me 1 I wish you could have been with me on the visit to Holland. Life 
 is so different there from what it is anywhere else. Your mother would 
 revel in its neatness. The great streets of Rotterdam and Amsterdam are 
 filled with women, all busily engaged in different labors, some of which 
 with us are performed by men. They were all dressed in neat caps, and 
 with no bonnets or shawls, — so it seemed as if we were in some great 
 house, instead of being out of doors. We went to the little town of 
 Broek, remarkable even here for its extravagant neatness. The streets 
 looked as if they had been scoured down every day. We went into 
 stables where the accommodations for cows were as nice as those usually 
 for the masters and mistresses. They have a front-door to each of the 
 houses, which is never opened except for weddings and funerals. One 
 thing would have delighted you in all the Dutch towns, the quantities 
 of little babies, the prettiest little rosy-faced things in the world, and 
 without a speck on their clothes. How the Dutch mammas manage their 
 
LETTER TO MISS PRESCOTT. 
 
 303 
 
 babies and their other handiwork, I don’t comprehend. But every woman 
 almost seems to have one of them in her arms. On the whole, I was 
 much pleased with my bird’s-eye view of the people, men and women, 
 although the former do smoke intensely, not hesitating to light their pipes 
 and cigars in the carriage or at the breakfast-table. 
 
 On the 29th of July he was again in his old quarters at 
 Mivart’s Hotel. His object, however, was not London or Lon¬ 
 don society; but English country life, and what is best in it. 
 He began, therefore, a series of visits, with which, according to 
 his previous arrangements, he was to close his European excur¬ 
 sion ; stopping, however, one day for a most agreeable dinner 
 at Lord Carlisle’s, to which he had promised himself before he 
 went over to Holland. 
 
 His first country visit was a charming one to Ham’s Hall, in 
 Warwickshire, where he went with a kinsman and friend of 
 the statesman who is the master of that noble and luxurious 
 establishment. The three days they spent there were most 
 agreeable in all respects, involving, as they did, excursions with 
 a brilliant party to Kenilworth, Warwick, and Stoneleigh Ab¬ 
 bey. But he was obliged to hurry away in order to keep an 
 engagement for a great annual festival observed at Alnwick 
 Castle, in Northumberland, and of which he gives a full 
 account in the following letter to his daughter, — familiar 
 certainly in its whole tone, but the better and more agreeable 
 because it is so. 
 
 TO MISS PRESCOTT. 
 
 Alnwick Castle, August 8, 1850. 
 
 My dear Lizzie, 
 
 It was very good of you to write me such a charming letter, and so 
 very interesting. I received it here in the ancient castle of the Percy’s ; 
 and it was more pleasant to my sight than the handwriting — if I could 
 meet with it — of Harry Hotspur himself. So I cannot do better than to 
 answer it by some account of the magnificent place where I am now 
 quartered. We reached it three days since in a heavy rain. It rains in 
 England twice as much as with us; and in the North and in Scotland four 
 times as much, I understand. But nobody minds rain ; and the ladies 
 jump into their saddles or put on their walking-shoes as soon in a drizzle 
 or a light shower as in sunshine. I wonder they do not grow web-footed, 
 as I have told them. I received a note from the Duke a day or two before 
 I left London, advising me to be in time for dinner, and it was just after 
 
304 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 the first bell rang that our carriage drove up. Alnwick Castle stands at 
 the end of the town, from which it is cut off by high walls and towers, — 
 and it looks out ou a bold hilly country, with the river Alne flowing below 
 its walls. My chamber, where I am now writing, overlooks a wide stretch 
 of border land, made famous by many a ballad ; and away to the west 
 rise the blue hills of Cheviot, with Chevy Chase between, and farther to 
 the west is the field of Flodden. Is it not a stirring country 1 Then to 
 look on it from the towers of Alnwick 1 
 
 I went down to dinner, and found the Duke with a few friends, waiting 
 for the ladies. He gave us a cordial welcome. He was no stranger to 
 me, as I have met both him and the Duchess in London. He is a good- 
 looking man, with light hair, blue eyes, rather tall, frank and cordial in 
 his manners. He has been a captain in the navy. He immediately took 
 me to a window', and showed me the battle-ground, where Malcolm, who 
 succeeded Macbeth, was slain, when besieging Alnwick. A little stone 
 cross still marks the spot. In fifteen minutes the company assembled in 
 the drawing-room to the number of forty. The dining-room is very large, 
 as you may imagine, to accommodate so many persons. There was a 
 multitude of servants, and the liveries, blue, white, and gold, of the Duke 
 were very rich. We had also our own servants to wait on us. The table 
 was loaded with silver. Every plate was silver, and everything was blaz¬ 
 oned with the Northumberland arms. The crest is a lion, and you sec the 
 lion carved on the stone-work displayed in sugared ornaments on the table, 
 in the gilt panelling of the rooms, &c. As you enter the town of Alnwick, 
 a stone column some sixty feet high is seen, surmounted by a colossal lion, 
 and four monsters of the same family in stone lie at its base. The 
 Northumberland lion has his tail always sticking out straight, w'hich has 
 proved too strong a temptation for the little boys of Alnwick, who have 
 amused themselves with breaking off that ornamental appendage to a little 
 lion sculptured on a bridge below the house. After dinner, which was a 
 great London dinner over again, we retreated to the drawing-room, where 
 a concert was prepared for us, the musicians having been brought from 
 London, three hundred miles distant. The room was hung round with 
 full-length portraits of the Duke’s ancestors, some of them in their robes 
 of state, very showy. I went to bed in a circular room in one of the 
 towers, with a window, shaped something like a rose, set into a wall from 
 five to six feet thick. In the morning I waked up, and heard the deep 
 tones of the old clock announcing seven. My head was full of the stout 
 Earl of Northumberland who 
 
 “ A vow to God did make, 
 
 His pleasure in the Scottish woods,” &c. 
 
 As I looked out of the window, I saw myself to be truly in an old 
 baronial fortress, with its dark walls, and towers gloomily mustered arouud 
 it. On tho turrets, in all directions, were stone figures of men, as large 
 as life, with pikes, battle-axes, &c., leaning over the battlements, appar¬ 
 ently in tne act of defending the castle, — a most singular effect, and to 
 be found only in one or two fortresses. It reminded me of the description 
 in Scott of the warders pacing to and fro on the battlements of “ Nor- 
 ham’s castled steep,” while the banner of Northumberland waved high in 
 
LETTER TO MISS PRESCOTT. 
 
 305 
 
 the morning breeze. It was a glorious prospect, which called up the old 
 border minstrelsy to memory, and I felt myself carried back to the days 
 when the Douglas came over the borders. The dwelling of the family is 
 the keep of the castle, the interior fortress. It was entirely rebuilt on the 
 old foundations by the Duke’s grandfather. But in conforming to them 
 he has been led into such a quantity of intricacies, odd-shaped rooms, per¬ 
 plexing passages, out-of-the-way staircases, &c., that it is the greatest 
 puzzle to find one’s own room, or anybody’s else. Even the partition- 
 walls are sometimes five feet thick. The whole range of towers, which 
 are offices for domestics and for the Duke’s men of business, together 
 with the walls, are of the ancient Norman structure ; and the effect of the 
 whole, as seen from different points of view, is truly majestic. The print 
 which I send you may give you some idea of the castle, though not a 
 very good one. 
 
 At a quarter past nine the whole household assembled for prayers in 
 the chapel, to the number, it might be, of over a hundred. Services 
 were performed by the Duke’s chaplain, and at parts of them every one 
 knelt. Prayers in this way are read every morning in the English houses 
 that I have seen, and, where there is no chaplain, by the master. It is an 
 excellent usage, and does much for the domestic morals of England. 
 From prayers we go to the breakfast-table, — an informal meal. After 
 the breakfast the company disperses to ride, to walk, to read, &c. 
 
 One day I amused myself with going over the different towers explor 
 ing the secrets of the old castle, with a party of ladies who could not be 
 persuaded to descend into the dungeon, which is still covered by its iron 
 grating in the floor above. The good old times ! One day I took a ride 
 
 with Lord M-in the park, to see the ruins of Hulm Abbey. The 
 
 park is a noble piece of ground, surrounded by a ring fence, a high wall 
 of ten miles in circumference. It is carpeted with beautiful verdure, 
 filled with old trees, and watered by the river Alne, which you cross at 
 fords when there are no bridges. As you drive along over the turf and 
 among the green thickets, you start hares and pheasants, and occasionally 
 a troop of deer. The Duke has some red deer, which at times it is not 
 
 pleasant for the pedestrian to meet. Lord O-told me that he was 
 
 with a party once, when a stag of this kind planted himself in the path, 
 and, on the carriage’s advancing, rushed against the horses, and plunged 
 his horns into the heart of one of them, who reared and fell dead. On 
 reaching the Abbey we found the Duchess with a party of ladies had just 
 arrived there, in two carriages drawn by four horses each, with postilions 
 whose gay liveries looked pretty enough among the green trees. The 
 Abbey is in a deep valley, a charming cultivated spot. The old monks 
 always picked out some such place for their nest, where there was plenty 
 of sweet water and feed for their cattle, and venison to boot. We wan¬ 
 dered over the ruins, over which Time had thrown his graceful mantle of 
 ivy, as he always does over such ruins in England. From the topmost 
 tower the eye ranged along a beautiful landscape, closed by the Cheviots. 
 In coming home, which we all did at a gallop, we found lunch ready for 
 us, at half-past two o’clock. This, too, is an informal meal, but it is a 
 substantial one at Alnwick. After lunch we again took care of ourselves 
 as we liked till dinner. In shooting-time the park affords a noble range 
 
306 
 
 WILLIAM HICIvLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 for the sportsman, and plenty of trout are caught in the streams. Those ot 
 less murderous intent frequent the library, a large room stored with some 
 thousands of volumes, — some of them old enough, — and hung round 
 with family portraits. In this pleasant room I have passed some agree¬ 
 able hours, with persons who seemed to take the greatest pleasure in hunt¬ 
 ing up things for me most worthy of notice. English country-life brings 
 out all the best qualities of the Englishman. 
 
 At seven o’clock again came the dinner, for which we dress as much as 
 in town. One day we all dined — the men — at a public dinner of all 
 the great tenant farmers in the county. The building was of boards and 
 sail-cloth, and lighted with hundreds of gas-lights. There were about a 
 thousand persons, and the Duke and his guests sat at a long table, raised 
 above the others, and, as it ran crosswise also to these, it commanded the 
 whole hall. It was an animated sight, especially as the galleries were 
 filled with the ladies of the Castle and the County. I luckily had laid in 
 a good lunch ; for as to eating in such a scramble, it is hopeless. There 
 was a good deal of speaking, and, among others, Lawrence did credit to 
 himself and his country. I bargained with the Duke that I should not be 
 called upon. Without this I would not have gone. But I did not get 
 off without some startling allusions, which made my hair stand on end, 
 for fear I should be obliged to answer them. But they told me it was not 
 intended. The Duke himself spoke half a dozen times, as president of 
 the feast. He always spoke well, and the enthusiasm was immense ; — 
 cheering, hip hurrahs, till my head ached. Our Minister’s speech was 
 most heartily received, showing a good-will towards Yankees which was 
 very gratifying. It was an animating sight, the overflow of soul and 
 60 und. But I had rather liave eaten my cheese-cakes alone in a corner, 
 like Sancho Panza. 
 
 On returning to the castle we found an informal dinner prepared for 
 us, and in another room a superb desert of cakes, ices, and confectionery. 
 The tables, both at breakfast and lunch, are ornamented with large vases 
 of flowers of the most brilliant colors, with clusters of white and purple 
 grapes of mammoth size, pine-apples, peaches, &c. Talking of flowers, 
 it is the habit now to surround the houses in the country with beds of 
 flowers, arranged in the most artificial forms, diamonds, circles, &c. The 
 flowers are disposed after some fanciful pattern, so as to produce the effect 
 of brilliant carpeting, and this forms quite a study for the English dames. 
 And such flowers! If they had our autumnal woods, they would un¬ 
 doubtedly dispose the trees so as to produce the best effects of their gaudy 
 colors. 
 
 Another day we went in to see the peasantry of the great tenants dine, 
 some sixteen hundred in number, or rather we saw them for half an hour 
 after dinner. The Duke and the Duchess took the head of the hall; and 
 I thought the people, dressed in their best, to whom the dinner was given, 
 as they drank off healths to their noble hosts, would have gone mad with 
 enthusiasm. I nearly did so from the noise. The Duke, on allusion to 
 his wife, brought her forward; and she bowed to the multitude. It was 
 altogether a pretty sight. Persons in their condition in England are 
 obliged to be early accustomed to take part in these spectacles, and none 
 do it better than our excellent host aud hostess. They are extremely be- 
 
LETTER TO MISS PRESCOTT. 
 
 307 
 
 loved by their large tenantry, who are spread all over the County of 
 Northumberland. 
 
 The Duke has shown the greatest desire to promote the education and 
 comfort of his peasantry. “ He wants us all to be comfortable,” one of 
 them said to me; and the consequence is he is universally beloved by 
 them. Both he and his wife visit the poor cottages constantly; and she 
 has a large school of her own, in which she assists in teaching the chil¬ 
 dren. One of the prettiest sights was the assembly of these children in 
 one of the Castle courts, making their processions in the order of their 
 schools; that of the Duchess being distinguished by green jackets. The 
 Duke and Duchess stood on the steps, and the little children, as they 
 passed, ail made their bows and courtesies, a band playing all the while. 
 Afterwards came the feasting. It was a happy day for the little urchins, 
 — a visit to the Castle; and I am told there was no such thing as getting 
 any study out of them for days previous; — and I will answer for it there 
 will be none for days to come. As they all joined in the beautiful an¬ 
 them, “ God save the Queen,” the melody of the little voices rose up so 
 clear and simple in the open court-yard, that everybody was touched. 
 Though I had nothing to do with the anthem, some of my opera tears, 
 dear Lizzie, came into my eyes, and did me great credit with some of the 
 John and Jeannie Bulls by whom I was surrounded. 
 
 Edinburgh, August 11 th. — Here I am in the Scottish capital, dear Liz¬ 
 zie, where we have met Mr. Kirk, on his Northern pilgrimage, and to 
 save time I am dictating this letter to him. But I must leave Edinburgh 
 till another time, and wind up now with Alnwick. When it was known 
 I was going, I had a quantity of invitations all along my route, and 
 memoranda given me to show how I could best get to the different places. 
 I took them all kindly, as they were meant, but can go to none. One of 
 
 them, Lord and Lady O-, would have given me an interesting place, 
 
 for it is the only one which still preserves the famous breed of Chilling- 
 ham cattle, snow-white and still as untamed as zebras. The estate is 
 
 really that of Lord O--’s father, a blind old peer, whose wife told me 
 
 in London that she had read my histories aloud to him. So he might 
 have known me without his eyes. My friendly hosts remonstrated on my 
 departure, as they had requested me to make them a long visit, and “ I 
 never say what I do not mean,” said the Duke, in an honest way. And 
 when I thanked him for his hospitable welcome, “ It is no more,” he said, 
 “ than you should meet in every house in England.” That was hearty. 
 They urged me next time to bring your mother. I rather think I shall! 
 They invited me also to their place at Stanwick; a pretty spot, which 
 they like better than Alnwick, living there in less state, which, as I learn 
 from others, he keeps up no more than is absolutely necessary. He goes 
 from Alnwick to Keilder, where he and the Duchess pass a couple of 
 months with never more than two friends, the house being so small that 
 the dinner-room is also the sitting-room. We can do better than this at 
 the Highlands; Heaven bless the place dearer to me than. Highlands or 
 Lowlands in any other quarter of the globe ! 
 
 Yesterday we went to Abbotsford, Melrose Abbey, and Dryburgh. 
 Shade of Scott! 1 had a note from Lockhart, which instructed the 
 
 housekeeper to let me and my friends take our fill of the hallowed pro- 
 
308 
 
 WILLIAM inCKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 cincts. As I looked through the iron grating of Drvburgh, and saw thw 
 stone sarcophagus of the great minstrel, it seemed as if I was looking 
 with you, dear, through the iron bars that fence in the marble sarcophagus 
 of our great and good Washington. But 1 must finish. To-morrow for 
 the North, — Loch Katrine, Loch Lomond, Inverary Castle, where I 
 shall halt for a few days. I have told William he ought to write to you, 
 hut he says the family have given up writing to him, so he leaves it all to 
 me. How do you like that 1 ? I am glad you take so much comfort in 
 
 -; I knew you would. Pray remember me to the dear girl, and to 
 
 -, and to-, when you write her. I mean to write to her soon. 
 
 But you see what long letters I send to Pitful Head. Kiss your mother 
 for me. I know you are a comfort to her; you cannot be otherwise. 
 With much love to your grandmother and Aunt Dexter, I remain. 
 
 Your affectionate father, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 His more general but still very familiar views of English 
 society may perhaps be better gathered from a letter written 
 after he had crossed into Scotland, than from those written on 
 the other side of the Tweed. 
 
 TO MR. TICKNOR. 
 
 Edinburgh, Aug. 16, 1850. 
 
 Dear George, 
 
 As I could not send you a letter from Alnwick Castle by my regular 
 amanuensis, I have deferred sending it till I came here, and have taken the 
 liberty to carry off one of the Alnwick note-papers, to give you a more 
 vivid idea of my late whereabouts. I was much pleased with my short 
 residence there, liking my noble host and his Duchess very much. They 
 are in truth excellent people, taking an active interest in the welfare of 
 their large tenantry. The Duke is doing much to improve the condition 
 of his estates. His farmers aud tenants appear, from the glance I had at 
 them, — that was at feeding hours, — to be a thriving, contented people, 
 and overflowing with loyalty to the noble house of Percy. But I have 
 written particulars of my visit to Lizzie, in a letter, which, if you feel 
 curious, I dare say she will show you, as I wish all my letters to be read 
 by you and Anna, if you desire it. I passed also some days with Mr. 
 
 A-, a great landed proprietor in Warwickshire; quite an amiable, 
 
 cultivated person, who has taken an active interest in colonial affairs iu 
 Parliament. We had some agreeable people in the house, and I saw a 
 
 good deal of the neighboring country, in the society of our friend T-, 
 
 through whom I became acquainted with Mr. A-. Air. A-’s wife 
 
 is T-'s cousin. But for my adventures here, I shall refer you also to 
 
 family letters. I am now at Edinburgh en route for the North, and pro¬ 
 pose to be at Inverary Castle at the end of three days, taking the way of 
 Stirling, Loch Katrine, &e. 
 
LETTER TO MR. TICKNOR. 
 
 309 
 
 I have been now long enough in London society, I believe, to under¬ 
 stand sometliing of it, and something also of English country life, — far 
 the noblest phase. Yet neither one nor the other, as they are conducted 
 in the great houses, would be wholly to my taste. There is au embarras 
 de richesses ; one would want more repose. I am told the higher English 
 themselves discover something of this taste, and that there is less of pro¬ 
 fuse hospitality than of yore. This is somewhat attributed to the rail¬ 
 roads, which fetch and carry people with the utmost facility from the most 
 distant quarters. It was a great affair formerly to make journeys of two 
 or three hundred miles; arrangements were made long beforehand, and 
 the guests stayed long after they got there. But now-a-days they slip in 
 and off without ceremony, and the only place where the old state of things 
 perfectly exists is in a county like Cornwall, too rough for railways, — at 
 least for many. Your railroad is the great leveller after all. Some of 
 
 the old grandees make a most whimsical lament about it. Mrs.-'s 
 
 father, who is a large proprietor, used to drive up to London with his 
 family, to attend Parliament, with three coaches and four. But now-a- 
 days he is tumbled in with the unwashed, in the first class, it is true, —no 
 better than ours, however, —of the railway carriages ; and then tumbled 
 out again into a common cab with my Lad} and all her little ones, like 
 any of the common pottery. 
 
 There are a good many other signs of the times to be seen in the 
 present condition of the aristocracy. The growing importance of man¬ 
 ufactures and moneyed capitalists is a wound, not only to the landed 
 proprietors, but to the peers, who, it is true, are usually the greatest landed 
 proprietors in the country. The last man raised to the peerage was a 
 banker, a man of sense, whom I have met several times. Another peer, 
 
 Lord C-,—or some such name, I may not have got it right, — whose 
 
 brother, a well-known baronet, — I forget his name (I have a glorious 
 memory for forgetting, and they say that is an excellent kind of memory), 
 — was raised to the House of Lords not many years since, — actually, I 
 
 mean, the first nominative, Lord C-, applied to the Queen the other 
 
 day to dis-pcer him. After a grave consideration of the matter with the 
 Privy Council, it was decided that it was not in the power of the Crown 
 to do so, and the poor man was obliged to pocket his coronet, and make 
 the best of it. Sir Robert Peel showed his estimate of titles by his curi¬ 
 ous injunction on his family; as indeed lie had shown it through his 
 whole life. A person who, I believe, is well acquainted with the matter, 
 told me that the Queen urged the title of Earl on Sir Robert when he 
 went out of office; but he steadily declined it, requesting only that her 
 Majesty and the Prince would honor him by sitting for their portraits for 
 him. Two indifferent full-lengths were accordingly painted for him by 
 Winterhalter, the Flemish artist, and form one of the principal ornaments, 
 as the guide-book would say, of Sir Robert’s house. Peel, it is well 
 known, was a good deal snubbed in his earlier life, when he first became 
 a Cabinet Minister, by the aristocracy; so that he may have felt satisfac¬ 
 tion in showing that he preferred to hold the rank of the Great Commoner 
 of England to any that titles could give him. Yet it seems almost an 
 affectation to prevent their descending to his posterity, though it is true it 
 was only as far as they were meant as the reward of Ins own services. 
 
310 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 He had too much pride, it seems, to digest this. As to the inferior aris¬ 
 tocracy of baronets, knights, &c., there is many an old commoner that 
 would refuse it, with contempt. You know our friend Hallam’s decision 
 in regard to a baronetcy, though he did not express himself like one of 
 
 the old family of T-, who, when he was told that it was intended to 
 
 make him a baronet, begged that it might be commuted to a knighthood, 
 that the disgrace might not descend to his posterity. I had the story from 
 one of the aristocracy myself. You won’t understand from all this that I 
 think titles have not their full value, real and imaginary, in England. I 
 only mention it as a sign of the times, — that they have not altogether the 
 preacige which they once had, and the toe of the commoner galls some¬ 
 what the heel of the courtier. 
 
 You know Sir Robert left to Lord Mahon and Mr. Cardwell the care 
 of his papers. The materials will all be easily at hand if they biogra¬ 
 phize. Reel told Mr. A-, whose estate lies near to Tamworth, that he 
 
 preserved all his correspondence, except invitations to dinner; and on one 
 occasion, wanting an important letter in a great hurry in the House of 
 Commons, he was able to point out the file in which it was kept so ex¬ 
 actly, that his friend Lord L-went to Tamworth and got it for him in 
 
 the course of a few hours. His death seems to have broken the knot 
 which held together rather an anomalous party. Many speculations there 
 are about them, as about a hive of bees ready to swarm, of which one 
 cannot tell where it will settle. The persons most important in the party 
 are Sir James Graham and Gladstone, two of the best speakers, indeed, 
 if not the very best, in the House of Commons. They are pledged, how¬ 
 ever, to the Corn-Law movement, and into whatever scale the Peelitcs 
 may throw themselves, there seems to be a general impression that there 
 can bo no decidedly retrograde movement in regard to the Corn-Laws, at 
 least at present. The experiment must be tried; and the diversity of 
 opinion about it among the landholders themselves seems to show that it 
 is far from having been tried yet. 
 
 Before I left town, almost all your friends had flown,—the Lyells, 
 Hallam, the excellent Milmans, Lord Mahon, T. Phillips, — all but good 
 Kenyon, whom, by the by, I saw but twice, and that was at his hospitable 
 table, though we both made various efforts to the contrary, and poor Air. 
 Rogers, who, far from flying, will probably never walk again,—all are 
 gone, and chiefly to the Continent. Lord has gone to Turkey, Stirling 
 to Russia; Lockhart remains to hatch new Quarterlies. He is a fascinat¬ 
 ing sort of person, whom I should fear to have meddle with me, whether 
 iu the way of praise or blame. I suspect he laughs in his sleeve at more 
 than one of the articles which come out with his imprimatur, and at their 
 authors too. I had two or three merry meetings, in which he, Stirling, 
 and Ford were met in decent conviviality. 
 
 But I must conclude the longest, and probably the last, epistle I shall 
 ever send you from the Old World, and I hope you will never send me 
 one from that same world yourself. Pray remember me most lovingly to 
 Anna and Anika, with kind remembrance, moreover, to Gray, and Hil¬ 
 lard, and Everett, when you see them. No American Minister has left a 
 more enviable reputation here. Lawrence, with very different qualities, is 
 making himself also equally acceptable to the English. Addio, vuo caro 
 
LETTER TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 311 
 
 With mauy thanks for your most interesting letter on our Yankee poli¬ 
 tics,— more interesting to me here even than at home, — I remain 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott- 
 
 He hastened from Edinburgh, and pushed on to Inverary 
 Castle, the Duke of Argyll’s, picking up on the way Sir 
 Roderick Murchison and Professor Sedgwick, who were bound 
 to the same hospitable port. There he remained for a few 
 days, but days of great enjoyment, and then turned his face 
 southward, feeling, at the same time, that he had the happiness 
 of turning it towards his home. But great pleasures and great 
 festivities still awaited him on the hospitable soil of Old Eng¬ 
 land. Of these, the most ample and agreeable accounts will 
 be found in the following letters. 
 
 TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 Castle Howard, August 24th, 1S50. 
 
 Dear Wife, 
 
 Here we are at Castle Howard, by far the most magnificent place 1 
 have yet seen. But I will begin where I left off. After bidding adieu to 
 the Duke and his charming wife at Inverary Castle, we sailed down Loch 
 Coyle and up the Clyde witli Lady Ellesmere, and reached Glasgow at 
 eight. I posted at once to Alison’s, and was cordially received by him 
 and Madame. He lives in an excellent house, surrounded by a handsome 
 park. I found a company of ladies and gentlemen, and passed the hours 
 pleasantly till midnight, when I returned to Glasgow. Alison has a noble 
 library, and in the centre of it is a great billiard-table, which, when he 
 wrote, he covered with his authorities. Droll enough ! He showed me a 
 handsome tribute he had paid to me in the last edition of his History. 
 He had a cheerful fire in my bedroom, expecting me to stay. But it was 
 impossible. The next morning we left for Naworth Castle, where I was 
 to meet Lord Carlisle. 
 
 This is a fine old place, of the feudal times, indeed. In the afternoon 
 we arrived, and saw the towers with the banners of the Howards and 
 Daeres flying from the battlements, telling us that its lord was there. He 
 came out to greet us, dressed in his travelling garb, — for he had just 
 arrived,—with his Scotch shawl twisted round his body. Was it not 
 kind in him to come this distance — a hundred and fifty miles — solely to 
 show me the place, and that when he was over head and ears in prepara¬ 
 tions for the Queen What a superb piece of antiquity, looking stili as 
 when Lord Surrey’s minstrel 
 
 M Forsook, for Naworth’s iron towers, 
 
 Windsor’s sweet groves and courtly bowers.” 
 
 was partially injured by fire; but Lord Carlisle has nearly restored it. 
 
312 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 and in the best taste, by copying the antique. Fortunately the walls ol 
 the building, with its charming old ivy and eglantines, are unscathed, and 
 a good deal of the interior. It stands proudly over a deep ravine, bristled 
 with pines, with a running brook brawling below ; a wild scene, fit for a 
 great border fortress. The hall is a hundred feet long and thirty high, 
 hung round with armorial quarterings of the family. Before dinner we 
 visited the rich old ruins of Lanercost Abbey, which stand on Lord C.’s 
 grounds ; walking miles through the wildest mountain scenery to get at 
 it. Every one we met showed a respect for the lord of the domain, 
 which seemed to be mingled with warmer feelings, as he spoke kindly to 
 each one, asking them about their families, &c. Indeed, it is very grati¬ 
 fying to see the great deference shown to Lord Carlisle all along the 
 route, on my way to Castle Howard. Every one seemed to know him, 
 
 and uncover themselves before him. Lady E-told me — what I have 
 
 often heard — that he was more generally beloved than any naan in the 
 country. 
 
 We found on our return a game dinner smoking for us, for which we 
 were indebted to Mr. Charles Howard, a younger brother, and Baron 
 Parke , 1 his father-in-law, who had been slaughtering grouse and black¬ 
 cock on the moors. Our table was laid on the dais, the upper part of the 
 long hall, with a great screen to keep off the cold, and a fire such as 
 belted Will Howard himself never saw, for it was of coal, of which 
 Lord C. has some mines in the neighborhood. The chimney, which has 
 a grate to correspond, is full twelve feet in breadth ; a fine old baronial 
 chimney, at which they roasted whole oxen I suppose. We all soon felt 
 as if we could have snapped our fingers at “ Belted Will,” if he had 
 come to claim his own again. There are some fine old portraits in the 
 hall; among them one of this hero and. his wife, who brought the estate 
 into the Howard family. She was a Dacre. The embrasures of the 
 drawing-room windows of this old castle are about ten feet thick. I have 
 
 got some drawings of the place which Lady-gave me, and which 
 
 will give you a better idea of it. Next morning we took up our march 
 for Castle Howard, — seventeen miles from York. You can follow me on 
 the map. 
 
 We arrived about six ; found Lady Mary Howard in a pony phaeton 
 with a pair of pretty cream-colored steeds, waiting for us at the station, 
 three miles distant. There was a rumble, so that all the party were accom¬ 
 modated. The scenery was of a different character from that of Naworth. 
 Wide-spreading lawns, large and long avenues of beech and oak, beautiful 
 pieces of water, on which white swans were proudly sailing, an extensive 
 park, with any quantity of deer, several of them perfectly white, grazing 
 under the trees, all made up a brilliant picture of the softer scenery of 
 England- We passed under several ornamented stone arches by a lofty 
 obelisk of yellow stone, and at length came in full Hew of the princely 
 palace of the Howards. 
 
 It is of clear yellow stone, richly ornamented with statues aud every 
 kind of decoration. It makes three sides of a square, and you will form 
 some idea of its extent, when I teU you that a suite of rooms continue* 
 
 1 Now Lord Wensleydale (1862). 
 
LETTER TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 313 
 
 round the house six hundred feet in length. I have seen floors open 
 through the whole front of the building-, three hundred feet, as long as 
 Park Street, -— a vista indeed. The great hall, rising to the top of the 
 house, is gorgeous with decoration, and of immense size. The apart¬ 
 ments and the interminable corridors are filled with master-pieces of art, 
 painting and sculpture. In every room you are surrounded with the 
 most beautiful objects of virtu, — tables of porphyry and Oriental alabas¬ 
 ter, vases of the most elegant and capricious forms, &c. The rooms are 
 generally not large, but very lofty and richly gilt and carved, and many 
 of them hung with old Gobelins tapestry. Critics find much fault with 
 the building itself, as overloaded with ornament. It was built by Van 
 brugh, who built Blenheim, — both in the same ornamental style. 
 
 Nothing could be more cordial than the reception I met with. Lady 
 Carlisle reminds me so of mother ; so full of kindness. If you could 
 see the, not attention, but affection, which all the family show me, it 
 would go to your heart. I spoke yesterday of writing to my late charm¬ 
 ing hostess, the Duchess of Argyll, and the kind old lady insisted on 
 being my secretary instead of William. So I went into her dressing-room, 
 and we concocted half a dozen pages, which she wrote off, at my dicta¬ 
 tion, as rapidly, and with as pretty a hand, as her granddaughter. We 
 found only some of the family here; Lady Dover, the widow of Lord 
 Dover and sister of Lord Carlisle, and her two daughters. Last evening 
 we had another arrival, the splendid Duchess of Sutherland among 
 others, and William’s friend, young Lord Duflerin. I drove over with 
 Lady Mary in the pony phaeton to the station. Some went on horseback, 
 and two showy barouches, with four horses each, one of bays, the other 
 grays, with young postilions in burnished liveries. It was a brilliant show 
 as we all came merrily over the park, and at full gallop through the villa¬ 
 ges in the neighborhood. 
 
 All now is bustle and preparation for the royal visit, which is to come 
 off on Tuesday, the 27th, — to take up two days. The Queen and 
 Prince, with four children, and five and twenty in their suite, chiefly 
 domestics. Lord Carlisle’s family, brothers and sisters, and sons and 
 daughters, will muster over twenty. So that he has really not asked 
 another, besides Will and myself, except those in attendance on the 
 Queen. He has put off having my portrait engraved till after these festivi¬ 
 ties, and has actually had it brought down here, where he has hung it up 
 beside the Prince’s and the Queen’s, for her Majesty to look at. This is 
 a sample of all the rest, and I suppose you won’t think me a ninny for 
 telling you of it. 
 
 The dining-room will be such as the Queen cannot boast of in Buck¬ 
 ingham Palace. It is to be the centre of the famous Picture Gallery one 
 hundred and fifty feet long. This centre is an octagon of great height, 
 and a table has been made, of hexagon shape, twenty feet across each 
 way. It is to hold thirty-six, the number of guests and residents of 
 the Castle. On one of the days a lunch for double the number will be 
 spread, and people invited, when two long ends are to be added to the 
 table, running up the gallery. You may imagine the show in this splen¬ 
 did apartment, one side of which is ornamented with statues, and with 
 the costliest pictures of the Orleans Collection ; the other, with a noble 
 14 
 
314 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 library in rich bindings; the windows opening on a velvet lawn and a 
 silver sheet of water. But this will not be seen at the dinner hour of 
 eight. The centre of the table will be occupied with candelabra, pyramids 
 of lights and flowers, and we shall all be able to see the way in which 
 her gracious Majesty deports herself. But I believe I must wind up my 
 yarn, and spin some for somebody else. 
 
 I must tell you of one of my accomplishments. Last night we played 
 billiards ; — the game of pool, a number of gentlemen and ladies. Each 
 person has three lives. All had lost their lives but Lord Duflerin and 
 myself. He had three and I had only one. The pool of sixpences would 
 go to the victor. There was a great sensation, as he, being a capital 
 player, had deprived many of their lives; that is, pocketed their balls. T 
 struck him into a pocket, which cost him one life, — a general shout, — 
 the whole house was there. He missed his stroke and pocketed himself ; 
 thus he lost two lives and we were equal. The stir was great,—all shout¬ 
 ing, as I played, “ Hit him there, you can’t fail! kill him! ” &c., &c. We 
 fought round and round the table and he took off his coat. So did not I, 
 but buttoned up mine. As he missed a hazard and left his ball exposed, 
 the silence was breathless. I struck him into the pocket amidst a shout 
 that made the castle ring again. It was just twelve o’clock when I 
 retired with my laurels and sixpences. Will, who is an excellent player, 
 missed fire on this occasion, and I, who am a poor one, had ali his luck. 
 
 I have taken my passage, and paid for it, on board the Niagara, the 
 same vessel I came out in, for September 14th, a week later than I 
 intended. But I found I should be too much hurried by the 7th. This 
 will give me three weeks in old Pepperell. But it will take me via New 
 York. I shall write to you once more. Love to mother and Lizzie. I 
 shall write E. Dexter by this. Don’t forget me also to the Ticknors and 
 other old friends, aud believe me, dearest wife, 
 
 Your ever-loving husband, 
 
 W. H. P. 
 
 August 26th. — Having nothing else to do, as there is just now a 
 general lull in the breeze and I have some leisure, I will go on with my 
 domestic chat. I left olf, — let me see, — Sunday. In the evening we 
 had little games, &c., of conversation, as at Peppered. But the chief 
 business was lighting up the splendid pictures so as to see the best effect; 
 arranging the lights, &c. Beautiful pictures by any light. Before retiring 
 we heard prayers in the noble had; ad the household, including a large 
 troop of domestics. The effect in this gorgeous room, as large and as 
 richly ornamented as an Italian church, was very fine. Yesterday, the 
 weather fair, we drove over the park. First I went with Lady Mary, 
 who whipped me along iu her pony-carriage. After lunch I and Will 
 went with Lady Caroline Luscelles and Captain Howard in a barouche and 
 four, postilions and outriders all in gay liveries, spotless white leather 
 pantaloons, and blue and silver coats and hats. We dashed along over 
 the green sod, always in the park, startling the deer, and driving ofteD 
 into the heart of the woods, which are numerous in this fine park. We 
 ad prayed for as line a day for the morrow for the royal advent. The 
 house looks magnificently in the sunshine, as you drive up to it 1 
 
LETTER TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 JJ15 
 
 Alas! it is always so in this country, the morrow has come, and a 
 drenching rain, mortifying to all loyal subjects, and a great pity. A great 
 awning has been raised for the Queen over the steps of the principal 
 entrance. It is now five o’clock. In an hour the royal cortege will be 
 here. There has been such a fuss all day. Everybody has been running 
 about arranging and deranging, — some carrying chairs, some flower-pots, 
 some pictures, some vases, &c., &c. Such a scampering ! I help on with 
 a kind word, and encourage the others, and especially comfort my kind 
 host with assurances of the weather changing ! Gas has been conducted 
 into the great dome over the hall, and “ God save the Queen ” blazes out 
 in liery characters that illuminate the whole building. 
 
 Such a quantity of fine things, beautiful flowers and fruits, have arrived 
 to-day from the Duchess of Sutherland’s place at Trentham, and from 
 the Duke of Devonshire’s at Cliatsworth ! The Duke is brother to Lady 
 Carlisle. A large hand will play during dinner at one end of the long 
 gallery, and the Duke of Devonshire has sent his band for music in the 
 evening. We had our partners and places at table assigned us this morn¬ 
 ing. There will be eight or ten more men than women, thirty-six in all. 
 I go in with Lady Caroline Lascelles, and sit next to Sir George Grey, 
 the Cabinet Minister, — who accompanies the Queen, — next the Duchess 
 of Sutherland, and next Lord Carlisle and the Queen. So you see I shall 
 be very near her Majesty, and, as the table is circular, I could not be 
 better placed, —another instance of the kindness with wliich I have been 
 treated. 
 
 A quantity of policemen have arrived on the ground before the house, 
 as the royal train will be greeted by all the loyal people in the neighbor¬ 
 hood, and a body of military are encamped near the house to keep order. 
 There is such a turn-out of coaches and four, with gay liveries and all. 
 Plague on the weather! But it only drizzles now. The landscape, 
 however, looks dull, and wants the lights to give it effect. 
 
 August 28 th, Wednesday. — I have a little time to write before 
 luncheon, and must send off the letter then to London to be copied. 
 Received yours this morning, complaining I had not written by the last. 
 You have got the explanation of it since. To resume. The Queen, &c., 
 arrived yesterday in a pelting rain, with an escort of cavalry, — a pretty 
 sight to those under cover. Crowds of loyal subjects were in the park in 
 front of the house to greet her. They must have come miles in the rain. 
 She came into the hall in a plain travelling-dress, bowing very gracefully 
 to all there, and then to her apartments, which occupy the front of the 
 building. At eight we went to dinner, all in full dress, but mourning for 
 the Duke of Cambridge ; I, of course, for President Taylor ! All wore 
 breeches or tight pantaloons. It was a brilliant show, I assure you, — 
 that immense table, with its fruits and flowers, and lights glancing over 
 beautiful plate, and in that superb gallery. I was as near the Queen as 
 at our own family table. She has a good appetite, and laughs merrily. 
 She has fine eyes and teeth, but is short. She was dressed in black silk 
 and lace, with the blue scarf of the Order of the Garter across her bosom. 
 Her only ornaments were of jet. The Prince, who is certainly a hand¬ 
 some and very well-made man, wore the Garter with its brilliant buckle 
 round his knee, a showy star on his breast, and the collar of a foreign 
 
316 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PKESCOTT. 
 
 order round his neck. Dinner went off very well, except that we had no 
 music; a tribute to Louis-Philippe at the Queen’s request,—too bad! 4 
 We drank the royal healths with prodigious enthusiasm. 
 
 After the ladies retired, the Prince and the other gentlemen remained 
 half an hour, as usual. In the evening we listened to some fine music, 
 and the Queen examined the pictures. Odd enough the etiquette. Lady 
 Carlisle, who did the honors like a high-bred lady as she is, and the 
 Duchess of Sutherland, were the only ladies who talked with her Majesty. 
 Lord Carlisle, her host, was the only gentleman who did so, unless she 
 addressed a person herself. No one can sit a moment when she chooses 
 to stand. She did me the honor to come and talk with me, —asking me 
 about my coming here, my stay in the Castle, what I was doing now in 
 the historic way, how Everett was, and where he was, — for ten minutes 
 or so; and Prince Albert afterwards a long while, talking about the houses 
 and ruins in England, and the churches in Belgium, and the pictures in 
 the room, and I don’t know what. I found myself now and then trenching 
 on the rules by interrupting, &c.; but 1 contrived to make it up by a 
 respectful “ Your Loyal Highness,” “ Your Majesty,” &c. I told the 
 Queen of the pleasure I had in finding myself in a laud of friends instead 
 of foreigners, — a sort of stereotype with me, — and of my particular good 
 fortune in being under the roof with her. She is certainly very much of a 
 lady in her manner, with a sweet voice. 
 
 The house is filled with officials, domestics, &c. Over two hundred 
 slept here last night. The grounds all round the house, as I write, are 
 thronged with thousands of men and women, dressed in their best, from 
 the adjacent parts of the country. You cannot stir out without seeing a 
 line of heads through the iron railing or before the court-yard. I was 
 walking in the garden this morning (did I tell you that it is a glorious 
 dav, luckily ?) with the Marchioness of Douro, who was dressed in full 
 mourning as a lady in waiting, when the crowd set up such a shout! as 
 they took her for the Queen. But I must close. God bless you, dear! 
 
 William H. Prescott. 
 
 TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 London, Sept. 6, 1850. 
 
 Deadest Wife, 
 
 1 send you a few lines, my last from England, to bring up my history 
 to as late a date as possible. I told you of the royal festivities at Castle 
 Howard, and you will get still more particulars from the account in the 
 “ Illustrated News,” which I hope you have provided yourself with. The 
 Queen went oft' in royal state. In the evening after came off the ball, at 
 
 2 Louis-Philippe died at Clermont, Monday, August 26th, 1850, and, as the 
 Queen was on her way the next day to Castle Howard, the train was stopped, 
 when passing near Clermont, long enough for Prince Albert to make a visit 
 of condolence to the ex-Queen. With all this fresh in their recollection, it 
 was, I suppose, regarded as a considerate and graceful tribute to the affliction 
 of the French family to request that festive music might be omitted at tba 
 ttmner. 
 
LETTERS TO MRS. PRESCOTT. 
 
 317 
 
 which I danced three quadrilles and two country-dances, — the kst two 
 with the Duchess of Sutherland, — and it was four in the morning, when 
 we wound up with the brave old dance of Sir Roger de Coverley. I spent 
 a day longer at Castle Howard, driving about with Lady Mary Howard 
 in her pony phaeton over the park to see her village pensioners. When I 
 left early the next day, we had an affectionate leave-taking enough; I 
 mean all of us together, and as I know it will please you to see how much 
 heart the family have shown to me, I will enclose a note I received at 
 Trentham from old Lady Carlisle, and another from her granddaughter 
 the Duchess of Argyll. We all parted at the railway station, and I shall 
 never see them more ! 
 
 From Castle Howard we proceeded to Trentham in Staffordshire, the 
 Duchess of Sutherland’s favorite seat, and a splendid place it is. We 
 met her at Derby, she having set out the day before us. We both arrived 
 too late for the train. So she put post-horses to her barouche, and she 
 and Lady Constance, a blooming English girl looking quite like Lizzie, 
 and Will and I, posted it for thirty-six miles, reaching Trentham at ten 
 in the evening, — an open barouche and cool enough. But we took it 
 merrily, as indeed we should not have got on at all that night, if we had 
 not had the good luck to fall in with her Grace. 
 
 Trentham is a beautiful place ; the grounds laid out in the Italian style 
 for an immense extent; the gardens with plots of flowers so curiously 
 arranged that it looks like a fine painting, with a little lake studded with 
 islands at the end, and this enclosed by hills dark with forest-trees. 
 Besides these noble gardens, through which the Trent flows in a smooth 
 current, there is an extensive park, and the deer came under my windows 
 in the morning as tame as pet lambs. The Duchess spent the former 
 part of the afternoon in taking us round herself to all the different places, 
 walking and sometimes boating it on the Trent; for they extend over a 
 great space. The green-houses, &c. are superb, and filled with exquisite 
 flowers and fruit: and the drawing-rooms, of which there is a suite of ten 
 or twelve, very large, open on a magnificent conservatory, with marble 
 floors, fountains, and a roof of glass, about five times as big as Mrs. 
 R.’s, tell E. The rooms are filled with the choicest and most delicate 
 works of art, painting, sculpture, bijouterie of all kinds. It is the temple 
 of Taste, and its charming mistress created it all. As I was coming 
 away, she asked me to walk 'with her into the garden, and led me to a 
 spot where several men were at work having a great hole prepared. A 
 large evergreen tree was held up by the gardener, and 1 was requested to 
 help set it in the place and to throw some shovelfuls of earth on it. In 
 fact, I was to leave an evergreen memorial, “ which,” said she, “ my 
 children shall see hereafter, and know by whom it was planted.” She 
 chose to accompany us to the station, and by the way took us to the great 
 porcelain manufactory of Stoke, where she gave Will a statuette of the 
 Prince of Wales, very pretty, and me an exquisite little vase, which yon 
 will be so happy as to take care of under a glass cover. Her own rooms 
 contain some beautiful specimens of them. Is she not a Duchess t She 
 is, every inch of her; and what is better, a most warm-hearted, affection¬ 
 ate person, like all the rest of the generous race of Howard. They 
 always seem employed on something. The Duchess of Argyll, I remem* 
 
318 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 ber, was never unemployed, — reading, or working, or drawing, which 
 she docs uncommonly well. The tenderness of the mother and daughter 
 for each other is pleasing enough. We came to he present at the christen¬ 
 ing of the hope of the family, — Lord Stafford’s first-born son. It took 
 place in the church, which is attached to a wing of the mansion. The 
 family occupied a gallery at the end of the chapel, and the ceremony was 
 witnessed by all the village. 
 
 I had intended to go to Lord Ellesmere’s, agreeably to a general invita¬ 
 tion, but found that Lord and Lady Ellesmere were in Ireland, called there 
 by the illness of a daughter. So we went to Chatsworth, the famous seat 
 of the Duke of Devonshire. He is absent, but had written to the house¬ 
 keeper to show us all the place, to have the fountains play, — one of 
 which springs up two hundred feet or more, — and to prepare lunch for 
 me. I found the servants prepared to receive us, and we passed several 
 hours at his magnificent place, and fared as well as if its noble proprietor 
 had been on the spot to welcome us. I shall, after a day here, go to 
 Lady Theresa Lewis, at Lord Clarendon’s place, then to Baron Parke’s, 
 Ampthill, for a day or two ; then to the Marquis of Lansdowne’s, 8 and 
 then huzza for home! Pray for the good steamer Niagara; a good 
 6teamer, and a good captain, and I trust a good voyage. 
 
 Sept. 9th. — Just received yours and E.’s charming letters ; —alas ! by 
 my blunder (the last?) I was startled by mother’s illness. Thank God 
 all is right again. I could not afford to have anything happen to her 
 while I am away. 
 
 Your affectionate husband, 
 
 Wat. H. Prescott. 
 
 And so ended, in unbroken enjoyment, the most brilliant 
 visit ever made to England by an American citizen not clothed 
 with the prestige of official station. 4 That Mr. Prescott deeply 
 
 8 The visit to Lord Lansdowne’s failed; but before he reached London he 
 made a most agreeable one at Baron Parke’s, now Lord Wensleydale. 
 
 4 A whimsical proof that Mr. Prescott was a lion in London during his visit 
 there may be found in the following note of the venerable Miss Berry,— 
 Horace Walpole’s Miss Berry,— with whom Dean Milman had invited Mr. 
 Prescott and himself to dine, but, owing to Mr. P.’s engagements, he had 
 been obliged to offer their visit above a fortnight ahead of the time when he 
 proposed it. 
 
 MISS BERRY TO THE REV. MR. MILMAN. 
 
 June 20,1850. 
 
 Having insured my life at more than one of the most respectable insur¬ 
 ance-companies, I venture to accept of your most agreeable proposal for next 
 Saturday fortnight! and shall rejoice to see you and Mrs. Milman accom¬ 
 panied by one whose works I have long admired, and to whose pen 1 am 
 indebted for some of the liveliest interests and the most agreeable hours that 
 can exist for an octogenarian, like your obliged and attached friend, 
 
 M. Bebrt. 
 
VISIT TO ENGLAND. 
 
 319 
 
 ffelt the kindness he received — especially that of the Lyells, 
 the Milmans, and “all the blood of all the Howards” — is 
 plain from his letters, written in the confidence and simplicity 
 of family affection. How much of this kindness is to be at¬ 
 tributed to his personal character rather than to his reputation 
 as an author, it is not easy to tell. But, whatever portion of 
 it resulted from the intercourse and contact of society ; what¬ 
 ever was won by his sunny smile and cordial, unconstrained 
 ways, — he seemed to recognize without accurately measuring 
 it, and by the finer instincts of his nature to appreciate it as 
 something more to be valued and desired, than any tribute of 
 admiration which might have become due to him from his 
 works before he was personally known. 
 
 After he returned home, when the crowded life he had led 
 for three or four months, with its pleasures and excitements, 
 was seen from a tranquil distance, he summed up the results of 
 his visit in the following passage, carefully recorded among his 
 Memoranda at the end of October, 1850. 
 
 On the whole, what I have seen raises my preconceived estimate of the 
 English character. It is full of generous, true, and manly qualities ; and 
 I doubt if there ever was so high a standard of morality in an aristocracy 
 which has such means for self-indulgence at its command, and which occu¬ 
 pies a position that secures it so much deference. In general, they do not 
 seem to abuse their great advantages. The respect for religion — at least 
 for the forms of it —- is universal, and there are few, I imagine, of the 
 great proprietors who are not more or less occupied with improving their 
 estates, and with providing for the comfort of their tenantry, while many 
 take a leading part in the great political movements of the time. There 
 never was an aristocracy which combined so much practical knowledge 
 and industry with the advantages of exalted rank. 
 
 The Englishman is seen to most advantage in his country home. For 
 he is constitutionally both domestic and rural in his habits. His fireside 
 and his farm, — these are the places in which one sees his simple and 
 warm-hearted nature most freely unfolded. There is a shyness in an 
 Englishman, — a natural reserve, — which makes him cold to strangers, 
 and difficult of approach. But once corner him in his own house, a frank 
 and full expansion will be given to his feelings, that we should look for in 
 vain in the colder Yankee, and a depth not to be found in the light and 
 superficial Frenchman, — speaking of nationalities, not individualities. 
 
 The Englishman is the most truly rural in his tastes and habits of any 
 people in the world. I am speaking of the higher classes. The aristoc¬ 
 racy of other countries affect the camp and the city. But the English 
 love their old castles and country seats with a patriotic love. They are 
 fond of country sports. Every man shoots or hunts. No man >s too old 
 
320 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 to be in the saddle some part of the day, and men of seventy years and 
 
 issHSSi 
 
 Nimrod With all his relish for field sports and country usages he has 
 S “ out ailed with collections of or. end un.h “toS'S. down' 
 
 ‘-^rrr 
 
 ZZSGSSfA £*• *&— - <—»-*- 1 
 
 Va Th y e ’re are other defects which are visible even in his most favored cir- 
 cumstunces. Such is hi. btoujr, “ bi oX »™ 
 
 s^spisr^r, irtzsz M ■«*•,? ,,is 
 '““ 4 tr““Sd 
 
 r1t“. sympufhy f>.» £* “iSt* “ff SZ 
 
 •J*“ \‘t!T S Crh“tr.ndT;iudt h dt ™t“»f to otcu. With 
 
 the great wot . . shone_ if one may use the expression 
 
 sjssms-- rr™t”oh.o « - *- 
 
 more for the great interests of humanity. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 1850-1852. 
 
 Voyage Home. — Letters to Friends in England. — Begins to woe* 
 again. — Pepperell.— “Philip the Second.” — Correspondence. 
 
 O N the 14th of September, Mr. Prescott embarked at 
 Liverpool, to return home, on board the Niagara, — the 
 same good ship on which he had embarked for Europe nearly 
 four months earlier at New York, and in which he now 
 reached that metropolis again, after a fortunate passage of 
 thirteen days. At Liverpool he stopped, as he did on his 
 arrival there, at the hospitable house of his old friend Smith ; 
 and the last letter he wrote before he went on board the 
 steamer, and the first he despatched back to England, after 
 he was again fairly at home, were to Lady Lyell, with whom 
 and Sir Charles he had probably spent more hours in London 
 than with anybody else, and to both of whom he owed unnum¬ 
 bered acts of kindness. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Liverpool, September 13,1850 
 
 My dear Lady Lyell, 
 
 I am now at Liverpool, or rather in the suburbs, at my friend’s house. 
 It is after midnight, but I cannot go to sleep without bidding you and 
 your husband one more adieu. I reached here about five o’clock, and 
 find there are seventy passengers ; several ladies, or persons that I hope 
 are so, for they are not men. But I look for little comfort on the restless 
 deep. I hope, however, for a fair offing. You will think of me some 
 times during the next fortnight, and how often shall I think of you, and 
 your constant kindness to me! You see I am never tired of asking foi 
 it, as I sent you the troublesome commission of paying my debts before ) 
 left, and, I believe, did not send quite money enough. Heaven bless you . 
 With kind remembrances to Sir Charles, believe me, my dear friend, 
 Most affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 Can you make out my hieroglyphics ? 1 
 
 1 This letter was written with his noctc graph. 
 
 14* U 
 
WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Y22 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, September 30, 1860. 
 
 Mr dear Ladt Lyell, 
 
 I write you a line to tell you of my safe arrival on the other side of the 
 treat pond — I beg pardon — lake. We had a fair passage, considering 
 the season, some thumping and tumbling about and constant head-winds, 
 but no very heavy gales, such as fall due at the equinox. I was lucky 
 encugh to find a lady on board who was not sick, and who was willing to 
 read aloud ; so the ennui of the voyage was wonderfully lightened by “ Van¬ 
 ity Fair” and Mr. Cumming’s lion-stories. I had the good fortune to And 
 all well on returning, and the atmosphere was lighted up with a sunny light, 
 such as I never saw on the other side of the water, at least during my 
 present journey. I do not believe it will be as good for my eyes as the 
 comfortable neutral tints of England, — merry England, not from its c 1 - 
 mate, however, but from the w'arm hearts of its people. (EM bless them . 
 I have no time to think over matters now, busy in the midst of trunks and 
 portmanteaus, some emptying, some filling, for our speedy flight to rep- 
 perell. But once in its welcome shades, I shall have much to thiuk over, 
 
 _of dear friends beyond the water. Yesterday, who should pop in upon 
 
 me but Dr. Holland, fresh from Lake Superior. It seemed like an appa¬ 
 rition from Brook Street, so soon and sudden. He and Everett and 
 Ticknor will dine with me to-day, and we shall have a comfortable^talk 
 of things most agreeable to us all. Dr. H. sails in the “ Canada to¬ 
 morrow. The grass does not grow under his feet. I sent Anna Ticknor 
 yesterday the beautiful present, all in good order. She went down in the 
 afternoon to her sea-nest, and her husband comes up to-day. Possibly 
 she may come and dine with us too. She was right glad to see me, and 
 had a thousand questions to ask; so I hope she will come and get answers 
 to some of them to-day. To-morrow we flit, and a party of young people 
 go along with us. So we shall not bo melancholy. Adieu, my dear 
 friend. Pray remember me most kindly to your husband and your family. 
 My wife joins in loving remembrances to you, and desires to thank you 
 for your kind note. 
 
 Believe me, my dear Lady Lyell, here and everywhere, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 Give my love to the Milmans, when they return. I shall write them 
 from Pepperell. 
 
 Very soon lie wrote to Dean Milman. 
 
 Pepperell, Mass., October 10, 1860. 
 
 Mr dear Friend, . . 
 
 I have at length reached my native land, and am again in my country 
 quarters, wandering over my old familiar hills, and watching the brilliant 
 changes of the leaf in the forests of October, the finest of the American 
 months. This rural quiet is very favorable for calling up the past, and 
 many a friendly face on the other side of the water comes up before me, 
 and none more frequently than yours and that of your dear wife. 
 
LETTER TO DEAN MILMAN. 
 
 323 
 
 Since I parted from you, I have been tolerably industrious. I first 
 passed a week in Belgium, to get some acquaintance with the topography 
 of the country I am to describe. It is a wonderful country certainly, —■ 
 rich in its present abundance as well as in its beautiful monuments of art 
 and its historic recollections. On my return to England, I went at once 
 into the country, and spent six weeks at different places, where I saw 
 English life under a totally new aspect. The country is certainly the 
 true place in which to see the Englishman. It is there that his peculiar 
 character seems to have the best field for its expansion ; a life which calls 
 out his energies physical as well as mental, the one almost as remarkable 
 as the other. 
 
 The country life affords the opportunity for intimacy, which it is very 
 difficult to have in London. There is a depth in the English character, 
 and at the same time a constitutional reserve, sometimes amounting to 
 shyness, which it requires some degree of intimacy to penetrate. As to 
 the hospitality, it is quite equal to what we read of in semi-civilized 
 countries, where the presence of a stranger is a boon instead of a burden. 
 I could have continued to live in this agreeable way of life till the next 
 meeting of Parliament, if I could have settled it with my conscience to do 
 so. As to the houses, I think I saw some of the best places in England, 
 in the North and in the South, with a very interesting dip into the High¬ 
 lands, and I trust I have left some friends there that will not let the memory 
 of me pass away like a summer cloud. In particular, I have learned te 
 comprehend what is meant by “the blood of the Howards,” —a family in 
 all its extent, as far as I have seen it, as noble in nature as in birth. ..... 
 
 I had a pretty good, passage on my return, considering that it was the 
 season of equinoctial tempests. I was fortunate in finding that no trouble 
 or sorrow had come into the domestic circle since, my departure, and mj 
 friends were pleased to find that I had brought home substantial proofs of 
 English hospitality in the addition of some ten pounds' weight to mj 
 mortal part. By the by, Lord Carlisle told the Queen that I said, “ In¬ 
 stead of John Bull, the Englishman should be called John Mutton, for 
 he ate beef only one day in the week, and mutton the other six ” ; at 
 which her Majesty, who, strange to say, never eats mutton herself, was 
 pleased to laugh most graciously. 
 
 The day after I reached Boston I was surprised by the apparition of my 
 old neighbor, Dr. Holland, just returned from an excursion to Lake Supe¬ 
 rior. It was as if a piece of Brook Street had parted from its moorings, 
 and crossed the water. We were in a transition state, just flitting to the 
 country, but I managed to have him, Everett, and Ticknor dine with me. 
 So we had a pleasant partie carrte to talk over our friends, on the other 
 side of the salt lake. What would I not give to have you and Mrs. Mil- 
 man on this side of it. Perhaps you may have leisure and curiosity some 
 day, when the passage is reduced to a week, as it will be, to see the way 
 of life of the American aborigines. If you do not, you will still be here 
 in the heart of one who can never forget the kindness and love he has 
 experienced from you in a distant land. 
 
 Pray remember me most affectionately to Mrs, Milman, to whom I 
 shall soon write, and believe me, my dear friend, 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 W. H. Pkkscqit 
 
324 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING TRESCOTT. 
 
 He found it somewhat difficult to settle down into regular 
 habits of industry after his return home. But he did it. His 
 first weeks were spent at Pepperell, where I recollect that I 
 passed two or three merry days with him, when our common 
 friend, Mr. Edward Twisleton, who had been very kind to him 
 in England, made him a visit, and when the country was in all 
 the gorgeous livery of a New England autumn. 
 
 The subsequent winter, 1850-51, was spent as usual, in 
 Boston. But his eyes were in a bad state, and his interrup¬ 
 tions so frequent, that he found it impossible to secure as many 
 hours every day for work as he desired. He therefore was 
 not satisfied with the results he obtained, and complained, as 
 he often did, somewhat unreasonably, of the ill effects of a 
 town life. Indeed, it was not until he made his villeggiatura 
 at Pepperell, in the autumn of 1851, that he was content with 
 himself and with what he was doing. 
 
 But from this time he worked in earnest. He made good 
 resolutions and kept them with more exactness than he had 
 commonly done; so that, by the middle of April, 1852, he had 
 completed the first volume of his “ Philip the Second,” and was 
 plunging with spirit into the second. I remember very well 
 how heartily lie enjoyed this period of uncommon activity. 
 
 It was at this time, and I think partly from the effect of his 
 visit to England, that he changed his purpose concerning the 
 character lie should give to his “ History of Philip the Sec¬ 
 ond.” When he left home he was quite decided that the work 
 should be Memoirs. Soon after his return he began to talk to 
 me doubtfully about it. His health was better, his courage 
 higher. But lie was always slow in making up his mind. Ho 
 therefore went on some months longer, still really undeter¬ 
 mined, and writing rather memoirs than history. At last, 
 when he was finishing the first volume, and came to confront 
 the great subject of the Rebellion of the Netherlands, he per¬ 
 ceived clearly that the gravest form of history ought to be 
 adopted. 
 
 “ For some time after I had finished the ' Peru,’ ” he says, “ I hesi¬ 
 tated whether I should grapple with the whole subject of Philip inejdenso, 
 and when I had made up my mind to serve up the whole barbecue, instead 
 of particular parts of it, I had so little confidence in the strength of my 
 
LETTER TO MR. FORD. 
 
 325 
 
 own ■vision, that I thought of calling the work < Memoirs ’ and treating 
 the subject in a more desultory and superficial manner than belongs to 
 regular history. I did not go to work in a business-like style until I 
 broke ground on the troubles of the Netherlands. Perhaps my critics 
 may find this out.” 
 
 I think they did not. Indeed, there was less occasion for 
 it than the author himself supposed. The earlier portions of 
 the history, relating as they do to the abdication of Charles V. 
 and the marriage of Philip with Mary of England, fell natu¬ 
 rally into the tone of memoirs, and thus they make a more 
 graceful vestibule to the grand and grave events that were 
 to follow than could otherwise have been arranged for them, 
 while, at the same time, as he advanced into the body of his 
 work and was called on to account for the war with France, 
 and describe the battles of St. Quentin and Gravelines, he, as 
 it were, inevitably fell into the more serious tone of liistory, 
 which had been so long familiar to him. The transition, there¬ 
 fore, was easy, and was besides so appropriate, that I think a 
 change of purpose was hardly detected. One effect of it, how¬ 
 ever, was soon perceptible to himself. He liked his work 
 better, and carried it on with the sort of interest which he 
 always felt was important, not only to his happiness, but to his 
 success. 
 
 From this time forward — that is, from the period of his 
 return home — his correspondence becomes more abundant. 
 This was natural, and indeed inevitable. He had made ac¬ 
 quaintances and friendships in England, which led to such 
 intercourse, and the letters that followed from it show the 
 remainder of his life in a light clearer and more agreeable 
 than it can be shown in any other way. Little remains, 
 therefore, but to arrange them in their proper sequence. 
 
 TO ME. PORD. 
 
 Pepperell, Mass., U. S., OctoDer 12, 1850. 
 
 Here I am, my dear Ford, safe and sound in my old country quarters, with 
 leisure to speak a word or two to a friend on the other side of the Atlantic. 
 I had a voyage of thirteen days, and pretty good weather for the most 
 part, considering it was the month when I had a right to expect to be 
 tumbled about rudely by the equinoctial gales. We had some rough 
 g-ales, and my own company were too much damaged to do much for me. 
 
32G 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT 
 
 But an "el woman, God bless her! always comes when she is wonted, - 
 and sometimes when she is not, — and I found one in a pretty little Yan¬ 
 kee ladv, who had the twofold qualifications ot being salt-water-pioof, and 
 of bein'" a good reader. So, thanks to her, I travelled through “ Vanity 
 Fair” for the second time, and through Cummings African exploits, 
 quite new to me. And so killing his lions helped me to kill my time 
 the worst enemy of the two. It was with a light heart, however, that I 
 descried the gray rocks of my native land again. 
 
 I am now about fortv miles from town, on my old family acres, which 
 do not go back to the time of the Norman conquest, though they do to 
 that of the Aborigines, which is antiquity for a country wheie there are 
 ;,o“ J ttafsou sulilom A. «nds, ,l„ of .he nee* .h» 
 
 father planted. It is a plain New England farm, but I am attached to it 
 for it is connected with the earliest recollections ot my childhood, and the 
 mountains that hem it round look at me with old familiar faces. I have 
 had too many friends to greet me here to have as much time. as 1 cou d 
 wish to myself, but as I wander through my old haunts, I think of e 
 past summer, and many a friendly countenance on the other 
 water comes before me. Then I think ot the pleasant hoursi I have^had 
 with you, my dear Ford, and of your many kindnesses, not to be forgot¬ 
 ten; of our merry Whitebait feed with John Murray, at KoyM Green¬ 
 wich, which you are to immortalize one day, you know, in the Q 
 
 terly,” , . „ 
 
 “ So savage and tartarly. 
 
 And that calls to mind that prince of good fellows, Stirling, and the last 
 agreeable little dinner we three had together at Lockhart s. Pray remem¬ 
 ber mo most kindly to the great Aristarch and to Stirling. That was not 
 my final parting with the latter worthy, for he did me the favor to smoke 
 me into the little hours the morning before 1 left London for my ’ 
 campaign. And I had the pleasure of a parting breakfast with you too, 
 in Brook Street, as you may recall, on my return. God bless you both 
 Some day or other I shall expect to see you twain on this side of he 
 great salt lake, if it is only to hunt the grizzly bear of which amiable 
 sport John Bull will, no doubt, become very fond when Camming has 
 killed all the lions and camelopards ol the Hottentot country. 
 
 In about a fortnight I shall leave my naked woods for the town > ar '^ 
 then for the Cdsas de Espaha. And when I am fairly in harness, I do 
 not mean to think of anything else; not even of my coc ^®[ f ” e “ f 
 the great-little isle. If there is any way m which I eanpossibly be ofuse 
 to you in the New World, you will not fail to tell me of it with all frank 
 ness. Pray remember me most kindly to your daughters. 
 
 Y mande siempre su amigo quien le quiere de todo corazon 
 Y. S. M. B. 
 
 Guillermo H. Prescott. 
 
LETTER FROM MR. LOCKHART. 
 
 32 
 
 TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE. 
 
 Boston, November 12, 1860. 
 
 My dear Carlisle, 
 
 I have the pleasure of sending you Allston’s Sketches, of which I spok-c 
 to you. They are the first draughts of some of his best pictures; among 
 them the “ Uriel,” which the Duchess of Sutherland has at Trentham. 
 Generally, however, they have remained mere sketches which the artist 
 never worked up into regular pictures. They have been much esteemed 
 by the critics here as fine studies, and the execution of this work was in¬ 
 trusted to two of our best engravers. One of them is excellent with 
 
 crayons; 2 quite equal to Richmond in the portraits of women. 
 
 I now and then get a reminder of the land of roast mutton by the 
 sight of some one or other of your countrymen who emerges from the 
 steamers that arrive here every fortnight. We are, indeed, one family. 
 Did I ever repeat to you Allston’s beautiful lines, one stanza of the three 
 which he wrote on the subject ? Les voil'a l 
 
 “ While the manners, while the arts, 
 
 That mould a nation’s soul, 
 
 Still cling around our hearts, 
 
 Between let ocean roll, 
 
 Our joint communion breaking with the sun. 
 Yet still from either beach 
 The voice of blood shall reach, 
 
 More audible than speech: 
 
 ‘ We are one.’ ” 
 
 Is it not good 1 . 
 
 Farewell, my dear friend. I think of you mixed up with Castle How¬ 
 ard and brave old Naworth, and many a pleasant recollection. 
 
 Once more, mio ca.ro, addio. 
 
 Always thine, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 FROM MR. LOCKHART. 
 
 My dear Mr. Prescott, 
 
 Your basket of canvas-backs arrived here a day after your note, and 
 the contents thereof proved to be in quite as good condition as they could 
 have been if shot three days before in Leicestershire. I may say I had 
 never before tasted the dainty, and that I think it entirely merits its repu¬ 
 tation ; but on this last head, I presume the ipse dixit of Master Ford is 
 “a voice double as any duke’s.” 
 
 Very many thanks for your kind recollections. I had had very pleasing 
 accounts of you and other friends from Holland on his return from his 
 rapid expedition. He declares that, except the friends, he found every¬ 
 thing so changed, that your country seemed to call for a visit once in five 
 years, and gallant is he in his resolution to invade you again in 1855. I 
 
 2 Cheney. 
 
328 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 wish I could muster leisure or pluck, or both, for such au adventure. Let 
 me hope meanwhile that long ere '55 we may again see you and Everett 
 and Ticknor here, where surely you must all feel very tolerably at home. 
 
 Believe me always very sincerely yours, 
 
 J. G. Lockhart. 
 
 December 27, 1850. 
 
 TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE. 
 
 Boston, January 14,1861. 
 
 My dear Carlisle, 
 
 1 have the pleasure of sending you by this steamer a work of which 1 
 happen to have two copies, containing the portraits of some dozen Yankee 
 notabilities, which may perhaps interest you. The likenesses, taken from 
 daguerrotypes, are sometimes frightfully, odiously like. Bur some of the 
 heads, as those of Taylor, our present President, besides being true, are 
 not unpleasing likenesses. The biographical sketches are written for the 
 most part, as you will see, in the Ercles vein. My effigy was taken in 
 New York, about an hour before I sailed for England, when I had rather 
 a rueful and lackadaisical aspect. The biographical notice of me is better 
 done thau most of them, in point of literary execution, being written by 
 our friend Ticknor. 
 
 Pray thank your brother Charles for his kindness in sending me out the 
 reports of your Lectures. I, as well as the rest of your friends here, and 
 many more that know you not, have read them with great pleasure, and, 
 I trust, edification. The dissertation on your travels has been reprinted 
 all over the country, and, as far as I know, with entire commendation. 
 Indeed, it would be churlish enough to take exception at the very liberal 
 and charitable tone of criticism which pervades it. If you are not blind 
 to our defects, it gives much higher value to your approbation, and you 
 are no niggard of that, certainly. Even your reflections on the black 
 plague will not be taken amiss by the South, since they are of that abstract 
 kind which can hardly be contested, while you do not pass judgment on 
 the peculiar difficulties of our position, which considerably disturbs the 
 general question. Your remarks on me went to my heart. They were 
 just what I would wish you to have said, and, as 1 know they came from 
 your heart, I will not thank you for them. On the whole, you have set 
 an excellent example, which, I trust, will be followed by others of your 
 order. But few will have it in their power to do good as widely as you 
 have done, since there are very few whose remarks will be read as exten¬ 
 sively, and with the same avidity, on both sides of the water. 
 
 TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE. 
 
 Boston, U S., January 27, 1851. 
 
 Mr dear Carlisle, 
 
 I wrote you from the country that, w'hen I returned to town, I should 
 lose no time in endeavoring to look up a good painting of the Falls of 
 Niagara. I have not neglected this ; but, though I found it easy enough 
 
LETTER TO LORD CARLISLE. 
 
 329 
 
 tc get paintings of the grand cataract, I have not till lately been able to 
 meet with what I wanted. I will tell you how this came about. When 
 Bulwer, your Minister, was here, I asked him, as he has a good taste in 
 the arts, to see if he could meet with any good picture of Niagara while 
 he was in New York. Some time after, he wrote me that he had met 
 with “ a very beautiful picture of the Falls, by a Frenchman.” It so 
 happened, that I had seen this same picture much commended in the New 
 York papers, and I found that the artist’s name was Lebron, a person of 
 whom I happened to know something, as a letter from the Viscount San- 
 tarem, in Paris, commended him to me as a “ very distinguished artist,” 
 but the note arriving last summer, while I was absent, I had never seen 
 
 Mr. Lebron. I requested my friend, Mr.-, of New York, on whose 
 
 judgment I place more reliance than on that of any other connoisseur 
 whom I know, and who has himself a very pretty collection of pictures, to 
 write me his opinion of the work. He fully confirmed Bulwer’s report; 
 and I accordingly bought the picture, which is now in my own house. 
 
 It is about live feet by three and a half, and exhibits, which is the most 
 difficult thing, an entire view of the Falls, both on the Canada and Amer¬ 
 ican side. The great difficulty to overcome is the milky shallowness of 
 the waters, where the foam diminishes so much the apparent height of the 
 cataract. I think you will agree that the artist has managed this very 
 well. In the distance a black thunder-storm is bursting over Goat Island 
 and the American Falls. A steamboat, “ The Maid of the Mist,” which 
 has been plying for some years on the river below, forms an object by 
 which the eye can measure, in some degree, the stupendous proportions 
 of the cataract. On the edge of the Horseshoe Fall is the fragment of a 
 ferry-boat which, more than a year since, was washed down to the brink 
 of the precipice, and has been there detained until within a week, when, I 
 see by the papers, it has been carried over into the abyss. I mention these 
 little incidents that you may understand them, being something different 
 from what you saw when you were at Niagara; and perhaps you may 
 recognize some change in the form of the Table-llock itself, some tons of 
 which, carrying away a carriage and horses standing on it at the time, 
 slipped into the gulf a year or more since. 
 
 I shall send the painting out by the “ Canada,” February 12th, being 
 the first steamer which leaves this port for Liverpool, and, as I have been 
 rather unlucky in some of my consignments, I think it will be as safe to 
 address the box at once to you, and it will await your order at Liverpool, 
 where it will probably arrive the latter part of February. 
 
 I shall be much disappointed if it does not please you well enough to 
 hang upon your wails as a faithful representation of the great cataract; 
 and I trust you will gratify me by accepting it as a souvenir of your friend 
 across the water. I assure you it pleases me much to think there is any¬ 
 thing I can send you from this quarter of the world which will give you 
 pleasure. 
 
 Fray remember me most affectionately to your mother and sister, who. 
 I suppose, are now in town with you. 
 
 And believe me, dearest Carlisle, 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 W. II. Prescott. 
 
330 
 
 WILLIAM IIICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE. 
 
 Boston, May 29, 1861. 
 
 My dear Carlisle, 
 
 I am off in a couple of days for the great cataract. I like to refresn 
 my recollections of it every few years by a visit in person ; and I have a 
 pleasant party to accompany me. I wish you were one of them. How I 
 should like to stroll through the woods of Goat Island with you, my dear 
 Carlisle, and talk over the pleasant past, made so pleasant the last year by 
 you and yours. By the by, the Duke of Argyll sent me an address which 
 he made some time since at Glasgow, in width he made the kindest men¬ 
 tion of me. It was a very sensible discourse, and I thiuk it would be well 
 for the country if more of the aristocracy were to follow the example, 
 which you and he have set, of addressing the people on other topics besides 
 those of a polidcal or agricultural nature, — the two great hobbies of 
 
 John Bull. . 
 
 So you perceive Sumner is elected after twenty balloting*. His posi¬ 
 tion will be a difficult one. He represents a coalition of the Democratic 
 and Free-Soil parties, who have little relation to one another. And in 
 the Senate the particular doctrine which he avows finds no favor, i 
 believe it will prove a bed filled more with thorns than with roses. I had 
 a Ion" talk with him yesterday, and I think he feels it himself. It is to 
 his credit that he has not committed himself by any concessions to secure 
 his election. The difficulty with Sumner as a statesman is, that he aims 
 at the greatest abstract good instead of the greatest good practicable. By 
 such a policy he misses even thU lower mark; not a low one either for a 
 philanthropist and a patriot. 
 
 You and your friends still continue to manage the ship notwithstanding 
 the rough seas you have had to encounter. I should think it must be a 
 perplexing office unril your parties assume some more determinate charac¬ 
 ter so as to throw a decided support into the government scale. 
 
 Pray remember me most affectionately to your mother and to Lady 
 Mary, and to the Duchess of Sutherland, whom I suppose you see often, 
 and believe me, my dear Carlisle, 
 
 Always most affectionately your friend, 
 
 W. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO MRS. MILMAN. 
 
 Boston, February 16, 1862. 
 
 How kind it was in you, my dear Mrs. Milman, to write me such a 
 good letter, and I am afraid you will think little deserved by me. But if 
 I have not written, it is not that I have not thought often of the happy 
 days I have passed in your society and in that of my good friend the 
 Dean, _ God bless you both 1 You congratulated me on the engagement 
 of my daughter. 3 It is a satisfactory circumstance for us every way ; and 
 
 8 His only daughter to Mr. James Lawrence, eldest son of Mr. Abbott 
 Lawrence, who was then Minister of the United States in London. 
 
LETTER TO MRS. MILMAN. 
 
 33 ) 
 
 the character of the firmed is such, I believe, as to promise as much hap 
 piness to the union as one could expect. Yet it is a hard thing to part 
 with a daughter, — an only daughter, — the light of one’s home and one’s 
 heart. The boys go off, as a thing of course; for man is a migratory 
 animal. But a woman seems part of the household fixtures. Yet a little 
 reflection makes us feel that a good connection is far better than single 
 blessedness, especially in our country, where matrimony is the destiny of 
 so nearly all, that the few exceptions to it are in rather a lonely and 
 anomalous position. 
 
 What a delightful tour you must have had in Italy ! It reminds me of 
 wandering over the same sunny land, five and thirty years ago, — a pro¬ 
 digious reminiscence. It is one of the charms of your situation that you 
 have but to cross a narrow strait of some twenty miles to find yourself 
 transported to a region as unlike your own as the moon, —■ and, to say 
 truth, a good deal more unlike. This last coup d’etat shows, as Scriblerus 
 says, 
 
 “ None but themselves can be their parallel.” 
 
 I am very glad to learn from your letter that the Dean is making good 
 progress in the continuation of his noble work. I have always thought it 
 very creditable to the government that it has bestowed its church dignities 
 on one so liberal and tolerant as your husband. I do not think that the 
 royal patronage always dares to honor those in the Church, whom the 
 world most honors. 
 
 Have you seen Macaulay of late ? He told me that he should not 
 probably make his bow to the public again before 1853. It seems that his 
 conjecture was not wrong, the false newspapers notwithstanding. But one 
 learns not to believe a thing, for the reason that it is affirmed in the news¬ 
 papers. Our former Minister, Bancroft, has a volume in the press, a con¬ 
 tinuation of his American history, which will serve as a counterpart to 
 Lord Mahon’s, exhibiting the other side of the tapestry. 
 
 I hope history is in possession of all the feuds that will ever take place 
 between the two kindred nations. In how amiable a way the correspond¬ 
 ence about the Prometheus has been conducted by Lord Granville ! John 
 Bull can afford to make apology when he is in the wrong. The present 
 state of things in Europe should rather tend to draw the only two great 
 nations where constitutional liberty exists more closely together. 
 
 I am very glad that our friend Mr. Hallam is to have the satisfaction 
 of seeing his daughter so well married. He has had many hard blows, 
 and this ray of sunshine will, I hope, light up his domestic hearth for the 
 evening of life. Pray present my congratulations most sincerely to him 
 and Miss Hallam. 
 
 We are now beginning to be busy with preparations for my daughter’s 
 approaching nuptials, which will take place, probably, in about a month, 
 if some Paris toggery, furniture, &c., as indispensable as a bridegroom or 
 a priest, it seems, come in due time. The affair makes a merry stir in 
 our circle, in the way of festive parties, balls, and dinners. Bat in truth 
 there is a little weight lies at the bottom of my heart when I think that 
 
332 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 the seat at her own board is to be forever vacant. Yet it is but a migra¬ 
 tion to the next street. How can parents consent to a match that places 
 an ocean betwixt them and their children ? 
 
 But I must bring my prosy talk to a close. I feel, now that I have my 
 pen in hand, that I am by your side, with your husband and your family, 
 and our friends the Lyells; or perhaps rambling over the grounds of royal 
 Windsor, or through dark passages in the Tower, or the pleasant haunts 
 of Richmond Hill; at the genial table of the charming lady “ who came 
 out in Queen Anne’s day,” or many other places with which your memory 
 and your husband’s, your kindly countenances and delightful talk, are all 
 associated. When I lay my head on my pillow, the forms of the dear 
 friends gather round me, and sometimes I have the good luck to see them 
 in midnight visions, — and I wake up aud find it all a dream. 
 
 Pray remember me most kindly to the Dean and your sons, and to 
 Lady Lyell, whom, I suppose, you often see, and believe me, my dear 
 Mrs. Milman, 
 
 Always most affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO THE EARL OP CARLISLE. 
 
 Boston, April 7, 1862. 
 
 Dearest Carlisle, 
 
 Lawrence wrote me a little while since that yon remarked you could 
 now say for ouco that I was in your debt. It may be so; but I wonder 
 if I have not given you two to one, or some such odds. But no matter; 
 in friendship, as in love, an exact tally is not to be demanded. 
 
 Since I had last the pleasure of hearing from you, there has been a 
 great revolution in your affairs, and the ins have become outs. Is it not 
 an awkward thing to be obliged to face about, and take just the opposite 
 tacks; to be always on the attack instead of the defence ! What a 
 change ! First to break with your Minister of Foreign Affairs, who was 
 in so much glory, fighting the battle so stoutly when I was in London! 
 And then to break up altogether, and surrender the field to the Protec¬ 
 tionists ! We are most of us protectionists, more or less, in my part of 
 the country, with which doctrines I found very little sympathy when I 
 was in England. I wonder if that policy can possibly get the upper hand 
 again with you. The revocare gradum is always a difficult step, more dif¬ 
 ficult than any two forward. Can the present Cabinet possibly stand on 
 one leg, and that the lame one of protection f We at the North have 
 long been trying to get the scale of duties raised, but in vain. Nil re- 
 trorsum. What hot work you will have in the coming election ! It would 
 bo almost worth a voyage to see. Yet I doubt if any candidate will 
 spend a hundred thousand upon it, as w'as the case, I believe, in your own 
 county not many years ago. 
 
 Sumner has not been anxious to make a display in Congress. In this 
 he has judged well. The session has been a tame one, so far. He made 
 a short speech on the Kossuth business, and a very good one; — since 
 that, a more elaborate effort on the distribution of our wild lands, so as to 
 
LETTER TO LORD CARLISLE 
 
 S83 
 
 favor the new, unsettled States. According to our way of thinking, he 
 was not so successful here. I suppose he provides you with his parlia¬ 
 mentary eloquence. We are expecting Kossuth here before long. I am 
 glad he takes us last. I should be sorry that we should get into a scrape 
 by any ill-advised enthusiasm. Ee has been preaching up doctrines of 
 intervention (called by him non-intervention) by no means suited to our 
 policy, which, as our position affords us the means of keeping aloof, 
 should be to wash our hands of all the troubles of the Old World. 
 
 What troubles you are having now, in Erance especially. But revolu¬ 
 tion is the condition of a Frenchman’s existence apparently. Can that 
 country long endure the present state of things, — the days of Augustus 
 Caesar over again t 
 
 Have you seen Bancroft’s new volume ? I think this volume, which 
 has his characteristic merits and defects, showy, sketchy, and full of bold 
 speculations, will have interest for you. Lord Mahon is on the same 
 field, surveying it from an opposite point of view. So we are Likely to 
 have the American Revolution well dissected by able writers on opposite 
 sides at the same time. The result will probably be doubt upon every¬ 
 thing. 
 
 In the newspaper of to-day is a letter, to be followed by two others, 
 addressed to Bryant, the poet-editor of the Now York “ Evening Post,” 
 from Sparks, himself the editor of Washington’s papers, I think you 
 must have known Sparks here. He is now the President of Harvard Uni¬ 
 versity, the post occupied by Everett after his return. Sparks has been 
 sharply handled for the corruption of the original text of Washington, as 
 appeared by comparisons of some of the originals with his printed copy. 
 Lord Mahon, among others, has some severe strictures on him in his last 
 volume. Sparks’s letters are in vindication of himself, on the ground that 
 the alterations are merely verbal, to correct bad grammar and obvious 
 blunders, which Washington would have corrected himself, had he pre¬ 
 pared his correspondence for the press. He makes out a fair case for 
 himself, and any one who knows the integrity of Sparks will give him 
 credit for what he states. As he has some reflections upon Lord Mahon’s 
 rash criticism, as he terms it, I doubt not he will send him a copy, or I 
 would do it, as I think he would like to see the explanation. 
 
 I suppose you breakfast sometimes with Macaulay, and that he dines 
 sometimes with you. I wish I could be with you at both. I suppose he 
 is busy on his new volume. When will the new brace be bagged 1 I 
 remember he prophesied to me not before 1853, and I. was very glad to 
 hear from him, that his great success did not make him hurry over that 
 historic ground. A year or two extra is well spent on a work destined to 
 live forever. 
 
 And now, my dear friend, I do not know that there is anything hero 
 that I can tell you of that will much interest you. I am foddering over 
 my book; still Philippizing. But “ it is a far cry to Loch Awe ” ; which 
 place, far as it is, by the by, I saw on my last visit to Europe under such 
 delightful auspices, with the Lord of the Campbells and his lovely lady, 
 God preserve them ! I have been quite industrious, for me, this winter, 
 in spite of hymeneal merry-making, and am now on my second volume. 
 But it is a terrible subject, so large and diffuse, — the story of Europe. 
 
334 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 I told Bentley to send Lady Mary a copy of my “ Miscellanies ” two 
 months since, which contains an engraved portrc’ f of me from a picture 
 by Phillips, painted when in London for Mr. Stirling. The engraving is 
 
 a good one; better, I suspect, than the likeness. 
 
 You will think, by the length of my yarn, that I really think you are 
 returned to private life again, and have nothing in the world to do. But 
 a host of pleasant recollections gather round me while I converse with vcu 
 across the waters, and I do not like to break the spell. But it is time. 
 I must not close without thanking you for the kind congratulations wliich 
 you sent me some weeks since on my daughter’s approaching nuptials. 
 It is all over now, and I am childless, and yet fortunate, if it must be so. 
 Does not your sister the Duchess part with her last unmarried daughter 
 very soon 1 The man is fortunate, indeed, who is to have such a bride. 
 Pray say all that is kind for me to the Duchess, whose kindness to me is 
 among the most cherished of my recollections in my pleasant visit to merry 
 England. 
 
 Farewell, dear Carlisle. Believe me always 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, Aoril 18, 1862. 
 
 My dear Lady Lyele, 
 
 Since I last wrote, we have had another wedding in my family, as you 
 have no doubt heard. Indeed, you prove how well you arc posted up 
 about us, and the kind part you take in our happiness, by the little souvenir 
 which you sent to Lizzy at the time of the marriage. 4 We like to have 
 the sympathy of those who are dear to us in our joys and our sorrows. 
 I am sure we shall always have yours in both, though I hope it will be 
 long before we have to draw on it for the latter. Yet when did the sun 
 6hine long without a cloud, — lucky, if without a tempest. We have had 
 one cloud in our domestic circle the last fortnight, in the state of my 
 mother’s health. She was confined to the house this spring by an injury, 
 in itself not important, to her leg. But the inaction, to which she is so little 
 accustomed, has been followed by loss of strength, and she does not rally as 
 I wish she did. Should summer ever bless us, of which I have my doubts, 
 I trust she will regain the ground she has lost. But I guess and fear! 
 Eighty-five is a heavy load ; hard to rise under. It is like the old man in 
 the Arabian Nights, that poor Sinbad could not shake off from his shoulders. 
 Elizabeth’s marriage has given occasion to a good deal of merry-making, 
 and our little society has been quite astir in spite of Lent. Indeed, the 
 only Past-day which the wicked Unitarians keep is that appointed by the 
 Governor as the “ day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer.” It comes 
 always in April. We keep it so appropriately, that I could not help re¬ 
 marking the other day, that it would be a pity to have it abolished, as we 
 have so few Jete days in our country. 
 
 4 Tne marriage of his only daughter to Mr. Lawrence, already mentioned. 
 
CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 1852. 
 
 Political Opinions. — Correspondence with Mr. Bancroft, Mr. Ev¬ 
 erett, and Mr. Sumner. — Conversation on Political Subjects. 
 
 F Mr. Prescott’s political opinions there is little to be said. 
 
 That he was sincerely and faithfully attached to his coun¬ 
 try — to his whole country — nobody ever doubted who heard 
 him speak on the subject. His letters when he was in Eng¬ 
 land, flattered as few men have been by English hospitality, 
 are as explicit on this point as was the expression of his every¬ 
 day feelings and thoughts at home. But, with all his patriotic 
 loyalty, he took little interest in the passing quarrels of the 
 political parties that, at different times, divided and agitated 
 the country. They were a disturbing element in the quiet, 
 earnest pursuit of his studies ; and such elements, whatever 
 they might be, or whencesoever they might come, he always 
 injected with a peculiar sensitiveness; anxious, under all cir¬ 
 cumstances, to maintain the even, happy state of mind to 
 which his nature seemed to entitle him, and which he found 
 important to continuous work. He was wont to say, that he 
 dealt with political discussions only when they related to events 
 and persons at least two centuries old. 
 
 Of friends who were eminent in political affairs he had not 
 a few ; but his regard for them did not rest on political grounds. 
 With Mr. Everett, whom he knew early during his college life, 
 and who, as Secretary of State, represented the old Whig par¬ 
 ty, he had always the most kindly intercourse, and received 
 from him, as we have seen, while that gentleman was residing 
 in Italy in 1840 and 1841, and subsequently while he so ably 
 represented the United States as our Minister in London, effi¬ 
 cient assistance in collecting materials for the “ History of 
 Philip the Second.” With Mr. Bancroft, who had an inherited 
 claim on his regard, and whom he knew much from 1822, he 
 
336 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 stood in relations somewhat more intimate and familiar, and 
 always maintained them, though he never sympathized with 
 his friend in the decidedly democratical tendencies that have 
 marked his brilliant career as a statesman. With Mr. Sumner 
 his personal acquaintance began later, — not till the return of 
 that gentleman from Europe in 1840 ; but from the first, it 
 was cordial, and in the last two or three years of his life he 
 took much interest in the questions that arose about Kansas, 
 and voted for Mr. Fremont as President in preference to either 
 of the other candidates. During his whole life, however, he 
 belonged essentially, both in his political feelings and in his 
 political opinions, as his father always did, to the conservative, 
 school of Washington and Hamilton, as its doctrines are re¬ 
 corded and developed in the “ Federalist.” 
 
 With the three eminent men just referred to, whom all will 
 recognize as marking with the lustre of their names the oppo 
 site corners of the equilateral triangle formed by the three 
 great political parties that at different times during Mr. Pres¬ 
 cott’s life preponderated in the country, he had a correspond¬ 
 ence, sometimes interrupted by the changing circumstances of 
 their respective positions, but always kindly and interesting. 
 The political questions of the day appeared in it, of course, 
 occasionally. But whenever this occurred, it was rather by 
 accident than otherwise. The friendship of the parties had 
 been built on other foundations, and always rested on them 
 safely. 
 
 The earliest letters to Mr. Bancroft that I have seen are 
 two or three between 1824 and 1828; but they are unimpor¬ 
 tant for any purposes of biography. The next one is of 1831, 
 and is addressed to Northampton, Massachusetts, where Mr. 
 Bancroft then lived. 
 
 TO ME. BANCROFT. 
 
 Boston, April 30, 1831. 
 
 Mr dear Friend, 
 
 We jog on in much the same way here, and, as we are none of u» 
 Jacksonists, care little for the upsetting of cabinets, or any other mad 
 vranks, which doubtless keep you awake at Northampton, for I perceive 
 
LETTER TO MR. BANCROFT. 
 
 337 
 
 j'ou axe doing as many a misguided man has done before you, quitting 
 the sweets of letters for the thorny path of politics. I must say I had 
 rather drill Greek and Latin into little boys all my life, than take up with 
 
 this trade in our country. However, so does not think Mr.-, nor 
 
 Mr. —, nor Mr. &c., &c., &c., who are much better qualified to carry 
 off all the prizes in literature than I can be. Your article on the Bank 
 of the United States produced quite a sensation, and a considerable con¬ 
 trariety of opinion. 1 Where will you break out next ? I did not thiuk 
 to see you turn out a financier in your old age ! I have just recovered 
 from a fit of sickness, which has confined me to my bed for a fortnight. 
 I think the weather will confine me to the house another fortnight. Do 
 you mean to make a flying trip to our latitudes this vacation 1 We 
 should be glad to see you. In the mean time I must beg you to commend 
 me to your wife, and believe me, 
 
 Most affectionately your friend, 
 
 Wit. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO MR. BANCROFT. 
 
 My dear Bancroft, 
 
 Pepperell, October 4, ISST 
 
 Since we returned here, I have run through your second volume with 
 uuch pleasure. 2 I had some misgivings that the success of the first, 3 and 
 still more that your political hobbyism, might have made you, if not 
 careless, at least less elaborate. But I see no symptoms of it. On the 
 contrary, you have devoted apparently ample investigation to all the great 
 topics of interest. The part you have descanted on less copiously than I 
 had anticipated — perhaps from what I had heard you say yourself — was 
 the character and habits of the Aborigines ; but I don’t know that you 
 have not given as ample space to them — considering, after all, they are 
 but incidental to the main subject — as your canvas w r ould allow. 4 You 
 certainly have contrived to keep the reader wide awake, which, consider¬ 
 ing that the summary nature of the work necessarily excluded the interest 
 derived from a regular and circumstantial narrative, is a great thing. As 
 you have succeeded so well in this respect, in the comparatively barren 
 parts of the subject, you cannot fail as you draw nearer our own times. 
 
 I see you are figuring on the Van Buren Committee for concocting a 
 public address. Why do you coquet with such a troublesome termagant 
 as politics, when the glorious Muse of History opens her arms to receive 
 you 2 I can’t say I comprehend the fascination of such a mistress; for 
 which, I suppose, you will commiserate me. 
 
 Well, I am just ready to fly from my perch, in the form of three pon- 
 
 1 An article in the “ North American Review,” by Mr. Bancroft. 
 
 * Then just published. 
 
 8 Published in 1834. 
 
 * The sketch of the Indians was reserved for Mr. Bancroft’s third volume, 
 and was, in fact, made with a great deal of care. 
 
 15 
 
 V 
 
338 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 derous oetavos. Don’t you think there will be a great eagerness to pay 
 seven dollars and a half for an auld warld’s tale of the fifteenth century 
 in these rub-and-go times 1 5 You are more fortunate than I, tor all who 
 have bought your first, will necessarily buy the second volume, as sub 
 scribers to a railroad are obliged to go on deeper and deeper with the 
 creation of new stock, in order to make the old of any value, as I have 
 found by precious experience. Nevertheless, I shall take the field in De¬ 
 cember, Deo volente, all being in readiness now for striking off, except the 
 paper. 
 
 With the sincere hope that your family continue in health, and that you 
 may be blessed yourself with good health and restored spirits, 1 am 
 Ever truly yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO MR. BANCROFT. 
 
 Saturday P. M. (indorsed May 6, 1838.) 
 
 I Sum th"v with my hearty thanks. I think it is one of the 
 most delightful tributes ever paid by friendship to an ho ^ P’ 
 think it is written in your very happiest manner. I do not believe, in es 
 touting'itTo I am misled by the subject, or the winter for I have no 
 been very easy to please on the score of puffs, of winch I have had full 
 measrnn/vou'know, from my good-natured friends. But the style of the 
 Sece is gorgeous, vvithout being over-loaded, and the tone of sentiment 
 most original without the least approach to extravagance or obscunty 
 Indeed the originality of the thoughts and the topics touched on consti¬ 
 tute Us great charm! and make the article, even at this eleventh hour, 
 when so much has been said on the subject, have all the freshness of nov- 
 cltv In this I confess, considering how long it had been kept on the 
 shdf I am most agreeably disappointed. As to the length, it is, taken 
 ta lLS.. with the sort of critique, jus. the thing. * ” 
 from venturing on it, and I am sure a man must be without relish for 
 beautiful, who can lay it down without finishing. 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 P S There is one thing which I had like to have forgotten, but 
 which I shall not forgive. You have the effrontery to^peatof my hav- 
 
 . Stolen West ce que cela, soixante ans 1 C’est la fleur de 1 age cela. 
 Ptoeof life, indeed! People will think the author is turned of seventy. 
 He was a more discreet critic that called me “ young and modest l 
 
 6 There were heavy financial troubles in the winter of 1837 - 8. 
 
 • £ ardcle in the “ Democratic Review,” by Mr Bancroft, on the Fer¬ 
 dinand and Isabella.” It has been noticed ante , p. 104. 
 
LETTER TO MR. SUMNER. 
 
 839 
 
 TO ME. BANCROFT. 
 
 Thursday morning, November 1, 1838 
 
 Dear Bancroft, 
 
 I return you Carlyle with my thanks. I have read as much of him as 
 I could stand. After a very candid desire to relish him, I must say I do 
 not at all. I think he has proceeded on a wrong principle altogether. 
 The French Revolution is a most lamentable comedy (as Niek Bottom 
 says) of itself, and requires nothing but the simplest statement of facts to 
 freeze one’s blood. To attempt to color so highly what nature has al¬ 
 ready overeolored is, it appears to me, in very bad taste, and produces a 
 grotesque and ludicrous effect, the very opposite of the sublime or beauti¬ 
 ful. Then such ridiculous affectations of new-fangled words 1 Carlyle is 
 even a bungler at his own business; for his creations, or rather combina¬ 
 tions, in this way, are the most discordant and awkward possible. As he 
 runs altogether for dramatic, or rather picturesque effect, he is not to be 
 challenged, I suppose for want of original views. This forms no part of 
 his plan. His views certainly, as far as I can estimate them, are trite 
 enough. And, in short, the whole thing, in my humble opinion, both as 
 to forme and to fond, is perfectly contemptible. Two or three of his arti¬ 
 cles in the Reviews are written in a much better manner, and with eleva¬ 
 tion of thought, if not with originality. But affectation, 
 
 “ The trail of the serpent is over them all.” 
 
 Mercy on us, you will say, what have I done to bring such a shower of 
 twaddle about my ears ? Indeed, it is a poor return for your kindness in 
 lending me the work, and will discourage you in future, no doubt. But 
 to say truth, I have an idle hour; my books are putting up. 7 
 
 Thierry I will keep longer, with your leave. He says “ he has made 
 friends with darkness.” There are we brothers. 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO MR. SUMNER." 
 
 Boston, April 18, 1839. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Our friend Hillard 9 read to me, yesterday, some extracts from a recent 
 letter of yours, in which you speak of your interviews with Mr. Ford, 10 
 
 1 For moving to town. 
 
 * Mr. Sumner was then in Europe, and Mr. Prescott was not yet person¬ 
 ally acquainted with him. 
 
 » George S. Hillard, Esq., author of the charming book, “ Six Months in 
 Italy,” first printed in 1853 in Boston, and subsequently in London, by Mur¬ 
 ray, since which it has become a sort of manual for travellers who visit 
 Florence and Rome. 
 
 10 Already noticed for his review in the “ London Quarterly ” of “ Ferdi¬ 
 nand and Isabella,” and for his subsequent personal friendship with Mr. 
 Prescott. 
 
340 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 who is to wield the scalping-knife over my bantling in the “ Quarterly.” 
 I cannot refrain from thanking you for your very efficient kindness to¬ 
 wards me in this instance, as well as for the very friendly manner in which 
 you have enabled me to become acquainted with the state of opinion on 
 the literary merits of my History in London. It is, indeed, a rare piece 
 of good fortune to be thus put in possession of the critical judgments of 
 the most cultivated society, who speak our native language. Such infor¬ 
 mation cannot be gathered from Reviews and Magazines, which put on a 
 6ort of show dress for the public, and which are very often, too, executed 
 by inferior hands. Through my friend Ticknor, first, and subsequently 
 through you, I have had all the light I could desire ; and I can have no 
 doubt, that to the good-natured offices of both of you I am indebted for 
 those presses in my favor, which go a good way towards ultimate success. 
 I may truly say, that this success has not been half so grateful to my feel¬ 
 ings as the kind sympathy and good-will which the publication has drawn 
 forth from my countrymen, both at home and abroad. 
 
 Touching the “ Quarterly,”.I had half a mind, when I learned 
 
 from your letters that it was to take up “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” to 
 send out the last American edition, for the use of the reviewer (who, to 
 judge from his papers in the “ Quarterly,” has a quick scent for blemishes, 
 and a very good knowledge of the Spanish ground), as it contains more 
 than a hundred corrections of inadvertencies and blunders, chiefly verbal, 
 in the first edition. It would be hard, indeed, to be damned for sins 
 repented of; but, on the whole, I could not make up my mind to do it, 
 as it looked something like a sop to Cerberus ; and so I determined to 
 leave their Catholic Highnesses to their fate. Thanks to your friendly 
 interposition, I have no doubt, this will be better than they deserve; and, 
 should it be otherwise, I shall feel equally indebted to you. Any one who 
 has ever had a hand in concocting an article for a periodical knows quan¬ 
 tum valet. But the ot noWoi know nothing about it, and of all journals 
 the “Edinburgh” and the “Quarterly” have the most weight with the 
 American, as with the English public. 
 
 You are now, I understand, on your way to Italy, after a campaign 
 more brilliant, I suspect, than was ever achieved by any of your country¬ 
 men before. You have, indeed, read a page of social life such as few 
 anywhere have access to ; for your hours have been passed with the great, 
 not merely with those bom to greatness, but those who have earned it for 
 themselves, 
 
 “ Colla penna e colla spada.” 
 
 In your progress through Italy, it is probable you may meet with a 
 Florentine nobleman, the Marquis Capponi. 11 Mr. Ellis, 12 in a letter 
 from Rome, informed me, that he was disposed to translate “ Ferdinand 
 and Isabella ” into the Italian; and at his suggestion I had a copy for¬ 
 warded to him from England, and have also sent a Yankee one, as more 
 free from inaccuracies. I only fear he may think it presumptuous. H* 
 
 11 The Marquis Gino Capponi. See ante, p. 175, note. 
 
 13 Rev. Dr. George E. Ellis, of Charlestown, Mass. 
 
LETTER TO MR. EVERETT. 
 
 341 
 
 had never seen the book, and I can easily divine fifty reasons why he 
 would not choose to plague himself with the job of translating when lie 
 has seen it. He is a man of great consideration, and probably fully occu¬ 
 pied in other ways. But after the intimation which was given me, I did 
 not choose to be deficient on my part; and I only hope he may under¬ 
 stand, that I do not flatter myself with the belief that lie will do anything 
 more than take that sort of interest in the work which, as one of the lead¬ 
 ing savans in Italy, I should wish him to feel for it. I am sincerely 
 desirous to have the work known to Continental scholars who take an 
 interest in historical inquiries. I shall be obliged to you if you will say 
 this much to him, should you fall in with him. 
 
 I shall be further obliged to you, should you return to London, if you 
 will, before leaving it for the last time, ascertain from Bentley whether he 
 is making arrangements for another edition, and in what style. I should 
 be sorry to have the work brought out in an inferior dress, for the sake of 
 the tocher. Above all, he must get a rich portrait, coute que coute, of my 
 heroine. I have written him to this effect, and he has promised it, but 
 “ it is a far ciy to Loch Awe,” and, when a man’s publisher is three thou¬ 
 sand miles off, he will go his own gait. I believe, however, he is disposed 
 to do very fairly by me. Thus you see my grat'tude for the past answers 
 the Frenchman’s definition of it, a lively sense of favors to come. I 
 shall trust, however, without hesitation, to the same frieudly spirit which 
 you have hitherto shown for my excuse in your eyes. 
 
 Adieu, my dear sir. With sincere wishes that the remainder of your 
 pilgrimage may prove as pleasant and profitable to you as the past must 
 have been, I am (if you will allow me to subscribe myself) 
 
 Very truly your obliged friend and servant, 
 
 Wm. H. Pbescott. 
 
 TO MR. EVERETT . 13 
 
 Boston, May 21, 1840. 
 
 Mr dear Mr. Everett, 
 
 I enclose a note to Mr. Grahame, 14 who is now residing at Nantes for 
 the benefit of his daughter’s health, who, as Mr. Ellis informs me, is 
 married to a son of Sir John Herschel. 
 
 Touching the kind offices I wish from you in Paris, it is simply to 
 ascertain if the Archives (the Foreign Archives, I think they are called) 
 under the care of Mignet contain documents relating to Spanish history 
 during the reign of Philip the Second. A Mr. Turnbull, 16 who, I see, is 
 now publishing his observations on this country and the West Indies, 
 assured me last year, that the French government under Bonaparte caused 
 the papers, or many of them, relating to this period, to be transferred 
 from Simancas to the office in Paris. Mr. Turnbull has spent some time 
 both in Madrid and Paris, and ought to know. If they are there, I should 
 like to know if I can obtain copies of such as I should have occasion for, 
 
 13 Mr. Everett was then about embarking for Europe. 
 
 14 J. Grahame, Esq., author of the History of the United States. 
 
 i* D. Turnbull, Esq., who published a book on Cuba, &c., in 1840. 
 
312 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLLNG PRESCOTT 
 
 and I shall be obliged by your advising me how this can best be done. 1 
 shall not attempt to make a collection, which will require similar opera¬ 
 tions in the principal capitals of Europe, till I have learnt whether I can 
 succeed in getting what is now in Spain, which must be, after all, the 
 principal depot. My success in the Mexican collection affords a good 
 augury, but I fear the disordered condition of the Spanish archives will 
 make it very difficult. In the Mexican affair, the collections had been all 
 made by their own scholars, and I obtained access to them through the 
 Academy. For the “ Philip the Second ” I must deal with the govern¬ 
 ment. There is no hurry, you know, so that I beg you will take your 
 own time and convenience for ascertaining the state of the case. 
 
 I return you the Lecture on Peru, in which you have filled up the out¬ 
 lines of your first. Both have been read by me with much pleasure and 
 profit; though it must be some years before I shall work in those mines 
 mvself, as I must win the capital of Montezuma first. 
 
 I pray you to offer my wife’s and my own best wishes to Mrs. Everett, 
 and with the sincere hope that you may have nothing but sunny skies and 
 hours during your pilgrimage, believe me, my dear Mr. Everett, 
 
 Most truly and faithfully yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 FROM MR. EVERETT. 
 
 Paris, July 27,1840. 
 
 Mr dear Sir, 
 
 I have lost no time in instituting inquiries as to the documents which 
 mav be accessible in Paris, on the subject of Philip the Second. My first 
 recourse was to M. Mignet. He is the keeper of the Archives in the De¬ 
 partment of Foreign Affairs. From him l learned that Ins department 
 contains nothing older than the seventeenth century. I learned however, 
 from him, that Napoleon, as Mr. Turnbull informed you, caused not only 
 a part, but the whole, of the archives of Simancas to be transferred to 
 Paris. On the downfall of the Empire, everything was sent back to 
 Spain, excepting the documents relating to the History of France, which, 
 somehow or other, remained. These documents are deposited in the 
 Archives du Royaume, Hotel Soubise. Among them is the correspondence 
 of the successive Ministers of Spain in France with their government at 
 Madrid. These papers are often the originals ; they are not bound, nor 
 indexed, but tied up in Hasses, and M. Mignet represented the labor ot 
 examining them as very great. He showed me some of the bund es 
 which he had been permitted to borrow from the Archives du Royaume, but 
 [ did not perceive wherein the peculiar difficulty of examining them con¬ 
 sisted. He has examined and made extracts from a great mass ot these 
 documents for the History of the Reformation which he is writing. He 
 showed me a large number of manuscript volumes, containing these 
 extracts, which he had caused to be made by four copyists. He had also 
 similar collections from Brussels, Cassel, and Dresden, obtained through 
 the agency of the French Ministers at those places. I have made an 
 arrangement to go to the Archives du Royaume next week, and see these 
 
LETTER FROM MR. EVERETT. 
 
 343 
 
 documents. I think M. Mignet told ine there were nearly three hundred 
 bundles, and, it' I mistake not, all consisting of the correspondence of 
 the Ministers of Spain in France. 
 
 My next inquiry was at the BMioth'eque Hay ale. 16 The manuscripts 
 there are under the care of an excellent old friend of mine, Professor Hase, 
 who, in the single visit I have as yet made to the library, did everything 
 in his power to facilitate my inquiry. In this superb collection will, I 
 think, be found materials of equal importance to those contained in the 
 Archives da Royaume. A very considerable part of the correspondence of 
 the French Ministers at Madrid and Brussels, for the period of your 
 inquiry, is preserved, — perhaps all; and there are several miscellaneous 
 pieces of great interest if I may judge by the titles. 
 
 FROM MR. EVERETT. 
 
 Paris, August 22, 1840. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Since my former letter to you, I have made some further researches, 
 on the subject of materials for the History of Philip the Second. I passed 
 a morning at the Archives du Royaume, in the ancient Hotel Souhise, 
 inquiring into the subject of the archives of Simancas ; and in an inter¬ 
 view with M. Mignet, he was good enough to place in my hands a report 
 made to him, by some one employed by him, to examine minutely into 
 the character and amount of these precious documents. They consist of 
 two hundred and eighty-four bundles, as I informed you in my former 
 letter, and some of these bundles contain above a couple of hundred pieces. 
 They are tied up and numbered, according to some system of Spanish 
 arrangement, the key of which (if there ever was any) is lost. They do not 
 appear to follow any order, either chronological, alphabetical, or that of 
 subjects; and an ill-written, but pretty minute catalogue of some of the 
 first bundles in the series is the only guide to their contents. M. Mignet’s 
 amanuensis went through the whole mass, and looked at each separate 
 paper; and this, I think, is the only way in which a perfectly satisfactory 
 knowledge of the contents of the collection can be obtained. I had time 
 only to look at two bundles. I took them at a venture, being Liasses A 
 55 and A 56; selecting them, because I saw in the above-named catalogue 
 that they contained papers which fell within the period of the reign of 
 Philip the Second. I soon discovered that these documents were far from 
 being confined to the correspondence of the Spanish Ministers in France. 
 On the contrary, I believe, not a paper of that description was contained 
 in the bundles I looked at. There were, however, a great number of 
 original letters of Philip himself to his foreign Ministers. They appeared 
 in some cases to be original draughts, sometimes corrected in his own 
 handwriting. Sometimes they were evidently the official copies, originally 
 made for the purpose of being preserved in the archives of the Spanish 
 government. In one case, a despatch, apparently prepared for transmis¬ 
 sion, and signed by Philip, but for some reason not sent, was preserved 
 
 is Now the Biblioth'eque Imperiale. 
 
344 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT 
 
 with the official copy. In some cases there wore letters m several difer- 
 ent states, from a first draught, through one °r two eon^ tome, Jll 
 the letter was reduced to a satisfactory condition. This was strikingly tie 
 case with the Latin letter to Elizabeth of England, of 23d August, 1581 
 warmly expostulating against the reception of Portuguese fugitives, and 
 particularly Don Antonio, and threatening war if h.s wishes were not 
 complied with. Further reflection, perhaps, convinced Philip, that this 
 kind of logic was not the best adapted to persuade Queen Elizabeth and a 
 draught of another letter, minus the threat, is found in the bundle Of 
 
 some of the letters of Philip I could not form a satisfactory idea whether 
 they were originals or copies, and if the latter, in what stage prepared. 
 Those of this°class had an indorsement, purporting that they were m 
 cipher ” in whole or in part. Whether they were deciphered copies of 
 originals in cipher, or whether the indorsement alluded ‘° wm a directmn 
 to have them put in cipher, I could not tell. It is, in fact, a point of no 
 great importance, though of some curiosity in the literary history of the 
 
 letters of Philip, the,. «re offlei.tl ta.ht. '' 
 almost every description ; and I should think, from what I saw of the 
 contents of the collection, that they consist of the official papeis emanating 
 from and entering the private cabinet ot the king, and filed awa>, ti e 
 in an authentic copy, the last in the original, from day t0 et 
 
 ters of Philip, though not in his handwriting, were evidently written 
 under his dictation; and I confess, the cursory inspection 
 give them somewhat changed my notion of h.s character. I “W™*™ 
 left the mechanical details of government to his Ministers, but these paper 
 exhibit ample proof that he himself read and answered the etters of h.s 
 ambassadors. Whether, however, this was the regular official correspond¬ 
 ence with the foreign Ministers, or a private correspondence kept up by 
 the Kin-* of which his Secretaries of State were uninformed, I do not 
 know; but from indications, which I will not take up your mie m 
 detailing I should think the former. Among the papers is a holograph 
 Eer of Francis the First to the wife of Charles the Fifth after the 
 treaty of Madrid, by which he recovered his liberty. They told me, 
 tlie Archives, that no obstacles existed to copying these documents, and 
 that it would be easy to find persons competent to examine and tranbcri e 
 
 them. 
 
 TO MR. EVERETT. 
 
 Nahant, September 1, 1840. 
 
 I Javemc^ved^vour letter of the 27th of July, and it was certainly 
 very kind of vou to'be willing to bury yourself in a musty heap of parch- 
 ' ' vour arrival in the most brilliant and captivating of 
 
 EuEpcan caffitl ^should have asked it from no one, and should have 
 lien surprised at it in almost any other person. Tour memoranda show 
 that, as l had anticipated, a large store of original materials for I lnlip 
 
LETTER TO MR. EVERETT. 
 
 345 
 
 Second’s reign is in the public libraries there; possibly enough to author¬ 
 ize me to undertake the history without other resources, though still I can¬ 
 not but suppose that the Spanish archives must contain much of para¬ 
 mount importance not existing elsewhere. I have received from Middle- 
 ton this very week a letter, informing me that lie and Dr. Lembke, my 
 agent in Madrid, have been promised the support of several members of 
 government and influential persons in making the investigations there. 
 By a paper, however, which he sends me from the archivero of Simancas, I 
 fear, from the multitude and disorderly state of the papers, there will be 
 great embarrassment in accomplishing my purpose. I wrote some months 
 since to Dr. Lembke, — who is a German scholar, very respectable, and 
 a member of the Spanish Academy, and who has selected my documents 
 for the “ Conquest of Mexico,” — that, if I could get access to the Madrid 
 libraries for the “ Philip the Second ” documents, I should wish to com¬ 
 plete the collection by the manuscripts from Paris, and should like to have 
 him take charge of it. It so happens, as I find by the letter received 
 from Middleton, that Lembke is now in Paris, and is making researches 
 relating to Philip the Second’s reign. This is an odd circumstance. 
 Lembke tells him (Middleton) he has found many, and has selected some 
 to be copied, and that he thinks he shall “ be able to obtain Mignet’s per¬ 
 mission to have such documents as are useful to me copied from his great 
 collection.” 
 
 TO MR. EVERETT. 
 
 Boston, February 1,1841. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I must thank you for your obliging letter of November 27th, in which 
 you gave me some account of your disasters by the floods, and, worse, 
 from illness of your children. I trust the last is dissipated entirely under 
 the sunny skies of Florence. How the very thought of that fair city calls 
 up the past, and brushes away the mists of a quarter of a century! For 
 nearly that time has elapsed since I wandered a boy on the banks of the 
 Arno. 
 
 Here all is sleet and “ slosh,” and in-doors talk of changes, political 
 not meteorological, when the ins are to turn outs. There is some perplex¬ 
 ity about a Senator to Congress, much increased by your absence and J. 
 Q. Adams’s presence. Abbott Lawrence, who was a prominent candidate, 
 has now withdrawn. It seems more fitting, indeed, that he should repre¬ 
 sent us in the House than the Senate. Both Choate 17 and Dexter 18 have 
 been applied to, and declined. But it is now understood that Mr. C. will 
 consent to go. The sacrifice is great for one who gives up the best prac¬ 
 tice, perhaps, in the Commonwealth. 
 
 If you remain abroad, I trust, for the credit of the country, it will be 
 in some official station, which is so often given away to unworthy par¬ 
 tisans. There is no part of our arrangements, probably, which lowers ua 
 
 17 The Hon. Rufus Choate. 
 
 16 The Hon. Franklin Dexter, Mr. Prescott’s brother-in-law. 
 15* 
 
346 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 so much in foreign estimation, as the incompetence, in one way or another, 
 of our representatives abroad. 
 
 1 have received the books from the Marquis Cappcni of which he spoke 
 to you, and also a very kind letter informing me of the arrangements for 
 the translation of the Catholic Kings into the beautiful tongue of Petrarch 
 and Dante. I see, from the Prospectus which he sends me, that I am 
 much honored by the company of the translated. The whole scheme is a 
 magnificent one, and, if it can be carried through, cannot fail to have a 
 great influence on the Italians, by introducing them to modes of thinking 
 very different from their own. I suppose, however, the censorship still 
 holds its shears. It looks as if the change so long desired in the copy¬ 
 right laws was to be brought about, or the Associates could hardly expect 
 indemnification for their great expenses. Signor Capponi is, I believe, a 
 person of high accomplishments, and social as well as literary eminence. 
 In my reply to him, I have expressed my satisfaction that he should have 
 seen you, and taken the liberty to notice the position you have occupied in 
 your own country ; though it may seem ridiculous, or at least superfluous, 
 from me, as it is probable he knows it from many other sources. 
 
 I am much obliged by your communication respecting the “ Relazioni 
 degli Ambasciatori Veneti.” It is a most important work, and I have a 
 copy, sent me by Mariotti. The subsequent volumes (only three are now 
 published) will cover the reign of Philip the Second and supply most 
 authentic materials for his history, and I must take care to provide myself 
 with them. 19 When you visit Rome, if you have any leisure, I shall be 
 obliged by your ascertaining if there are documents in the Vatican ger¬ 
 mane to this subject. Philip was so good a sou of the Church, that I 
 think there must be. Should \ ou visit Naples, and meet with an old gen¬ 
 tleman there, Count Camaldoli, pray present my sincere respects to him. 
 He has done me many kind offices, and is now interesting himself in get¬ 
 ting some documents from the archives of the Duke of Monte Leone, the 
 representative of Cortes, who lives, or vegetates, in Sicily. 
 
 Lembke is now in Paris, and at work for me. Sparks is also there, as 
 you know, I suppose. He has found out some rich deposits of manu¬ 
 scripts relating to Philip, in the British Museum. The difficulty will be, 
 I fear, in the embarras de ricliesses. The politics of Spain in that reign 
 were mixed up with those of every court in Europe. Isabel’s were for¬ 
 tunately confined to Italy and the Peninsula. 
 
 I pray you to remember us all kindly to your wife, and to believe >ne, 
 my dear Mr. Everett, 
 
 Most truly your obliged friend, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 19 The “ Relazioni degli Ambasciatori Veneti,” published by Professor 
 Eugenio Alberi, of Florence, — a scholar whose learning fits him singularly 
 for the task. The first volume was published in 1839, and I think the fif¬ 
 teenth and last has recently appeared. Meantime Signor Alberi has edited, 
 with excellent skill, the works of Galileo, in sixteen volumes. 1842 -1856. 
 He assisted Mr. Prescott in other ways. 
 
LITTER FROM MR. EVERETT. 
 
 347 
 
 FROM MR. EVERETT. 
 
 Florence, September 21, 1841. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I duly received your favor of the 30th of April. I delayed answering 
 it till I should have executed your commissions, which, upon the whole, I 
 have done to my satisfaction. I immediately addressed a note to the 
 Marquis Gino Capponi, embodying the substance of what you sat or. the 
 subject of his offer to furnish you with copies of his “ Vent'..an Rela¬ 
 tions.” He was then absent on a journey to Munich, which I did not 
 know at the time. He has since returned, but I have not seen him. 
 Since the loss of his sight, he leads a very secluded life, and is, I think, 
 rarely seen but at M. Vieusseux’s Thursday-evening Conversaziones; which, 
 as I have been in the country all summer., I have not attended. I infer 
 from not hearing from him, that he thinks the “Relazioni ” will be pub¬ 
 lished within five years, and that consequently it will not be worth while 
 to have them transcribed. But I shall endeavor to see him before my de¬ 
 parture. The Count Pietro Guicciardini readily placed in my hands the 
 manuscripts mentioned by you in yours of the 30th of April, which I 
 have had copied at a moderate rate of compensation. They form two hun¬ 
 dred pages of the common-sized foolscap paper, with a broad margin, but 
 otherwise economically written, the lines near each other, and the hand 
 quite close, though very legible. I accidentally fell upon copies of two 
 autograph letters of Philip the Second, — the one to the Pope, the other 
 to the Queen of Portugal, — on the subject of the imprisonment of Don 
 Carlos, while I was in search of something else in the Magliabecchian. 
 They are not intrinsically very interesting. But, considering the author 
 and the subject, as they are short, each two pages, I had them copied. I 
 experienced considerable difficulty in getting the document in the “ Ar- 
 chivio Mediceo ” copied. For causes which I could not satisfactorily trace, 
 the most wearisome delays were interposed at every step, and I despaired 
 for some time of success. The Grand Duke, to whom I applied in per¬ 
 son, referred the matter, with reason, to the Minister. The Minister was 
 desirous of obliging me, but felt it necessary to take the opinion of the 
 Official Superintendent of the department, who happens to be the Attor¬ 
 ney-General, who is always busy with other matters. He referred it to 
 the Chief Archivist, and he to the Chief Clerk. Fortunately the Archivio 
 is quite near my usual places of resort; and, by putting them in mind of 
 the matter frequently, I got it, after six weeks, into a form in which the 
 Minister, Prince Corsini, felt warranted in giving a peremptory order in 
 my favor. 
 
 FROM MR. EVERETT. 
 
 London, April SO, 1842. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I have to thank you for your letter of the 27th March, which I have 
 just received, and I am afraid that of the 29 !h December, which you sent 
 
348 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 me by Mr Gayangos, is also still to be acknowledged. After playiug 
 bo nee y n with thlt gentle,nan all winter, I requested him to give me the 
 tor ofTis company at breakfast to-day. I had Mr. Hallam and Lord 
 Mahon who 1 J been in Spain, with other friends, to - 
 found him an exceedingly pleasant, intelligent person. I hope to 
 more of him during the summer, which he passes here. 
 
 Mr Rich sent me the other day a copy of the third edition of your 
 book for which I am truly obliged to you. I find your H.story wherever 
 I cjo ’ and there is no American topic which is oftener alluded to in all t 
 cities which I frequent, whether literary or fashionable. It is a matter 
 of mineral regret that you are understood to pass over the reign of Charles 
 the* 5 Fifth hTyour plans for the future. Mr. Denison expressed himself 
 very stronMy to that effect the other day, and, though everybody does 
 iusdce to the motive as a feeling on your part, I must say that I have n 
 conversed with a single person who thinks you ought to consider te 
 around as preoccupied by Robertson. He was avowedly ignorant of all 
 tl, e German 3 sources, had but partial access to the Spanish authorities and 
 tote h" in a manner which does not satisfy the requirements of the 
 
 P Tatdad you are not disappointed in the manuscripts I procured you 
 at Florence^ Thl account of the Tuscan Minister at Madnd ,s o course 
 
 mms C of thTArchiveTof’Simanc^'which m'.'S* Gayangos tnU get you 
 at Paris whatever they may do for the moral character of Philip, wil 
 
 s =-“s:rr 
 
 TO MR. SUMNER. 
 
 Peppekell, September 11, 1842. 
 
 Many .hanka for your kind profit ton, mj ^ My »*’• 
 
 T m^h more inexorable persona*.. He will no. 
 
 Conquistador , L orte , , , -r omip com Dan v, and tho 
 
 cren. me a furlongl. for . TeS in.o my 
 
 r b ofrr‘r..Tm„rbneU.oJ lines. now in good earneab 1 
 
 S. know anything w." Pl = ™ ““^ 0 ^^. 
 
 however, wi.h a 
 
 a, To vi.it Sew York wi.h Mr. Snmner, in order lo hike leave of Lord 
 Morpeth, then about to embark for England. 
 
 ^Moving from PeppereU to Boston, always annoy ing to hi . 
 
LETTER TO MR. EVERETT. 
 
 349 
 
 note to him, and will send it to you by the 20th. If you should leave 
 before that, let me know, as I will not fail to write to him. He must be 
 quite aboriginal by this time. 22 Pray get all the particulars of his tour 
 out of him. 
 
 Here I am in the midst of green fields and misty mountains, absolutely 
 revelling in the luxury of rustic solitude and study. Long may it be 
 before I shall be driven back to the sumum strepitumque RomasP 
 Remember me kindly to Licber and Hillard, and believe me. 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO MR. SUMNER. 
 
 Peppekell, October 4, 1842. 
 
 I am truly obliged to you, my dear Sumner, for giving me the carte du 
 pays of the last week so faithfully. Why, what a week you had of it! You 
 celebrated our noble friend’s departure 24 in as jolly a style as any High¬ 
 lander or son of green Erin ever did that of his fi-iend’s to the world of 
 spirits, — a perpetual wake, — wake, indeed, for you don’t seem to have 
 closed your eyes night or day. Dinners, breakfasts, suppers, “ each hue,” 
 as Byron says, “ still lovelier than the last.” I am glad he went off 
 under such good auspices, — New York hospitality, and you to share it 
 with him. Well, peace to his manes! I never expect to see another peer or 
 
 commoner from the vater-land whom I shall cotton to, as Madam B- 
 
 says, half so much. 
 
 I am pegging away at the Aztecs, and should win the mural crown in 
 three months, were I to stay in these rural solitudes, where the only break 
 is the plague of letter-writing. But Boston; the word comprehends more 
 impediments, more friends, more enemies, — alas ! how alike, — than one 
 could tell on his fingers. Addio 1 love to Hillard, and, when you write, 
 to Longfellow, whom I hope Lord M. will see, and believe me 
 Very affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO MR. EVERETT. 
 
 Boston, November 29, 1843. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 It was very kind in you to write to me by the last steamer, when you 
 were suffering under the heavy affliction with which Providence has seen 
 fit to visit you. 24 I believe there can scarcely be an affliction greater than 
 
 22 Lord Morpeth had visited some of our North American Indians. 
 
 28 This quotation, comparing Boston with Rome in its days of glory, 
 reminds one irresistibly of the words of Virgil’s shepherd: — 
 
 “ Urbem quam dicunt Romarn, Melibcee putavi, 
 
 Stultus ego, huic nostra; similem.” 
 
 24 Lord Morpeth’s embarkation for England. 
 
 26 The death of his eldest daughter, — singularly fitted to gratify affection 
 and to excite a just pride in her parents- 
 
350 
 
 WILLIAM HICIvLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 that caused by such a domestic loss as yours; so many dear ties ’'.token, 
 so many fond hopes crushed. There is something in the relation of a 
 daughter with a mind so ripe and a soul so spotless as yours, which is 
 peculiarly touching, and more so perhaps to a father’s heart than to any 
 other. There is something in a female character that awakens a more 
 tender sympathy than we can feel for those of our own sex, — at least I 
 have so felt it in this relation. I once was called to endure a similar mis¬ 
 fortune. But the daughter whom I lost was taken away in the dawn of 
 life, when only four years old. Do you remember those exquisite lines of 
 Coleridge, — 
 
 “ Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade, 
 
 Death came with timely care, 
 
 The opening bud to heaven conveyed, 
 
 And bade it blossom there.” 
 
 I think I can never know a sorrow greater than I then experienced. 
 
 And yet, if such was the blow to me, what must this be to you, where 
 promise has ripened into so beautiful a reality. You have, indeed, all the 
 consolation that can be afforded by the recollection of so delightful a char¬ 
 acter, and of a life that seems to have been spent in preparation for a 
 glorious future. Now that she is gone, all who knew her — and there are 
 many here — bear testimony to her remarkable endowments, and the sur 
 passing loveliness of her disposition. If any argument were needed, the 
 existence and extinction here of such a being would of itself be enough 
 to establish the immortality of the soul. It would seem as reasonable to 
 suppose, that the blossom, with its curious organization and its tendencies 
 to a fuller development, should be designed to perish in this immature 
 state, as that such a soul, with the germ of such celestial excellence within 
 it, should not be destined for a further and more noble expansion. It is 
 the conviction of this immortality which makes the present life dwindle to 
 a point, and makes one feel that death, come when it will, separates us but 
 a short space from the dear friend who has gone before us. Were it not 
 for this conviction of immortality, life, short as it is, would be much 
 too long. But I am poorly qualified to give consolation to you. Would 
 that I could do it! 
 
 You will be gratified to know that my father, of whose illness I gave 
 you some account in my last, has continued to improve, and, as he con¬ 
 tinues to get as much exercise as the weather of the season will permit, 
 there is little doubt his health will be re-established. 
 
 Before this, you will have received a copy of the “ Conquest of Mexico ” 
 from Ilich, I trust. When you have leisure and inclination to look into 
 it, I hope it may have some interest for you. You say I need not fear 
 the critical brotherhood. I have no great respect for them in the main, 
 but especially none for the lighter craft, who, I suspect, shape their course 
 much by the trade-winds. But the American public defer still too much 
 to the leading journals. I say, too much, for any one who has done that 
 sort of work understands its value. One can hardly imagine that one 
 critic can look another soberly in the face. Yet their influence makes 
 their award of some importance, — not on the ultimate fate of a work, 
 for I believe that, as none but the author can write himself up pennanendy, 
 
LETTER TO MR. EVERETT. 
 
 351 
 
 so noDe other can write him down. But for present success the opinion 
 of the leading journals is of moment. 
 
 My parents and wife join with me in the expression of the warmest 
 sympathy for Mrs. Everett, with which believe me, my dear Mr. Everett, 
 Most faithfully yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Peescott. 
 
 TO MR. SUMNER. 
 
 My deae Scmnee, 
 
 Fitful Head, August 21,1844. 
 
 I am delighted that you are turning a cold shoulder to JEsculapius, 
 Galen, and tutti quanti. 1 detest the whole brotherhood. I have always 
 observed that the longer a man remains in their hands, and the more of 
 their cursed stuff he takes, the worse plight he is in. They are the bills 
 I most grudge pajnng, except the bill of mortality, which is very often, 
 Indeed, sent in at the same time. 
 
 I have been looking through Beau Brummell. ITis life was the triumph 
 of impudence. His complete success shows that a fond mother should 
 petition for her darling this one best gift, da, Jupiter, impudence ; and that 
 includes all the rest, wit, honor, wealth, beauty, &c., or rather is worth 
 them all. An indifferent commentary on English high life ! 
 
 Did I tell you of a pretty present made to me the other day by an 
 entire stranger to me ? It was an almond stick cut in the woods of the 
 Alhambra at Granada, and surmounted by a gold castellano of the date of 
 Ferdinand and Isabella, set in gold on the head of the stick, which was 
 polished into a cane. The coin bears the effigies of Ferdinand and Isabella, 
 with the titles, &c., all somewhat rudely stamped. Is it not a pretty con¬ 
 ceit, such a present 1 
 
 My mother has been quite unwell the last two days, from a feverish 
 attack, now subsided ; but we were alarmed about her for a short time. 
 But we shall still “ keep a parent from the sky,” I trust. 
 
 Pray take care of yourself, and believe me 
 
 Always faithfully yours, 
 
 Wm. II. Peescott. 
 
 TO MR. EVERETT. 
 
 Boston, May 15, 1846. 
 
 My deae Sie, 
 
 I take the liberty to enclose a note, which you will oblige me by forward¬ 
 ing to Mr. Napier, the editor of the “ Edinburgh Review.” 28 If anything 
 additional is necessary as to the address, will you have the goodness to 
 set it right ? 
 
 In the last number of his journal is a paper that you may have read, 
 on the “ History of the Conquest of Mexico,” in a foot-note of which the 
 
 2 ® To correct a mistake in the preceding number of the “ Edinburgh Re¬ 
 view.” about the degree of his blindness. See ante p. 249 
 
352 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 re ™„„ says .hat I ha,. to .. b. 
 
 co°r.id”“dl™o„.-hli»<i. Th. nett. thing I .hail bear f“"£ 
 
 for,te poo i ri: 
 
 KfZSsS tr4rtb.nd and IsaWV' deprived ot aiUsecf my 
 evcs yetthcy have so far mended, at least one of them, - for the other is 
 
 IZhk. 'But vetv likely he will think John Bull would not care a fig if 
 
 “°We areriifpc" mtaed to be represented by you, though, as you perceive 
 more from a vely natural dfflldence onto partof any one » suec^you 
 
 £ ss 1 7op V zr.es s£ 
 
 SJhtarS? Bn" I suppose *ytro Zve heard more than enough on 
 » remember me kindly to Mrs. Everett, and believe me. 
 
 my dear sir, Yours with sincere regard, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO MR. SUMNER. 
 
 Peppereli., August 15, 1845. 
 
 Tlmnk v“« n fofy”rbise.urse, which X have read - notes and .11- 
 witTt gZt pleasure and great instruction." You have amassed a heap of 
 
 the Peace Society. 
 
LETTER TO MR. SUMNER. 
 
 353 
 
 valuable and often recondite illustration in support of a noble cause. And 
 who can refuse sympathy with the spirit of philanthropy which has given 
 rise to such a charming ideal 1 — but a little too unqualified. 
 
 “ There can be no war that is not dishonorable.” I can’t go along with 
 this ! No 1 by all those who fell at Marathon; by those who fought at 
 Morgarten and Bannockburn; by those who fought and bled at Bunker’s 
 Hill; in the war of the Low Countries against Philip the Second,—in 
 all those wars which have had — which are yet to have — freedom for 
 their object,— I can’t acquiesce in your sweeping denunciation, my good 
 friend. 
 
 I admire your moral courage in delivering your sentiments so plainly 
 in the face of that thick array of “ well-padded and well-buttoned coats of 
 blue, besmeared with gold,” which must have surrounded the rostrum of 
 the orator on this day. I may one day see you on a crusade to persuade 
 the great Autocrat to disband his million of fighting-men, and little Queen 
 Vic to lay up her steamships in lavender ! 
 
 You have scattered right and left the seeds of a sound and ennobling 
 morality, which may spring up in a bountiful harvest, I trust, — in the 
 Millennium, — but I doubt. 
 
 I shall be in town in a few days, when I shall hope to see you. Mean* 
 time remember me kindly to Hillard, and believe, dear Sumner, 
 
 Most affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO MR. SUMNER. 
 
 Highlands, October 2, 1846. 
 
 My dear Sumner, 
 
 I thank you heartily for your Phi Beta Kappa Oration, which I re¬ 
 ceived a few days since. I was then up to the elbows in a bloody “ bat¬ 
 tle-piece.” 29 I thought it better to postpone the reading of it till I could 
 go to it with clean hands, as befits your pure philosophy. 
 
 I have read, or rather listened to it, notes and all, with the greatest in¬ 
 terest ; and when I say that my expectations have not been disappointed 
 after having heard it cracked up so, I think you will think it praise 
 enough. The most happy conception has been carried out admirably, as 
 if it were the most natural order of things, without the least constraint or 
 violence. I don’t know which of your sketches I like the best. I am in¬ 
 clined to think the Judge’s. For there you are on your own heather, and 
 it is the tribute of a favorite pupil to his well-beloved master, gushing 
 warm from the heart. Yet they are all managed well, and the vivid 
 touches of character and the richness of the illustration will repay the 
 study, I should imagine, of any one familiar with the particular science 
 
 29 An oration entitled “ Tho Scholar, the Jurist, the Artist, the Philan¬ 
 thropist,” delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society in Harvard College, 
 1846. It is mainly devoted to a delineation of the characters of John Pick¬ 
 ering, Esq., Judge Story, Washington Allston, the artist, and the Rev. Dr. 
 Ohanning. Mr. Prescott alludes here to one phrase in it, touching the artist! 
 u No mere battle-pieces.” 
 
354 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 you discuss. Then your sentiments certainly cannot be charged with in* 
 consistency. Last year you condemned wars in toto, making no excep¬ 
 tion even for the wars of freedom/ 10 This year you condemn the represen¬ 
 tation of war, whether by the pencil or pen. Marathon, Salamis, Bunker 
 Hill, the retreat from Moscow, Waterloo, great and small, — speaking 
 more forcibly than all the homilies of parson or philanthropist, — are all 
 to be blotted from memory, equally with my own wild skirmishes of bar¬ 
 barians and banditti. Lord deliver us ! Where will you bring up 1 If 
 the stories are not to be painted or written, such records of them as have 
 been heedlessly made should by the same rule be destroyed. And I don’t 
 see, if you follow out your progress to perfection, but what you will one 
 day turn out as stanch an Omar, or iconoclast, as any other of gloriuos 
 memory. 
 
 I laugh; but I fear you will make the judicious grieve. 
 
 I puer, — ut dedainatio Jias, as some satirist may say. 
 
 But fare thee well, dear Sumner. Whether thou deportest thyself sand 
 mente or mente insand, believe me 
 
 Always truly yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO MR. BANCROFT. 
 
 Boston, March 5, 1852. 
 
 Mr dear Bancroft, 
 
 Uncle Isaac 31 sent me yesterday a copy of your new volume, and you 
 may be sure it occupied me closely during a good part of the day. Of 
 course I could only glance over its contents, reading with a relish some 
 of the most striking pictures, — at least, those that would catch the eye 
 most readily on a rapid survey. I recognize the characteristic touches of 
 your hand everywhere, bold, brilliant, and picturesque, with a good deal 
 of the poetic and much more of philosophy. You have a great power of 
 condensing an amount of study and meditation into a compact little sen¬ 
 tence, quite enviable. Your introduction, —your description of the work¬ 
 ing of the Reformation in its Calvinistic aspect especially; your remarks 
 on the political tendencies of the Old World institutions and the New 
 World; your quiet rural pictures of New England and Acadian scenes 
 and scenery; stirring battle-pieces, Quebec in the foreground, and Brad- 
 dock’s fall, and Washington’s rise, — told very simply and effectively; — 
 I have read these with care and much interest. Of course one should not 
 pronounce on a work without reading it through, and this I shall do more 
 leisurely. But I have no doubt the volume will prove a very attractive 
 one, and to the English as well as the Yankee reader, though to the Eng¬ 
 lishman it opens a tale not the most flattering in the national annals. 
 
 Why did you not mention your resources, so ample and authentic, in 
 your Preface '? Every author has a right to do this, and every reader has 
 a right to ask it. Your references do not show the nature of them suf 
 
 See the last preceding ’etter, dated August 15, 1846. 
 
 81 Isaac P. Davis, Esq., uncle to Mrs. Bancroft. 
 
LETTER TO ME. BANCROFT. 
 
 355 
 
 ficiently, as I think. But I suppose you have your reasons. I am 
 glad you have another volume in preparation, and I can only say, God 
 speed! 
 
 With kind remembrances to your wife, believe me, my dear Bancroft, 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Pkescott. 
 
 TO mi. BANCROFT. 
 
 Boston, December 20, 1852. 
 
 Thank you, dear Bancroft, for the second volume of the work immor¬ 
 tal. It gives me a mingled sensation of pleasure and pain to receive it; 
 pleasure to see what you have done, pain at the contrast with what I have 
 done the last year or two. But it will operate as a spur to my enterprise, 
 
 I hope. 
 
 I have only glanced over the volume, and listened carefully to the first 
 chapters. It is a volume not to be taken at a leap, or at a sitting, es¬ 
 pecially by an American. You have given a noble platform for the Revo¬ 
 lution by making the reader acquainted with the interior of English and 
 Continental politics beyond any other work on the subject. I admire the 
 corn-age as well as the sagacity you have shown in your chapter on the 
 English institutions, &c. You have made John Bull of the nineteenth 
 century sit for his portrait of the eighteenth, and rightly enough, as the 
 islander changes little but in date. I do not know how he will like the 
 free commentaries you have made on his social and political characteris¬ 
 tics. But if he is tolerably candid he may be content. But honest Bull, 
 as you intimate, is rather insular in his notions, bounded by the narrow 
 seas. There is more depth than breadth in his character. 
 
 Now that your side has won the game, I wonder if you will be tempted 
 away from the historic chair to make another diplomatic episode. 32 I 
 shall be sorry, on the whole, if you are; for life is fleeting, though art be 
 long, and you arc now warm in harness, running your great race of glory 
 well. I wonder if Mrs. B. does not agree with me ? Yet St. James’s 
 might offer a sore temptation to any one that could get it. 
 
 Thackeray dines — at least I have asked him — with me on Thursday. 
 I wish you could make one of a partie carrtfe with him. 
 
 With much love to your dear lady, believe me, dear Bancroft, 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Pkescott. 
 
 TO MR. BANCROFT. 
 
 Boston, January 8, 1856. 
 
 Dear Bancroft, 
 
 It was very kind in you to take the trouble to read my volumes through 
 »o carefully, and to give me the results of your examination. 33 I am not 
 
 82 The success of the Democratic party in the elections of 1852. 
 88 The first two volumes of the “ History of Philip the Second.” 
 
356 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 a little pleased that these are so favorable to me. It is no flattery to say 
 that your opinion, with the allowance of the grain — perhaps a bushel — 
 of salt on the score of friendship, is of more value to me than almost any 
 other person’s in the community; you are so familiar with the ground of 
 the historian, and know from experience so well what difficulties lie in his 
 path. The verbal inaccuracies you have pointed out I shall give heed to, 
 as well as the two blunders of date and spelling. With respect to the 
 French discourse at the abdication, 34 that is right. Flemish was the lan¬ 
 guage of the people, but French was more commonly used by the nobility. 
 It was the language of the court, and historians expressly state that on 
 this occasion Philip excused himself from addressing the States on the 
 ground of his inability to speak French. Cateau-Cambresis is also right, 
 being the modern French usage. It is so written by Sismondi, by tho 
 editor of the “ Granvelle Papers,” and in the latest geographical gazet¬ 
 teers. 
 
 The book has gone off very well so far. Indeed, double the quantity, 
 I think, has been sold of any of my preceding works in the same time. 1 
 have been lucky, too, in getting well on before Macaulay has come thun¬ 
 dering along the track with his hundred horse-power. I am glad to hear 
 yju say that his Catholic Majesty is found in so many houses in New 
 York. I have had some friendly notices from that great Babylon. Noth¬ 
 ing has pleased me more than a note which I received last week from 
 Irving (to whom, by the by, I had omitted to send a copy), written in his 
 genial, warm-hearted manner. My publishers, whose reader had got into 
 rather a hot discussion with the “ Tribune,” I understand, had led me to 
 expect a well-peppered notice from that journal. But on the contrary, an 
 able article, from the pen, I believe, of Mr. Ripley, who conducts the lit¬ 
 erary criticisms in its columns, dealt with me in the handsomest manner 
 possible. Some fault was found, — not so much as I deserve, — mixed 
 up with a good deal of generous approbation; a sort of criticism more to 
 my taste than wholesale panegyric. 
 
 I cannot conclude this collection of letters to the three emi¬ 
 nent American statesmen, with whom Mr. Prescott most freely 
 corresponded, better than with the following remarks on his 
 conversation by his friend Mr. Parsons. “ Never, perhaps,” 
 says Mr. Parsons, “ did he suggest political, or rather party 
 questions. He was himself no partisan and no extremist on 
 any subject. He had valued friends in every party, and could 
 appreciate excellence of mind or character in those who differed 
 from him. But in this country, where all are free to be as prej¬ 
 udiced and violent as they choose,— and most persons take 
 great care that this right shall not be lost for want of use, — it 
 is seldom that political topics can be discussed with warmth. 
 
 84 Of Charles the Fifth. 
 
CONVERSATION ON POLITICAL SUBJECTS. 
 
 357 
 
 but without passion, or without the personal acerbity, which 
 offended not only his good taste, but his good feelings. Per¬ 
 haps he never sought or originated political conversation ; but 
 he would not decline contributing his share to it; and the con¬ 
 tribution he made was always of good sense, of moderation, and 
 of forbearance.” 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 1852-1854, 
 
 Death of Mb. Pbescott’s Mother. — Progress with “ P htt.tp tub 
 Second.” — Correspondence. 
 
 UT while Mr. Prescott, after his return from England, 
 
 q p was making such spirited advances with his work on 
 “ Philip the Second,” and taking avowed satisfaction in it, 
 another of the calamities of life, for which loiesight is no prep¬ 
 aration, came upon him. On Monday, the 17th of May, 1852, 
 in the forenoon, a gentleman whom I met in the street stopped 
 to tell me that Mrs. Prescott, the mother of my friend, was 
 very ill. I had seen her only two evenings before, when she 
 was in her own chamber, slightly indisposed, indeed, but still 
 in her accustomed spirits, and seeming to enjoy life as much as 
 she ever had. I was surprised, therefore, by the intelligence, 
 and could hardly believe it. But I hastened to the house, and 
 found it to be true. She had been ill only a few hours, and 
 already the end was obviously near. How deeply that afflic¬ 
 tion w r as felt by her son I shall not forget; nor shall I forget 
 the conversation I had with him in the afternoon, when all was 
 over. Ilis suffering was great. He wept bitterly. But above 
 every other feeling rose the sense of gratitude for what he had 
 ow'ed to his mother’s love and energy. 
 
 The impression of her loss remained long on his heart. In 
 the subsequent July, when he went, as usual, to Nahant, he 
 writes: — 
 
 July 4th, 1852. — Nahant, where we came on the first, —cold, dreary 
 and desolate. I miss the accustomed faces. All around me how changed, 
 yet not the scene. There all is as it always has been. The sea makes its 
 accustomed music on the rocks below. But it sounds like a dirge to me. 
 Yet I will not waste my time in idle lament. It will not bring back the 
 dead, — the dead who still live, and in a happier world than this. 
 
 He did not, in fact, recover a tolerable measure of spirits 
 until he reached Pepperell in the autumn. 
 
LETTER TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 359 
 
 “ Left Nahant,” he says, “ September 6th, and came to the Highlands 
 September 9th, full of good intent. Delicious solitudes; safe even from 
 friends — for a time 1 Now for the Spanish battle-cry, ‘ St. Jago, and 
 at them ! ’ ” 
 
 But three months later he writes : — 
 
 December 4th. — St. Jago has not done much for me after all. The 
 gods won’t help those that won’t help themselves. I have dawdled away 
 my summer, and have only to show for it Chapter XII., thirty-five pages 
 of text and four pages of notes. Fie on it! I am now well read up for 
 Chapter XIII., and — I mean to have a conscience and reform. We left 
 Pepperell October 26th. 
 
 In the winter of 1852-3 he made good progress again in 
 his work ; at least such progress as encouraged him, if it was 
 not very rapid. By the 15th of May he had written the thir¬ 
 teenth and fourteenth chapters of the Second Book, and the 
 first chapter of Book Third, making about ninety pages in 
 print. October 3d he had gone on a hundred and sixty pages 
 farther ; and, although he did not account it “ railroad speed,” 
 he knew that it was an improvement on what he had done 
 some months before. He was, therefore, better satisfied with 
 himself than he had been, and more confident of success. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, January 11, 1853. 
 
 You have no idea of the weather you left behind you here. 1 The ther¬ 
 mometer is at 50° at noon to-day, and the trees on the Common seem 
 quite puzzled as to what to do about it. We took our cold, raw weather 
 when you were here, at the bottom of Long Wharf, in Copp’s Hill 
 burying-ground, and the bleak Dorchester drive, to say nothing of the 
 afternoon, when the great jet would not play for your entertainment. You 
 have not forgotten these pleasant rambles, now that you are so far away. 
 Thackeray has left us. His campaign was a successful one, and he said, 
 “ It rained dollars.” He dined with me thrice, and was in good flow of 
 spirits till a late hour generally. He went much to the Ticknors also. I 
 do not think he made much impression as a critic. But the Thackeray 
 vein is rich in what is better than cold criticism. 
 
 1 Sir Charles and Lady Lyell had now made a second visit to the United 
 States. 
 
360 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, March 1,1853. 
 
 At length I have the pleasure to send you the little nothings by 
 Colonel Lawrence, viz. a miniature pencil-case, to be worn round the 
 neck, for ornament more than use. hem, an ivory stylus, more for use 
 than ornament (the worse for wear, having been pared away, as it re¬ 
 quired sharpening an inch or more), with which I wrote all the “ Conquest 
 of Mexico.” I gave to dear Mrs. Milman the stylus that indited “Peru.” 
 Anna Ticknor has the “ Ferdinand and Isabella ” one. My wife says she 
 will not accept the one with which I am doing the Philippics. As that is 
 agate-pointed, I think it will be able to run off as long a yam as I shall 
 care to spin. 
 
 TO MRS. MILMAN. 
 
 Pepperell, September 16, 1853. 
 
 Mr dear Mrs. Milman, 
 
 By the steamer which sailed this week I have done myself the pleasure 
 to send you a couple of volumes, called, “ Six Months in Italy.” It is a 
 book lately given to the world by a friend of mine, Mr. Hillard, an emi¬ 
 nent lawyer in Boston, but one who has found leisure enough to store his 
 mind with rich and various knowledge, and whose naturally fine taste fits 
 him for a work like the present. The subject has been worn out, it is 
 true, by book-makers ; but Hillard has treated it in an original way, and 
 as his style is full of animation and beauty, I think the volumes will be 
 read with pleasure by you and by my good friend your husband. 
 
 Since I last wrote to you the Lyells have made their Crystal Palace 
 trip to the New World, and passed some days with me at the seaside ; 
 and, as Lady Lyell has perhaps told you, I afterwards accompanied her to 
 New York. It was a great pleasure to see them again, when we thought 
 we had bid them a long, if not a last adieu. But that is a word that 
 ought not to be in our vocabulary. They are to pass next winter, 1 
 believe, in the Canaries. They put a girdle round the earth in as little 
 time almost as Puck. 
 
 My travels are from town to seaside, and from seaside to country. And 
 here I am now among the old trees of Pepperell, dearer to me than any 
 other spot I call my own. 
 
 The Lyells have been with us here, too, and I believe Lady Lyell likes 
 my Pepperell home the best. It is a plain old farm, recommended by a 
 beautiful country, glistening with pretty streams of water, well covered 
 with woods, and with a line of hills in the background that aspire to the 
 dignity of mountains. But what endears it most to me is that it has been 
 the habitation of my ancestors, and my own some part of every year from 
 childhood. It is too simple a place, however, not to say rude, to take any 
 but an intimate friend to. 
 
LETTERS TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 361 
 
 Pray remember me most kindly to your husband, and believe me, my 
 dear Mrs. Milman, now and always, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Pbescott. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, December 25, 1853. 
 
 A merry Christmas to you, dear Lady Lyell, and to Lyell too, and 
 good orthodox mince-pies to celebrate it with. I wonder where you are 
 keeping it. Not where you will find it kept in as genial a way as in Old 
 England. How much your countrymen, by the by, are indebted to 
 Washington Irving for showing the world what a beautiful thing Christ¬ 
 mas is, or used to be, in your brave little island. I was reading his 
 account of it this morning, stuffed as full of racy old English rhymes as 
 Christmas pudding is of plums. Irving has a soul, which is more than 
 one can say for most writers. It is odd that a book like this, so finely 
 and delicately executed, should come from the New World, where one 
 expects to meet with hardly anything more than the raw material. 
 
 I don’t know anything that has been stirring here of late that would 
 have interest for you, or for us either, for that matter. It has been a quiet 
 winter, quiet in every sense, for the old graybeard has not ventured to 
 shake his hoary locks at us yet, or at least he has shed none of them on 
 the ground, which is as bare as November. This is quite uncommon and 
 very agreeable. But winter is not likely to rot in the sky, and we shall 
 soon see the feathers dancing about us. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, February 26, 1864. 
 
 I dined with the Ticknors on Friday last, a snug little party, very 
 pleasant. Anna has been in good health this winter, and in ver) 
 good spirits. Good kind friends they are, and if you want to find it, be a 
 little ill, or out of sorts yourself, and you will soon prove it. 
 
 I have been tolerably industrious for me this winter, and I hope to be 
 
 in condition to make a bow to the public by the end of the year. 
 
 You have heard that my publishers, the Harpers, were burnt out last 
 December. They lost about a million ; one third perhaps insured. It is 
 said they have as much more left. I should have made by the fire, as 
 they had about half an edition of each of my books on hand, which they 
 had paid me for. But I could not make money out of their losses, and I 
 told them to strike off as many more copies, without charging them. 
 Ticknor did the same. If all their authors would do as much by them, 
 they would be better off by at least a couple of hundred thousand dollars 
 than their report now shows. 
 
 16 
 
362 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, May 15, 1854. 
 
 I am hard at work now on a very amiable chapter in the “ History of 
 Philip the Second,” the affair of Don Carlos, for which I fortunately have 
 a good body of materials from different quarters, especially Spain. A 
 romantic subject, Carlos and Isabella, is it not 1 Those who have read 
 Schiller, and Alfieri, and Lord John Russell, who wrote a long tragedy on 
 the matter, may think so. But truth is a sturdy plant, that bears too few 
 of the beautiful flowers that belong to fiction, and the historian, who digs 
 up the dry bones of antiquity, has a less cheering occupation than the 
 poet, who creates and colors according to his own fancy.. Some people, 
 however, think history not much better than poetry, as far as fact is con¬ 
 cerned. Those are most apt to think so who are let behind the scenes. 
 
 TO DEAN MIL MAN. 
 
 Lynn, July 24, 1854. 
 
 My deae Ekiend, 
 
 I had the pleasure of receiving a few days since a copy of your “ History 
 of Latin Christianity,” which you were so kind as to send me through 
 Murray, and for which I am greatly obliged to you. As I glance over 
 the rich bill of fare which the “ Contents” hold out, I only regret that I 
 have not the eyes to go into it at once in a more thorough manner than 
 can be done with the ear. But a recent strain of the nerve just before I 
 left town has so far disabled me, that for some weeks I have scarcely ven¬ 
 tured to look at the contents of a book. I have, however, listened to some 
 portions of it, sufficient to give me an idea of the manner in which the 
 work has been executed. I have been particularly struck with your ad¬ 
 mirable account of Becket, and the formidable struggle which the proud 
 priest, in the name of religion, carried on with the royalty of England. 
 I had thought myself pretty well acquainted with the earlier portions of 
 English history, but I have nowhere seen the motives and conduct of the 
 parties in that remarkable struggle so clearly unveiled. As you come 
 down to later times, the subject may have greater interest for the general 
 reader; but yet it can hardly exceed in interest those portions of the 
 present volumes which discuss those great events and institutions the 
 influence of which is still felt in the present condition of society. 
 
 I am not sufficiently familiar with ecclesiastical history to make my 
 opinion of any value, it is true. Yet there are some points in the exe¬ 
 cution of such a work which may be apprehended by readers not bred in 
 any theological school; and I am sure I cannot be mistaken when I ex¬ 
 press the firm conviction that these volumes will prove every way worthy 
 of the enviable reputation which you now enjoy, both as a scholar and a 
 friend of humanity. 
 
 I have been bringing my long-protracted labors on the first two volumes 
 
LETTER TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 363 
 
 of my “Philip the Second” to a close. I have made arrangements for 
 their publication next spring in England and the United States, though 1 
 may be yet longer delayed by the crippled condition of my eyes. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Peppkrell, September 27, 1854. 
 
 Dear Lady Lyell, 
 
 Here we are in old Pepperell, after a week in which we have been in all 
 the hubbub of the transition state. We have come much later than usual, 
 for Lynn, with its green fields and dark blue waters, and the white sails 
 glistening upon them under a bright September sun, was extremely 
 lovely. Indeed, I think, if we were not so much attached to the old farm, 
 we should hardly have thought it worth while to come here for a month, 
 as we now do, and as we always shall do, I suppose. In fact, the topsy¬ 
 turvy life, and all the bustle of moving from seaside to town, and town to 
 country, is something like travelling on a great scale, and forms a very 
 good substitute for it, just as that mammoth water-lily, the Victoria Kegia, 
 which you and I saw at Sion House, and which had always depended on 
 a running stream for its existence, did just as well by Paxton’s clever in¬ 
 vention of keeping up a turmoil in a tank. The lily thought she was all 
 the while in some bustling river, and expanded as gloriously as if she had 
 been. I rather think the tank sort of turmoil is the only one that we shall 
 have; at all events, that my better half will, who I think will never see 
 the vision even of New York before she dies. We have had a dismal 
 drought all over the country, which lasted for more than two months. 
 Luckily, the September rains have restored the vegetation, and the coun¬ 
 try looks everywhere as green as in the latter days of spring. Then there 
 is an inexpressible charm in the repose, a sort of stillness which you al¬ 
 most hear, poetice, in the soft murmurs and buzzing sounds that come up 
 from the fields and mingle with the sounds made by the winds playing 
 among the trees. It makes quite an agreeable variety to the somewhat 
 oppressive and eternal roar of the ocean. The wind as it sweeps through 
 the forest makes a music that one never wearies of. But I did get tired 
 of the monotonous beat of the ocean. I longed for another tone of 
 Nature’s, and now I have got it. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 RlIEUM ATISM AT NAHANT.—BOSTON HOMES SUCCESSIVELY OCCUPIED El 
 Mr. Prescott in Tremont Street, Summer Street, Bedford Street, 
 and Beacon Street. — Patriarchal Mode of Life at Pepperell. 
 — Life at Nahant and at Lynn. 
 
 D URING the year 1852-53, Mr. Prescott was much 
 troubled with rheumatism, more than he had been for 
 a long time, and was led seriously to consider whether his 
 residence at Nahant, and his summer life on the edge of the 
 ocean, must not be given up. He did not like the thought, 
 but could not avoid its intrusion. Home was always a word 
 of peculiar import to him, and any interference with his old 
 habits and associations in relation to it was unwelcome. 
 
 Most of these associations had been settled for many years, 
 and belonged especially to Boston. From 1808, when he was 
 only twelve years old, his proper home, as we have seen, was 
 always there, under the same roof with his father for thirty- 
 six years, and with his mother for forty-four. 
 
 The first house they occupied was on Tremont Street, at the 
 head of Bumstead Place, and the next was in Summer Street, 
 contiguous to Chauncy Place, both now pulled down to make 
 room for the heavy brick and granite blocks demanded by 
 commerce. Afterwards they lived, for a few years, at the 
 corner of Otis Place, nearly opposite their last residence ; but 
 in 1817, Mr. Prescott the elder purchased the fine old mansion 
 in Bedford Street, where they all lived eight and twenty years. 
 In 1845, the year following the death of the venerable head of 
 the household, the remainder of the family removed to No. 55 
 in Beacon Street, the last home of the historian and his moth¬ 
 er’s last home on this side the grave. 
 
 As long as his father lived, which was until Mr. Prescott 
 himself was forty-eight yeai’s old, and until all his children had 
 been bom, there was a patriarchal simplicity in their way of 
 life that was not to be mistaken. The very furniture of the 
 
HOMES IN BOSTON. 
 
 365 
 
 goodly old house in Bedford Street belonged to an earlier 
 period, or, at least, though rich and substantial, it gave token 
 of times gone by. The hospitality, too, that was so freely 
 exercised there, and which, to all who were privileged to enjoy 
 it, was so attractive, had nothing of pretension about it, and 
 very little of recent fashion. It was quiet, gentle, and warm¬ 
 hearted. Sometimes, but rarely, large parties were given, and 
 always on Thanksgiving-day, our chief domestic festival in 
 New England, the whole of the family, in all its branches, 
 was collected, and the evening spent, with a few very intimate 
 friends, in merry games. Once, I remember, Sir Charles and 
 Lady Lyell were added to the party, and shared heartily in its 
 cordial gayety, — romping with the rest of us, as if they had 
 been to the manner born. 1 
 
 The establishment in Beacon Street, where the historian 
 spent the last thirteen winters of his life, was more modern 
 and elegant, lie had fitted it carefully to his peculiar wants 
 and infirmities, and then added the comforts and luxuries of 
 the time. But the hearty hospitality which had always been 
 enjoyed under the old trees in Bedford Street was not want¬ 
 ing to his new home. He had inherited it from his grand¬ 
 father and his father, and it was, besides, a part of liis own 
 nature. There was always a welcome, and a welcome suited 
 to each case, — to the stranger who called from curiosity to 
 see one whose name was familiar in both hemispheres, and to 
 the friend who entered uninvited and unannounced. No house 
 among us was more sought, none more enjoyed. 
 
 But Mr. Prescott never spent the whole of any one year in 
 Boston. In childhood, he was carried every summer, at least 
 once, to visit his grandmother in the family homestead at Pep- 
 perell. His father held such visits to be both a pleasure and 
 a duty. The youthful son enjoyed them as happy seasons of 
 holiday relaxation and freedom. Both of them naturally in¬ 
 creased there a sort of familiar affection and intimacy, which 
 
 1 Since this was written, I have fallen on a letter of Lady Lyell to Mr. 
 Prescott, dated January 7, 1857, in which she says: “ Shall I ever forget the 
 Thanksgiving in Bedford Street ? Never, as long as I live. It is now more 
 than fifteen years ago, but still I see the rooms, the dinner-table, the blind- 
 man's-buff, and the adjournment to your study to see Lord Kingsborough’s 
 ‘ Mexico.’ ” 
 
366 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PBESCOTT. 
 
 in the bustle of the town and amidst the engrossing cares of 
 the father s professional life could not be so thoroughly rooted 
 and cultivated. 
 
 While the venerable grandmother lived, nothing could be 
 more simple than the ways and manners in that old house, 
 which was only one of the better sort of New England farm¬ 
 houses ; small for our times, but not so accounted when it was 
 built. Its furniture was comfortable, but already old, and 
 dating from a period when grace and taste in such things were 
 little considered. Its fare was country fare, abundant, health¬ 
 ful, and keenly enjoyed with appetites earned by wandering 
 about the large, tine farm, and breathing the pure mountain 
 air of the region. None were gathered there, however, at this 
 period, except the members of the little family, which, though 
 of three generations, numbered as yet only six persons. In¬ 
 deed, there was hardly room for more, and, besides this, the 
 aged head of the household could not well enjoy any society 
 save that of the persons nearest to her, for she had long been 
 infirm, and was now nearly blind. But it was good for them 
 all to be there. The influences of the place were salutary and 
 happy. 
 
 After the death of the much-loved grandmother in 1821, 
 at the age of eighty-eight, a good deal of this was naturally 
 changed. The essential characteristics of the quiet homestead 
 were indeed preserved, and are to this day the same. But 
 the two elder children of Mr. Prescott were already married, 
 and room was to be found for them and for their families. A 
 study was built for the future historian, that he might devote 
 himself undisturbed to his books, and other additions were made 
 for hospitality’s sake. Everything, however, was done in the 
 most unpretending way, and in keeping with the simplicity of 
 the place and its associations. 
 
 At this period it was that I first became acquainted with 
 Pepperell, and began, with my family, still young, to visit there 
 a few days or more every summer, when it was in our power 
 to do so; a practice which we continued as long as the elder 
 Mr. Prescott lived, and afterwards until both our households 
 had become so large that it was not always easy to accommo¬ 
 date them. But although, in one way or another, the old 
 
PEPPERELL. 
 
 367 
 
 house at Pepperell was often full, and sometimes crowded, yet 
 so happy were the guests, and so glad were the two or three 
 families there to receive their many friends, that no incon¬ 
 venience was felt on either side. 
 
 Mr. Prescott the elder was nowhere so completely himself 
 as he was at Pepperell; I mean, that his original character 
 came out nowhere else so naturally and fully. He was about 
 sixty years old when I first saw him there, after having long 
 known him familiarly in Boston. He was very dignified, mild, 
 and prepossessing in his general appearance everywhere; a 
 little bent, indeed, as he had long been, but with no other mark 
 of infirmity, and not many indications of approaching age. But 
 in Pepperell, where the cares of professional’ life were entirely 
 thrown off, he seemed another man, younger and more vigor¬ 
 ous. His step on the soil that gave him birth was moi'e elastic 
 than it was elsewhere, and his smile, always kind and gentle, 
 had there a peculiar sweetness. He loved to walk about the 
 fields his father had cultivated, and to lounge under the trees 
 his father had planted. Most of his forenoons were spent in 
 the open air, superintending the agricultural improvements he 
 understood so well, and watching the fine cattle with which 
 he had stocked his farm, much to the benefit of the country 
 about him. 
 
 After dinner, he preferred to sit long at table, and few were 
 so young or so gay that they did not enjoy the mild wisdom of 
 his conversation, and the stirring recollections and traditions 
 with which his memory was stored, and which went back to 
 the period when the spot where we were then so happy was 
 not safe from the Indian’s tomahawk. Later in the afternoon 
 we generally took long drives, sometimes long walks, and in 
 the evening we read together some amusing book, commonly a 
 novel, and oftener than any others, one of Sir Walter Scott’s 
 or Miss Edgeworth’s. They were very happy days. 
 
 The walks and drives about Pepperell and its neighborhood 
 are pleasant and cheerful, but hardly more. It is a broken 
 country, well watered and well cultivated, and the woodlands, 
 now somewhat diminished by the encroachments of civilization, 
 were, at the time of which I speak, abundant and rich, espe¬ 
 cially on the hills. How much the historian enjoyed this free 
 
308 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 and open nature, we have already had occasion often to notice, 
 and shall find that it continued to the last. Everything at 
 Pepperell was familiar and dear to him from the days of his 
 childhood. 
 
 There is a charming shady walk behind the house, looking 
 towards the Monadnock mountain, and there many a chapter 
 of his Histories was composed, or conned over and fitted for the 
 noctograph. On the other side of the road is an old grove of 
 oaks, which he used to call the “ Fairy Grove,” because under 
 its spreading shades he had told his children stories about fairies, 
 who danced there on moonlight nights and brushed away the 
 gathering dews from the grass. In the “Fairy Grove” he 
 walked before dinner, and, as he loved companionship at that 
 time of the day, I have walked many a mile with him in the 
 path his feet had worn deep in the sod. Farther on is a piece 
 of his woodland, to winch he had given the name of “ Bloody 
 Grove,” because he had associated it with a wild tradition of 
 the Indian times. There, but more rarely, we walked in the 
 rich twilight of our summer evenings. It was too far off from 
 the house to be much frequented. 
 
 The drives were no less agreeable, and, like the walks, had 
 their old associations and fancy names, in which we all de¬ 
 lighted. One was Jewett’s Bridge, over the Nashua, between 
 Pepperell and Groton, where, when his grandfather had gone 
 to fight the battle of Bunker Hill, and had taken all the able- 
 bodied men with him, the women, dressed in their husbands’ 
 clothes, mounted guard with muskets and pitchforks, and abso¬ 
 lutely arrested a man who was in the interest of the enemy, 
 and took from his boots dangerous papers, which they sent to 
 the Committee of Safety. 2 Another of the favorite drives was 
 through rich meadows and woodlands, which in the declining 
 light of the long afternoons were full of gentle beauty, and this 
 he called the “ Valley-Forge Drive,” in memory of one of the 
 darkest and most honorable periods of Washington’s military 
 life, although the association was provoked only by the cir¬ 
 cumstance that in one of the hollows which we used to pass 
 there was a large blacksmith’s-forge. And yet another, the 
 longest drive of all, was to a bright valley, where in a hillside 
 * See Butler's “ History of Groton," (Boston, 8vo, 1848,1 n. 4B6. 
 
PEPPERELL. 
 
 369 
 
 the farmer who lived hard by, mistaking pyrites for silver ore, 
 had gradually wrought a long gallery in the solid rock, chiefly 
 with his own hands, sure that he should find hidden treasure 
 at last, but died without the sight. And tliis little, quiet valley 
 was always called “ Glen Withershins,” in memory of Edie 
 Ochiltree, who was a great favorite in the old homestead at 
 Pepperell. 3 
 
 But wherever the afternoon drives or walks led us, or what¬ 
 ever were the whimsical associations connected with them, they 
 were always cheerful and happy hours that we thus passed 
 together. The woods were often made merry with our shouts 
 and laughter; for the parties after dinner were never small, 
 and no cares or anxious thoughts oppressed any of us. We 
 were young, or at least most of us were so, when these gay 
 local associations were all settled, and, as we grew older, we 
 enjoyed them the more for the happy memories that rested on 
 them. Certainly we never wearied of them. 
 
 Anter the death of the elder Mr. Prescott, his son preserved, 
 as far as was possible, the accustomed tone and modes of life in 
 his old rural home. Three generations could still be gathered 
 there, and the house was enlarged and altered, but not much, 
 to accommodate their increasing numbers. It was the son’s 
 delight, as it had been his father’s, not only to have his own 
 friends, but the friends of his children, share his cordial hospi¬ 
 tality ; and, if their number was often large enough to fill all 
 the rooms quite as full as they should be, it was never so large 
 as to crowd out the truest enjoyment. 4 
 
 8 In the evenings of one of our visits, we read aloud the whole of “ The 
 Antiquary,” and I well remember, not only how it was enjoyed throughout, 
 but how particular parts of it were especially relished. Edie’s patriotism, in 
 the last chapter but one, where that delightful old beggar, with not a penny 
 in the world, enumerates the many rich blessings he would fight for, if the 
 French should invade Scotland, brought tears into the eyes of more than one 
 of the party, including the elder Mr. Prescott. 
 
 4 Sometimes, indeed not unfi equontly, he fancied that he should like to 
 live at Pepperell eight months in the year, or even longer. But the thought 
 of the snow-drifts, and the restraints and seclusion which our rigorous winters 
 imply under the circumstances of such a residence, soon drove these fancies 
 from his mind. Their recurrence, however, shows how strong was his at¬ 
 tachment to Pepperell. Of this, indeed, there can be no doubt; but perhaps 
 the most striking illustration of it is to be found in the fact, that, in whatever 
 testamentary arrangements he at different times made, there was always 
 
370 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 But, besides his houses in Boston and Pepperell, Mr. Pres¬ 
 cott lived for many years a few weeks of every summer on the 
 sea-coast. This habit was adopted originally less for his own 
 sake than for that of his father, who, on the approach of old 
 age, found the air of the ocean important to him during the hot 
 season. As they had always lived together in town, so now 
 they built their house together at Nahant, about fourteen miles 
 from Boston ; a rocky peninsula which juts out so far into the 
 ocean, that even our most parching southwest winds in July 
 
 special and tender regard shown to this old farm, which his grandfather had 
 rescued from the primeval forest, and which he himself held, as his father 
 had done, by the original Indian title. The fact to which I refer is, that in 
 successive wills he entailed the Pepperell estate in the strictest manner, 
 although he perfectly well knew, at the time he did it, that any heir of his 
 to whom it might descend could, by the very simple provisions of our statutes, 
 break the entail, and convert the estate into an ordinary inheritance, as un¬ 
 fettered by conditions as if he had bought it. This, however, made no dif¬ 
 ference to Mr. Prescott. “It was,” as Mr. Gardiner, who drew the wills in 
 question, truly says, — “It was a matter of pure sentiment; for the estate 
 is of very moderate value as a piece of salable property, not at all worthy, in 
 that view, of unusual pains to preserve it for the benefit of remote descend¬ 
 ants. Nor had Mr. Prescott, in truth, the smallest desire to perpetuate wealth 
 in connection with his name to a distant generation. Property in general he 
 was content to leave, after the death of those who were personally dear to 
 him, and for whom he made special provisions, to the common operation 
 of the laws of the land, and the accidents of life. Wealth he regarded only 
 for its uses, and valued no more than other men. But his little Pepperell 
 farm, simple and unostentatious as it is, he was as fond and as proud of as any 
 baron of England is of his old feudal castle, and for very similar reasons 
 Hence he had the strongest desire that these few acres of native soil, which 
 had been long in the family, — the home especially of the old hero of Bun¬ 
 ker Hill, the favorite resort of that hero’s son, the learned lawyer and judge, 
 and afterwards of his grandson, the historian, — should always be held un¬ 
 divided by some one of the same name, blood, and lineage. He well under¬ 
 stood. indeed, that he had no power in law to prevent the heir in tail from 
 defeating this purpose; but he hoped and trusted that nothing but a last 
 necessity would induce an inheritor of his blood to part with such a patrimo¬ 
 nial possession for the little money it would produce. At any rate, he in¬ 
 tended, so far as was possible by his own act and will, to secure its perpetual 
 family transmission; though he duly estimated the chances that this, in the 
 course of human vicissitudes, might not hold out for many generations be¬ 
 yond those which he could himself see. 
 
 “ He attached similar feelings even to the old and valueless furniture of his 
 grandsires, some relics of which remained in the Pepperell house; and, since 
 he could not entail them, like the land, he takes care to bequeath all the 
 movables of the house and farm to the first tenant in tail, who should come 
 into possession of the estate, with a request that he would use means tn 
 transmit them to his successors." 
 
NAHANT. 
 
 371 
 
 and August are much cooled by the waves before they reach 
 it. The purchase of the land was made in 1828, the year Mr. 
 Prescott the elder retired from the bar; and their cottage of 
 two stories — built without the slightest architectural preten¬ 
 sions, but full of resources for comfort, and carefully fitted to its 
 objects and position —- was occupied by them the next summer. 
 In a hot day it is the coolest spot of the whole peninsula, and 
 therefore among the coolest on the whole line of our coast. 
 There, with the exception of the summer at Pepperell, follow¬ 
 ing his father’s death, and that of 1850, which he passed in 
 England, he spent eight or ten weeks of every season for five 
 and twenty years. 
 
 As he said in one of his letters, — 
 
 The house stands on a bold cliff overlooking the ocean, — so near that 
 in a storm the spray is thrown over the piazza, — and as it stands on the 
 extreme point of the peninsula, it is many miles out at sea. There is 
 more than one printed account of Nahant, which is a remarkable watering- 
 place, from the bold formation of the coast and its exposure to the ocean. 
 It is not a bad place — this sea-girt citadel — for reverie and writing, with 
 the music of the winds and waters incessantly beating on the rocks and 
 broad beaches below. This place is called “ Titful Head,” and Norna’s 
 was not wilder. 
 
 He had, however, different minds about Nahant at different 
 periods, and generally felt more or less misgiving as to its bene¬ 
 fits each year just before he was to begin his summer residence 
 there. Sometimes he thought that the strong reflection from 
 the bright ocean, which often filled the air with a dazzling 
 splendor, was hurtful to his impaired sight. Almost always 
 he perceived that the cool dampness, which was so refreshing, 
 increased his rheumatic tendencies. And sometimes he com¬ 
 plained bitterly that his time was frittered away by idlers and 
 loungers, who crowded the hotels and cottages of that fashion¬ 
 able watering-place, and who little thought how he suffered 
 as they sat gossiping with him in his darkened parlor or on 
 his shady piazza. 6 But wherever he might live, as he well 
 
 6 His Memoranda contain much on this annoyance of company. In one 
 place he says: “I have lost a clear month here by company, — company 
 which brings f he worst of all satieties; for the satiety from study brings the 
 consciousness of improvement. But this dissipation impairs health, spirits, 
 scholarship. Yet how can I escape it, tied like a bear to a stake here? I 
 will devise some way another year, or Nahant shall be ‘ Nae haunt of mine,’ 
 
S72 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 knew, his life would be beset with all its old infirmities, and 
 as for visitors, bis kindly nature and social propensities would 
 never permit him to be rigorous with liis friends, and still less 
 with the strangers who were attracted by his reputation, and 
 whose calls it might seem churlish to refuse. He therefore 
 made the best he could of his residence at Nahant, even after 
 he had begun to entertain a serious doubt about its effects. 
 This was natural. The sharp, tonic air of the ocean undoubt¬ 
 edly invigorated him for his work, and kept down, m part at 
 least, his troublesome dyspepsia, 6 while, at the same time, 
 taking his principal exercise on horseback in the long twilight 
 of our summer evenings, he avoided, to a great degree, the 
 injurious effects of the dazzling noonday splendors of the place. 
 But his rheumatism at last prevailed. It was clearly aggra¬ 
 vated by the damp air which penetrated everywhere at Nahant, 
 and against which flannels and friction were a very imperfect 
 defence. 
 
 As, therefore, he approached the confines of old age, he 
 found that he must make some change in his modes of life, 
 and arrange, if possible, some new compromise with his con¬ 
 flicting infirmities. But he hesitated long. While his fathci 
 lived, who found great solace at Nahant, he never failed to 
 accompany him there any more than to Pepperell, and never 
 seemed to shrink from it or to regret it, so important to him 
 was the society of that wise and gentle old man, and so neces¬ 
 sary to his daily happiness. 
 
 But after his father’s death, and again after his mother’s, the 
 place in his eyes changed its character. It became cold, dreary, 
 and desolate; it wanted, as he said, the accustomed faces. The 
 last strong link that connected him with it was broken, and he 
 
 ns old Stewart [the portrait-painter] used to say.” And in a letter to me 
 about the same time, August, 1840, he says: “ We are here in a sort of 
 whirligig,— company morning, noon, and night,—company to dine twice a 
 week, — and, in short, all the agreeable little interruptions incident to a 
 watering-place or a windmill.” 
 
 a But not always. In August, 1841, he says: “Nahant has not served me 
 as well as usual this summer. I have been sorely plagued with the dyspep¬ 
 tic debility and pains. But 1 am determined not to heed them.” Sometimes 
 he seemed out of all patience with Nahant. Once he recorded: “An acre 
 of grass and old trees is worth a wilderness of ocean.” He wrote this, how¬ 
 ever, at Pepperell, which he always loved. 
 

LYNN. 
 
 373 
 
 determined to live there no more, — “ his visit oft, but never 
 his abode.” 
 
 Having come to this final decision, he purchased, in the 
 spring of 1853, a house on the shore of Lynn Bay, looking 
 pleasantly over the waters to his old home at Nahant, and 
 only half a dozen miles distant from it. It was a luxurious 
 establishment compared with the simple cottage for which he 
 exchanged it, and was less exposed to the annoyance of idle 
 strangers or inconsiderate friends. Its chief attractions, how¬ 
 ever, were its mild sea-breezes, cool and refreshing, but rarely 
 or never sharp and damp, like those at Nahant, and its drives, 
 which could easily be extended into the interior, and carried 
 into rural lanes and woodlands. He enjoyed it very much, — 
 not, indeed, as he did Pepperell, which was always a peculiar 
 place to him, — but he enjoyed it more than he did any other 
 of Iris residences in town or country, spending ten or twelve 
 weeks there every summer during the last five years of his 
 life, embellishing its grounds, and making its interior arrange¬ 
 ments comfortable and agreeable to his children and grand¬ 
 children, whom he gathered around him there, as he loved to 
 do everywhere. Still, much was added to his happiness when, 
 two years later, his only daughter, who had been married in 
 1852 to Mr. James Lawrence, was settled in a charming villa 
 hardly a stone’s throw from his door. After this he seemed to 
 need nothing more, for she lived still nearer to him in Boston, 
 and visited him at Pepperell every year with her children. 
 
 (Jne thing at his Lynn home was and still is (18G2) very 
 touching. There was hardly a tree on the place, except some 
 young plantations, which were partly his own work, and which 
 he did not live to see grow up. But shade was important to 
 him there as it was everywhere ; and none was to be found in 
 his grounds except under the broad branches of an old cherry- 
 tree, which had come down from the days of the Quaker shoe¬ 
 makers who were so long the monarchs of the lands there and 
 in all the neighborhood. Round the narrow circle of shade 
 which this tree afforded him, he walked with his accustomed 
 fidelity a certain length of time every day, whenever the sun 
 prevented him from going more freely abroad. There he soon 
 wore a path in the greensward, and so deep did it at last 
 
374 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 become, that now — four years since any foot has pressed it — 
 the marks still remain, as a sad memorial of his infirmity. 3 
 have not unfrequently watched him, as he paced his wearisome 
 rounds there, carrying a light umbrella in his hand, which, 
 when he reached the sunny side of his circle, he raised lor an 
 instant to protect his eye, and then shut it again that the suf¬ 
 fering organ might have the full benefit, not only of the exer¬ 
 cise, but of the fresh air; so exact and minute was he as to 
 whatever could in the slightest degree affect its condition. 7 
 
 But in this respect all his houses were alike. His sight 
 and the care needful to preserve it were everywhere in his 
 thoughts, and controlled more or less whatever he did or 
 undertook. 
 
 7 Since writing these sentences, a sonnet has been pointed out to me in a 
 cutting from one of the newspapers of the time, which refers to the cLj)« 
 round the old cherry-tree. 
 
 “No more, alas ! the soft returning Spring 
 Shall greet thee, walking near thy favorite tree, 
 
 Marking with patient step the magic ring 
 
 Where pageants grand and mouarchs moved with thee, 
 
 Thou new Columbus ! bringing from old Spain 
 Her ancient wealth to this awaiting shore j 
 Returning, stamped with impress of thy brain, 
 
 Far richer treasures than her galleons bore. 
 
 Two worlds shall weep for thee, the Old, the New, 
 
 Now that the marble and the canvas wait 
 In vain to cheer the homes and hearts so true 
 Thy immortality made desolate, 
 
 While angels on imperishable scroll 
 Record the wondrous beauty of thy soul.” 
 
 It was written, as I have learned since I copied it into this note, by a very 
 cultivated lady of New York, Mrs. John Sherwood. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 1853-1858. 
 
 First Summer at Lynn. — Work on “ Philip the Second.” — Memo- 
 
 BANDA ABOUT IT.-PRINTS THE FIRST TWO VOLUMES.—THEIR SUC¬ 
 
 CESS. — Addition to Kobertson’s “ Charles the Fifth.” — Memoir 
 of Mr. Abbott Lawrence.-—Goes on with “Philip the Second.” 
 —Illness. — Dinner at Mr. Gardiner’s. —- Correspondence. 
 
 M R. PRESCOTT went to Lynn on the 21st of June, 
 1853. He found it, as he recorded a few days after¬ 
 wards, “a sober, quiet country, with the open ocean spread 
 out before him. What,” he added, “ can be better for study 
 and meditation ? I hope to show the fruits of it, and yet, in 
 
 this tonic air, defy the foul fiend dyspepsia. At any rate, I 
 
 shall be less plagued with rheumatism.” 
 
 His first season in his new villa, however, was not very fruit¬ 
 ful in literary results, and he was little satisfied. It was hard 
 to get settled, and interruptions from affairs were frequent. 
 But his life there was not without its appropriate enjoyments. 
 He had visits from his friends Sir Charles and Lady Lyell, 
 
 and from the Earl and Countess of Ellesmere, and he was 
 
 with them ail in a gay visit to New York, where they went 
 for the Exhibition of that year, to which Lord Ellesmere and 
 Sir Charles Lyell had come as Commissioners on behalf of the 
 British government. But, though these were interruptions, 
 they were much more than compensated for by the pleasure 
 they gave, and, after all, he made progress enough to insure 
 to him that feeling of success whicli he always found important 
 for sustaining his industry. In fact, by October he was so far 
 advanced with the second volume of “ Philip the Second,” that 
 he began to make calculations as to the number of pages it 
 might fill, as to the disposition of the remaining materials, and 
 as to the time when the whole would be ready for the press. 
 But his arrangements contemplated some postponement of the 
 
376 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 publication beyond the time he had originally proposed for it. 
 When noting this circumstance, he added, with characteristic 
 good-humor, “ The public, I fancy, will not object to waiting.” 
 
 His results, however, in this case differed more than usual 
 from his calculations. The space filled by the troubles of 
 Philip with the Barbary powers, by the siege of Malta, and 
 by the tragedy of Don Carlos, was more than double what 
 he had reckoned for them. The consequence was, that the 
 Morisco rebellion and the battle of Lepanto, which had been 
 destined for the second volume, were necessarily postponed to 
 the third. But all these subjects interested and excited him. 
 From this time, therefore, he worked vigorously and well, and 
 on the 22d of August, 1854, he finished the last note to the 
 last chapter of the second volume. 
 
 On this occasion he made the following memoranda . — 
 
 By next spring, when I trust these volumes will be published, nearly 
 eight years will have elapsed since the publication of the “ Conquest of 
 Peru,” which was also in two volumes, and which was published in less 
 than four years after the appearance of the “ Conquest of Mexico.” The 
 cause of this difference is to be charged even more on the state of my eyes 
 than on the difficulty and extent of the subject. Por a long time after 
 the “ Peru ” was published I hardly ventured to look into a book, and 
 though I have grown bolder as I have advanced, my waning vision has 
 warned me to manage my eye with much greater reserve than formerly. 
 Indeed, for some time after I had finished the “ Peru,” I hesitated whether 
 I should grapple with the whole subject of “Philip ” in extenso; and, 
 when I made up my mind to serve up the whole barbecue instead of par¬ 
 ticular parts, I had so little confidence in the strength of my vision, that 
 I thought of calling the work “ Memoirs,” and treating the subject in a 
 more desultory and superficial manner than belongs to a regular history. 
 I did not go to work in a business-like style till I broke ground on the 
 troubles of the Netherlands. Perhaps my critics may find this out. 
 
 My first chapter was written in July, 1849, at Nahant; my last of the 
 second volume concluded at this date at Lynn, which allows about five 
 years for the actual composition of the work, from which six months 
 must be deducted for a visit to England. 
 
 The amount of the two volumes I reckon at about eleven hundred and 
 fifty pages, one hundred and fifty more than a wise economy would have 
 prescribed; but I hope the reader will be the gainer by it. Nothing 
 remains now but to correct the earlier portions of the work, especially 
 those relating to Charles the Eifth, in which all my new things have been 
 forestalled since I began to write by Mignet, Stirling, &c., — a warning to 
 procrastinating liistorians. This tinkering, with a few biographical notices, 
 ought not to take more than two or three months, if my eyes stand by me. 
 But, Quien sabe ? The two months I have been here I have hardly had 
 
PUBLICATION OF “PHILIP THE SECOND.' 
 
 377 
 
 two weeks’ use of the eye; so much for a stupid strain of the muscle?, 
 rather than the nerve, just before I left town. 
 
 In November he began to stereotype the work, at the rate of 
 ten pages a day. Each volume held out a little more than his 
 estimate, but the whole was completed in May, 1855, his friend 
 Mr. Folsom revising it all with great care as it went through 
 the press. It was not, however, immediately published. To 
 suit the exigencies of the time, which, from severe financial 
 embarrassments, were unfavorable to literary enterprise, it did 
 not appear, either in England or in the United States, until 
 November. 
 
 An adverse decision of the House of Lords as to the power 
 of a foreigner to claim copyright in England had, however, cut 
 him off' from his brilliant prospects there; and in the United 
 States he had changed his publishers, not from any dissatis¬ 
 faction with them, — for, as he said, they had dealt well with 
 him from first to last, — but from circumstances wholly of a 
 financial character. 
 
 Six months after the publication of the first two volumes 
 of “ Philip the Second,” he made the following notice of the 
 result: — 
 
 A settlement made with my publishers here last week enables me to 
 speak of the success of the work. In England it has been published in 
 four separate editions ; one of them from the rival house of Routledge. 
 It has been twice reprinted in Germany, and a Spanish translation of it is 
 now in course of publication at Madrid. In this country eight thousand 
 copies have been sold, while the sales of the preceding works have been so 
 much improved by the impulse received from this, that nearly thirty 
 thousand volumes of them have been disposed of by my Boston pub¬ 
 lishers, from whom I have received seventeen thousand dollars for the 
 “ Philip ” and the other works the last six months. So much for the 
 lucre! 
 
 Prom the tone of the foreign journals and those of my own country, it 
 would seem that the work has found quite as much favor as any of its 
 predecessors, and, as the sales have been much greater than of any other 
 of them in the same space of time, I may be considered to have as favor¬ 
 able a breeze to carry me forward on my long voyage as I could desire. 
 This is very important to me, as I felt a little nervous in regard to the 
 reception of the work, after so long an interval since the preceding one 
 had appeared. 
 
 It is needless to add anything to a simple statement like this. 
 The success of the work, was complete, and has continued so. 
 
J78 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING l’RESCOTT. 
 
 The reviews of it on its first appearance were less numerous 
 than they had been in the case of its predecessors. It was a 
 foregone conclusion that the hook would be equal to its sub¬ 
 ject ; and, besides, the sale both in England and in the United 
 States was so large and so prompt, that the public decision was, 
 in fact, made quite as soon as the critics could have been heard. 
 There was, however, no difference of opinion anywhere on the 
 matter; and, if there had been, the favorable judgment of M. 
 Guizot, in the “ Edinburgh Review " for January, 1857, would 
 have outweighed many such as are commonly pronounced by 
 persons little competent to decide questions they so gravely 
 claim to adjudicate. 1 
 
 But while the publication of the first two volumes of the 
 “ History of Philip the Second ” was going on, Mr. Prescott 
 was occupied with another work on a kindred subject, and one 
 which seemed to grow out of the circumstances of the case by 
 a sort of natural necessity. I refer to the latter part of the 
 reign and life of Philip’s illustrious father. It was plain that 
 the accounts of Gachard, drawn from manuscript sources, which 
 had been already so well used in English by Stirling, and in 
 French by Mignet, 2 respecting the life of Charles the Fifth 
 after his abdication, were so different from the accounts given 
 by Robertson, that his eloquent work could no longer serve as 
 a sufficient link between the times of Ferdinand and Isabella 
 and those of their grandson; still less between those of their 
 grandson and Philip the Second. It had therefore more than 
 once been suggested to Mr. Prescott that he should himself 
 till up the interval with an entirely new work on the reign of 
 Charles the Fifth. 
 
 But this was a task he was unwilling to undertake. On the 
 one hand, he had no wish to bring himself at all into competi- 
 
 1 On the first of January, 1860, nearly 13,000 copies of these two volumes 
 of the “ History of Philip the Second” had been sold; but the number in 
 England could not be given with exactness; although a few days later it was 
 known that the number must have been greater than had been assumed in 
 making up the above estimate. 
 
 5 The Cloister Life of the Emperor Charles V., by William Stirling (Lon¬ 
 don, 1862, 8vo). Charles-Quint, son Abdication, son Stijour et sa Mort au 
 Monastfere de Yuste, par M. Mignet (Paris, 1854, 8vo). Gachard, L. P., 
 Retraite et Mort de Charles-Quint, au Monast&re de Yuste (Bruxelles, 3 voL 
 8vo, 1864, sqq.). 
 
MEMOIR OF MR. LAWRENCE. 
 
 379 
 
 lion with the Scotch historian, who had so honorably won his 
 laurels; and, on the other, the reign of Philip the Second opened 
 to him a long vista of years all tilled with labor; besides which 
 the times of Charles the Fifth constituted a wide subject, for 
 which he had made no collections, and which he had examined 
 only as a portion of Spanish history intimately connected with 
 the portions immediately preceding and following it, to which 
 he had already devoted himself. Still, he admitted that some¬ 
 thing ought to be done in order to bring the concluding period 
 of Robertson’s History into harmony with facts now known 
 and settled, and with the representations which must constitute 
 the opening chapters of his own account of the reign of Philip 
 the Second. 
 
 In May, 1855, therefore, he began to prepare a new con¬ 
 clusion to Robertson’s “ Charles the Fifth,” and in the January 
 following had completed it. It embraces that portion of the 
 Emperor’s life which followed his abdication, and makes about 
 a hundred and eighty pages. It was not published until the 
 succeeding December, the intervening months having been re¬ 
 quired to prepare and print the volumes of Robertson, to which 
 the account of the last year of the Emperor’s life, the one at 
 Yuste, was to be the conclusion. 
 
 I was then in Europe, and on the 8th of December, 1856, 
 he wrote to me : — 
 
 My “ Charles the Fifth,” or rather Robertson’s, with my Continuation, 
 made his bow to the public to-day, like a strapping giant with a little 
 urchin holding on to the tail of his coat. I can’t say I expect much from 
 it, as the best and biggest part is somewhat of the oldest. But people 
 who like a complete series will need it to fill up the gap betwixt “ Ferdi¬ 
 nand ” and “ Philip.” 
 
 It had, however, the same sort of success with all his other 
 works. Six thousand nine hundred copies were published in 
 London and Boston before the end of eighteen hundred and 
 fifty-nine. 
 
 As soon as his continuation of Robertson was completed, 
 he gave a few weeks to the preparation of a Memoir of his 
 friend and kinsman, Mr. Abbott Lawrence, who had died in 
 the preceding month of August, It is a graceful and becom¬ 
 ing tribute to an eminent man, who deserved well not only of 
 
380 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Massachusetts, where he was bom and always lived, but of 
 the country which he had faithfully served in many high ca¬ 
 pacities at home and abroad, and which had wellnigh called 
 him to what, in the course of events, became the highest. 
 The Memoir is short, originally prepared for the National Por¬ 
 trait Gallery, and subsequently printed in a beautiful quarto 
 form for private distribution. 
 
 In the beginning of March, 1856, he turned again to his 
 “ History of Philip the Second,” and went on with it, not 
 rapidly, perhaps, but still, with the exception of the time when 
 he was partly occupied in correcting for the press his addition 
 to “ Charles the Fifth,” his progress was good. He had a 
 pleasant summer at Lynn, during the heats of the season, and 
 enjoyed his life so well in the autumn at Pepperell, that he 
 again thought he might make his holidays there longer in 
 succeeding years. But he never did. 
 
 “ Our autumn villeygiatura,” he says, under date of October 30th, 1856, 
 “ has been charming, as usual, — the weather remarkably fine, — many 
 of the days too Indian-summerish, however. 1 The vegetation has been 
 remarkably fresh to a late period, from the great rains, and then fading, 
 or rather flushing into a blaze of glorious colors, which, as they passed 
 away, and the fallen leaves strewed the ground with their splendors, have 
 been succeeded by wider reaches of the landscape and the dark-blue moun¬ 
 tains in the distance. The old trees seem like friends of earlier days, still 
 spreading out their venerable arms around me, and reminding me of him 
 by whose hands so many of them were planted. No spot that I own is so 
 full of tender reminiscences to me. 
 
 The time has been propitious, as usual, to mental, and, I trust, moral 
 progress. I have worked con amove, as I always do in these quiet shades, 
 though not with the furore of those times when I turned off sometimes 
 
 3 Mr. Lawrence came very near being nominated by the Whig party’s 
 convention as their candidate for Vice-President of the United States, instead 
 of Mr. Fillmore, on the same ticket with General Taylor. In that case, he 
 would, on the death of General Taylor, have become President of the United 
 States, as did Mr. Fillmore. Mr. Lawrence lacked very few votes of this 
 high success; and I shall never forget the quiet good-humor with which, a few 
 minutes after he knew that he had failed of the nomination as Vice-Presi¬ 
 dent, he came into my house, being my next-door neighbor, and told me of it. 
 
 4 This peculiar New England season is well described in a note to the 
 eighth sermon of a small collection first printed privately in 1812, and after¬ 
 wards published, by the late Rev. James Freeman, one of the wise and good 
 men of his time. 
 
 “ The southwest is the pleasantest wind which blows in New England. In 
 the month of October, in particular, after the frosts which commonly tak« 
 
TAINS IN THE HEAD. 
 
 381 
 
 fifteen pages in a day. But my eyes — my literary legs — grow feebler 
 and feebler, as I near my grand climacteric. I hope it will be long, how¬ 
 ever, before I shall have to say. Solve senescentem. I would rather die in 
 harness. Another year, I trust, we may get some way into December 
 before going into town. But I don’t know. It takes two to make a 
 bargain in my family. 
 
 The winter that followed, 1856-7, was an unhappy one, 
 and not without painful auguries. I was then in Italy. My 
 letters informed me that my friend was suffering from severe 
 headaches. He wrote me, in reply to inquiries on the subject, 
 that it was true he had suffered from a new sort of troubles ; 
 but he wrote lightly and pleasantly, as if it were a matter of 
 little consequence. The greatest severity of his pain was from 
 December to March. During that period, he was often unable 
 to work at all, and from time to time, and generally for some 
 hours every day, his sufferings were very severe. 
 
 On my return home in September, 1857, I found his appear¬ 
 ance considerably changed. He was much better, I was assured, 
 .nan he had been during the winter; and the ever-watchful 
 Mrs. Prescott told me that he had been able for several months 
 to pursue his literary labors nearly every day, though cautiously 
 and sometimes not without anxiety on her part. He was, I 
 thought, not a sound man, as he was when I had last seen him, 
 fifteen or sixteen months before ; for, although he suffered less 
 pain in his head than he had for some time, he was seldom free 
 from annoyance there. He, however, regarded the affection, 
 in its different forms, as rheumatic, and as connected with all 
 the kindred maladies that from his youth had been lurking in 
 
 place at the end of September, it frequently produces two or three weeks of 
 fair weather, in which the air is perfectly transparent, and the clouds, which 
 float in a sky of the purest azure, are adorned with brilliant colors. If at this 
 season a man of an affectionate heart and ardent imagination should visit the 
 tombs of his friends, the southwestern breezes, as they breathe through the 
 glowing trees, would seem to him almost articulate. Though he might not 
 be so rapt in enthusiasm as to fancy that the spirits of his ancestors were 
 whispering in his ear, yet he would at least imagine that he heard the still, 
 small voice of God. This charming season is called the Indian Summer, a 
 name which is derived from the natives, who believe that it is caused by a 
 wind which comes immediately from the court of their great and benevolent 
 God, Cautantowwit, or the Southwestern God, the God who is superior to all 
 other beings; who sends them every blessing which they enjoy, and to whom 
 t!i« goals of their fathers go after their decease.” 
 
382 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 his system. I would gladly have agreed with him,, but whe 
 I occasionally observed that the pam he suffered flushed his 
 face and neck with a dark mahogany color, I could not drive 
 away the apprehensions that haunted me. 
 
 Still he was almost always able to occupy himself, at leas 
 a part of each day, with his literary labors ; and in the first 
 weeks of the new year he wrote the opening chapters of the 
 Sixth Book of his “ Philip the Second,” or, it the concludm 
 paragraphs of the last of them were not absolutely committed 
 to paper at that time, they were composed, as was his custom, 
 hr his memory, and were ready to be written down at the first 
 moment of leisure. This was the condition of things at the end 
 
 ° f STZught did not feel himself strong and well^during 
 the latter part of 1857 and in the opening days ot 18o8, still 
 he enjoyed life almost as he had done in its happiest yeai . 
 He nit only worked, end did it well, tat he took the earn 
 sort of pleasure in society that he always had. Dating with 
 friends, which had been his favorite mode of social enjoyment 
 as it had been ills father's, was continued, and especially dining 
 with a few; an indulgence which he could not permitt. be 
 interfered with. One of the last of these occasions — I suppose 
 the very last, before his illness in February, 18o8 interrupted 
 them for several months —is so happily described by bis Me¬ 
 lon» friend, Mr. Gardiner, that I take much pleasure m giving 
 •uis°account of it entire. He is speaking of a sort ot dinners 
 that Prescott used to call croneyings , which he particularly 
 enjoyed, and of which there are occasional, though very raie 
 mid slight, notices in liis Memoranda. 
 
 - With what mingled emotion,” 
 
 of these occasions ! I am enableu - j anuarv , or one of the earliest 
 n,y own house, either on ^ ^ ■ sq smal f ’ that it har( n y deserves 
 
 days of February, 1858. ,. ! ; t i nt i mat e friends, besides myself 
 
 the name. Prescott and two ^.^^^ ^“ d tabie. He had suffered 
 and my family, were all who filled a smal ^rouna source of 
 
 during the past year from e<l ^ himsulf) for hc never attributed these 
 more uneasiness to his fnen thought them eitf tr 
 
 headaches » wh„ “ rheLS nothing that 
 
 neuralgic, or a new phase . had been unusually 
 
LETTER TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 383 
 
 the beginning he was in one of his most lively and amusing moods. The 
 Ladies were induced by it to linger longer at the table than usual. When 
 they had left, the whole company was reduced to only a party of four, but 
 of very old friends, each of whom was stored with many reminiscences of 
 like occasions, running far back into younger days. Prescott overflowed 
 with the full tide of mirth belonging to those days. It was a gush of rare 
 enjoyment. After nearly five years, the date at which I write, I cannot 
 recall a thing that was said. Probably nothing was said in itself worth 
 recalling, nothing that would bear to stand alone on cold paper. But all 
 that quick-wittedness, lively repartee, sparkling humor, exceeding naivete, 
 and droll manner of saying droll things, for which he was so remarkable 
 when he let himself out with perfect freedom, were brought into fail play. 
 And then he laughed, as he only could laugh, at next to nothing, when 
 he was in one of these moods, and made us inevitably laugh too, almost 
 as the Cambridge Professor did, according to his own story. He stayed, 
 too, considerably beyond his usual time, the rarest of ail things with him. 
 But he had come bent on having ‘ a good time,’ — it was so long, he said, 
 since he had had one, — and laid out for it accordingly. 
 
 “ On comparing notes a few days afterwards with the two friends who 
 were present, we ail agreed that we had not seen ‘ the great historian ’ for 
 years in such a state of perfect youthful abandonment. 
 
 “ It was a sad note of solemn warning which led us to make that com¬ 
 parison. But the picture of him as he was that night, in all his merri¬ 
 ment, will never fade from the memory — till all fades ” 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, November 4, 1864. 
 
 We passed a very quiet month in old Pepperell, Susan was so fatigued 
 with the rather hustling life we led at Lynn, that I proposed we should 
 live like anchorites, bating the bread and water, in the country. So we 
 had only the children and little ones. One friend, the ex-Minister to Eng¬ 
 land, spent indeed a couple of days with us. Groton, the next town, you 
 know, to Pepperell, was his birthplace. His father was a lieutenant in 
 my grandfather’s regiment on the memorable day of Bunker Hill, when 
 British tyranny was so well humbled, you recollect. The two brave com¬ 
 panions in arms were great friends, and, oeirtg neighbors, often sipped 
 their toddy together in the same room where their descendants took their 
 champagne and sherry, the latter some of the good —1 do not say the best 
 — fruits of our glorious Revolution. It was rather interesting to think of 
 it, was it not ? But poor Lawrence went from us to Groton to pass a few 
 days, and while there had a bad attack of — I don’t know what, nor the 
 doctors either — great pains in the chest, pressure on the head, and insen¬ 
 sibility. Yet they do not think it apoplectic in its character, but arising 
 from a disturbance of the liver, to which he has been subject. Any way 
 it is very alarming. It is the third attack of the kind he has had in six 
 weeks, and it makes all his friends “ guess and fear” for the future. He 
 is now on a' very careful regimen, and pays little attention to business or 
 
384 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 anything that can excite him. His loss would be a great one to this com 
 raunity, and it certainly would be inestimable to his family. There are 
 few whom I should be more sorry to part with, for besides good sense and 
 large practical information he has such a genial nature, with such frank 
 and joyous manners as are not often found among us cold-blooded Yan¬ 
 kees. I would not have you think from all this that he is at the point of 
 death. On the contrary, I have just met him in the street, and locking 
 very well. But his constitution is shaken. 
 
 Soon after our return to town your friends, the Governor-General of 
 all the Canadas and lady, turned up again, to my great satisfaction, as I 
 wished to see them, and have the opportunity of paying them some atten¬ 
 tion. I dined with them at the Ticknors day before yesterday, and to-day 
 they dine with us. We shall have a dozen more friends, the famille Sears, 
 the elder and younger branches, the Ticknors supported by Hillard, and 
 our brave Ex-Consul Aspinwall. Do you think it will be prim and 
 prosy % I wish you and your husband were to help us out with it. I 
 like the Heads very much, the little I have seen of them ; well-bred, un¬ 
 affected, and intellectual people, with uncommon good-nature for travellers, 
 i. e. John Bull travellers. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, December 24, 1854. 
 
 Have you seen Lord Carlisle’s volume of Travels t He sent it to me 
 the other day, and it strikes me as a very agreeable record, and full of the 
 noble sentiments which belong to him. 
 
 So poor Lockhart has paid the great debt. Was it not a touching 
 thing that he should have died on the spot endeared to him by so many 
 tender and joyous recollections, and of the same disease which destroyed 
 Sir Walter too! I liked Lockhart, the little I saw of him; and a vein 
 of melancholy tinged with the sarcastic gave an interesting piquancy to 
 his conversation. I don’t know that it made his criticism more agreeablo 
 to those who were the subjects of it. 
 
 TO LADY Li ELL. 
 
 Boston, December 81,1854. 
 
 Thank j r ou, dear Lady Lyell, for your kind note and the likeness* 
 which accompanied it. It is charming; the noble, expansive forehead, 
 the little mouth that does — not speak. Nothing can be more perfect. 
 It will make a nice pendant to Tieknor’s, executed in the same way. This 
 crystallotype — if that is the name it goes by with you as it does with us 
 — is a miraculous invention, and one by no means auspicious to the en¬ 
 graver, or indeed the painter. Apollo, in old times, was the patron of the 
 tine ails, and of painting among the rest. But in our days he is made to 
 Ixscome painter himself. 
 
 6 Of Sir Charles Lyell. 
 
LETTER FROM LORD CARLISLE. 
 
 385 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, March 16, 1866. 
 
 I envy you your Continental tour, especially your visit to Berlin. It is 
 a capital I should like well to see, if it were only to meet Humboldt, one 
 of the very few men in the world whom one would take the trouble to 
 walk a mile to see; now that the Iron Duke is dead, I hardly know an¬ 
 other I would go hall' that distance to have a look at. I have had some 
 very kind letters "‘rom Humboldt, who has always taken a friendly interest 
 in my historical career; and, as this has lain in his path, it has enabled 
 me to appreciate the immense services he has done to science and letters 
 by his curious researches and his beautiful manner of exhibiting the results 
 of them to the reader. 
 
 FROM LORD CARLISLE. 
 
 Castle Howard, March 20, 1856. 
 
 Optime et Carissime, 
 
 Nothing ever pleased me more, except perhaps your own most kind and 
 indulgent verdict, than the opinion you enclosed to me from the erudite 
 and weighty authority of Felton . 9 For, besides all his intrinsic titles to 
 respect and deference as scholar, author, and critic, he had himself drank 
 in the inspiration of the self-same scenes, and knows how feebly the pale 
 coloring of words can portray all the glowing realities of those classic 
 shores. I will attend to your behest about the book when I get back to 
 London. You will excuse me for guiding myself by Homeric precedent, 
 so I shall presume to expect a Diomedean exchange of armor, and, in re¬ 
 turn for my light texture, to receive your full mail-clad “ Philip the 
 Second.” 
 
 You will have perceived that we have been shifting scenes on our polit¬ 
 ical stage with much rapidity and not a little complexity of plot. I ap¬ 
 pear myself before you in a new character . 7 Suppose you come and see 
 how I comport myself in it. I had once an opportunity of showing you 
 a real sovereign, and I can now treat you to the representation of a mock 
 one. I will not guarantee, however, that I may not have to descend from 
 my throne before you can reach its august presence. 
 
 I take up my abode in Ireland about Easter. I have a comfortable 
 residence there, and a most agreeable view; not so sparkling as that over 
 the AEgean and Cyclades, hut over bright fresh green and a good outline 
 of hill. I am quite serious in urging you to come. You may send Sum¬ 
 ner too. 
 
 * Professor Felton, afterwards the much-loved President of Harvard Col- 
 'ega, edited and illustrated with his pleasant learning “ The Diary in Turkish 
 and Greek Waters,” of Lord Carlisle (1855). 
 
 7 As Viceroy of Ireland. 
 
 17 
 
 1 
 
386 
 
 WILLIAM IDCKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Peace be with you and yours at least, if it cannot be with the whole 
 world. 
 
 Most affectionately, 
 
 CXSLISLS. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, April 25, 1855. 
 
 I don’t think I do myself quite justice in saying I am a fixture, because 
 I stick to the easy-chair; for, after all, the mind is the man, and my mind 
 has carried me over many a league since I saw you last, and far back, too, 
 into other centuries. If I should go to heaven when I quit this dirty ball, 
 I shall find many acquaintances there, and some of them very respectable, 
 of the olden time ; many whose letters I have read since their death, never 
 intended for vulgar eyes to feed upon. Don’t you think I should have a 
 kindly greeting from good Isabella 1 Even Bloody Mary, I think, will 
 smile on me; for I love the old Spanish stock, the house of Trastamara. 
 But there is one that I am sure will owe me a grudge, and that is the very 
 man I have been making two big volumes upon. With all my good-na¬ 
 ture I can’t wash him even into the darkest French gray. He is black 
 and all black. My friend Madame Calderon will never forgive me. Is it 
 not charitable to give Philip a place in heaven 1 
 
 So Lord Carlisle has got the Irish sceptre. He has written kindly to 
 ask mo to visit him this summer, and see his vice-regal state. I should 
 like nothing better; but 1 have my four acres of lawn, and ever so many 
 greener acres of salt water to overlook, to say nothing of generations of 
 descendants, who will be crying out for me like pelicans in the wilderness, 
 should I abscond. An edition, by the by, of Carlisle’s book is in the press 
 here, and will come out under Felton’s care. lie went over the same 
 ground, at about the same time with Lord C. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, June 17, 1856. 
 
 We are very busy just now preparing for our seaside flitting. It is ” 
 great pleasure to us that Enzabeth is to be so near us. 8 Her new' house 
 is on a larger scale, and every way a more ambitious affair, than ours. I 
 expect to revel in babies, for William and his wife and nursery take up 
 their quarters the first month with us. 9 I suppose Anna Ticknor, with 
 whom I diued yesterday, — no one but the family, — has told you of Mr. 
 Lawrence’s illness. It is the old trouble, chiefly of the liver. A foi might 
 since as I walked with him round the Common, I told him he was losing 
 ground and should go to Europe. I went in and saw his wife, and it was 
 
 8 Mrs. James Lawrence, his only daughter, removed this season to a sum¬ 
 mer villa in his neighborhood at Lynn. 
 
 9 His eldest son, then expected from Europe with his family. 
 
LETTER FROM THE EARL OF ELLESMERE. 
 
 387 
 
 arranged before I left, that he should take passage for England the 20th 
 of June. That night he became very ill, and has been ever since in bed. 
 He is now slowly mending, and, if well enough, will embark probably 
 early in July; I should not think, however, before the middle of it. Ho 
 just sent me from his sick-bed a scrap of paper, simply stating that 
 “eighty years ago, June 17th, his father and my grandfather fought side 
 by side on Bunker Hill,” — a stirring reminiscence for a sick-bed. 
 
 FROM THE EARL OF ELLESMERE. 
 
 Oxford, September 27, 1855 
 
 Dear Mr. Prescott, 
 
 Your kind and sad letter has remained long unacknowledged. It 
 reached me at a moment when I was leaving London for an excursion 
 less of pleasure than of business, a visit to the Paris Exhibition; and 
 from my arrival there to my return a few days since I have been deprived 
 of any use of my right hand by my usual enemy. If my right hand had 
 more cunning than it pretends to, it could not convey what either Lady 
 Ellesmere or myself feels on the frustration of the pleasant hope we had 
 lately entertained of meeting again with the kind and good friend, whom 
 I yet hope to meet, though not in this weary world. 10 
 
 It seems but a day, but an hour, since he left us, 
 
 With no sign to prepare us, no warning to pain, 
 
 As we clung to the hand of which death has bereft us, 
 
 Little thinking we never should clasp it again. 
 
 We ought to nave thought so; — to earth, for a season, 
 
 Worth, friendship, and goodness are lent, but not given; 
 
 And faith but confirms the conjecture of reason, 
 
 That the dearest to earth are the fittest for heaven. 
 
 I venture to quote the above, not as good, for they are my own, but as 
 apposite, be they whose they may. They were written on the loss of a 
 very valued friend and relative, Lord William Bentinck. We need no 
 knell over the Atlantic to tell us of the frailty of human ties. I have 
 personally been spared as yet, and no name is coupled with the horrors of 
 our late Crimean despatches which directly concerns mine or me; but 
 some have been reaped in this bloody harvest whom I knew enough to 
 value, and many — a son among the number — are exposed to the further 
 chances of this awful and apparently interminable struggle. Nothing 
 is on record since the siege of Jerusalem, unless it bo some of the pas¬ 
 sages of the retreat from Moscow, which equals the sickening horrors of 
 the “ Times” of to-day; and we in England, though our people did what 
 they could, and died in the Redan, have not the blaze of success to con¬ 
 sole us, which makes France forget its losses. I believe our cause is good. 
 I cannot truly say that in other respects, as a nation, we have deserved 
 other than severe trial, for we entered on this war, in my opinion, with 
 much levity, ignorance, and presumption. I think we were right in going 
 to war, and that we could not long have avoided it; but it is one thing to 
 
 10 Mr. Abbott Lawrence 
 
WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 face a great calamity calmly and sternly, from a sense of right and duty, 
 and another to court the encounter with cheers and jeers and vaunting. I 
 writhe under the government of Journalism. We are governed at home, 
 and represented abroad, by a press which makes us odious to the world. 
 
 I am here at Oxford doing rather hard and unpaid service on a com¬ 
 mission for shaping out and regulating the introduction of the changes 
 directed by Parliament in the University; — a good deal of dry and 
 heavy detail, but not without interest and some prospect of ultimate 
 advantage. I lie on my back, and dignities drop into my mouth. I am 
 appointed Lord-Lieutenant of Lancashire, for the excellent reason that 
 there happens to be nobody else who comes within the usual category of 
 fjualilications of rank, residence, and political tendencies. It makes me a 
 General of seven regiments of militia, an Admiral, and Custos Kotulorum, 
 and covers me with silver-lace and epaulets ! It does not, thank Heaven, 
 in Lancashire convey, as in other counties, the power of recommending 
 persons to the magistracy. The fact is, there is usually nothing to do in 
 
 the office, but at present the militia does involve some business. 
 
 E. Ellesmere. 
 
 EROM MR. IIALLAM. 
 
 Pick hurst Bkoomley, Kent, December 5, 1866. 
 
 Mr dear Mu. Prescott, 
 
 I must return you my best thanks for your very kind present of your 
 “ History of Philip the Second,” which I received in town from Bentley 
 last week. I only repeat the universal opinion in praising the philosoph¬ 
 ical depth of reflection, the justness of the sentiments, and the admirable 
 grace of the style. I have not been lately in the way of seeing many 
 people, but I am convinced that there will hardly be a difference of opin¬ 
 ion upon the subject. If I regret anything, it is that you have so large a 
 portion of your labor left behind. 
 
 You are quite right in supposing that the local interest about public 
 events is unfavorable to literature. Macaulay’s volumes will probably 
 appear within a fortnight. He prints, I believe, twenty-five thousand 
 copies, and they are all bespoken. 
 
 With my best wishes, believe me, my dear Mr. Prescott, 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 Henry IIai.lam. 
 
 TO MRS. MIL MAN. 
 
 Boston, December 24, 1856. 
 
 1 had a note from Macaulay the other day, in which he spoke of having 
 just finished his book. I suppose ere now it is launched upon the great 
 deep. I am glad that he has given me time to get out of the way with 
 my little argosy, before taking the wind out of my sails. His readers ou 
 
LETTER TO COUNT CIRCOURT 
 
 389 
 
 this side of she water count by thousands and tens of thousands. There 
 is no man who speaks to such an audience as Macaulay. It is certainly a 
 great responsibility. I was sorry to learn from him that he was confined 
 to his house. When I was in England, he teemed to have too robust a 
 constitution to be easily shaken by disease. 
 
 I gather my little circle of children and grandchildren about me to¬ 
 morrow, to keep our merry Christmas. There will be a touch of sadness 
 in it, however; for more than one seat will be made vacant by the death 
 of poor Mr. Lawrence. His death has made a sad gap in our family 
 gatherings. He will long live in the hearts of all who knew him. 
 
 Pray remember me, my dear Mrs. Milman, in the kindest manner, to 
 my good friend your husband, and to your family, and believe me 
 Very truly and affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO COUNT ADOLPHE DE CIRCOURT. 
 
 Boston, April 7, 1856. 
 
 My dear Count Circourt, 
 
 I have read with the greatest pleasure your letter containing your 
 remarks upon “Philip the Second.” The subject is a difficult one to 
 treat, and'I have naturally felt a good deal of solicitude in regard to the 
 judgment of competent critics upon it. The opinions, as far as I have 
 gathered them from the criticisms that have appeared in England and in 
 this country, have certainly been very friendly to me; but I cannot but 
 feel that very few of those that criticise the work are particularly qualified 
 to judge of it, for the simple reason, that they are not acquainted with the 
 subject, or with the historic sources from which the narrative is derived. 
 I was particularly gratified, therefore, to get an opinion from you so 
 favorable on the whole to the execution of the task. And yet I am 
 aware that, from a friend such as you are, not merely the granum salts, 
 but a whole bushel of salt, to take our English measure, must be allowed. 
 I have also had the pleasure of receiving this week a letter from Gachard, 
 and no critic can be more qualified certainly in what relates to the Nether¬ 
 lands, and I hope you will not think it vanity in me when I say to you 
 that his approval of my labors was conveyed in a tone of apparent candor 
 and good faith which gave me sincere pleasure. 
 
 What gave me no less pleasure than your general commendation was 
 the list of errata which accompanied it; not that I was happy to find I had 
 made so many blunders, but that I possessed a friend who had the candor 
 and sagacity to point them out. I am filled with astonishment when I 
 reflect on the variety, the minuteness, and the accuracy of your knowl¬ 
 edge. With this subject, thrown up by chance before you, you seem to 
 be as familiar as if it had been your speciality. I shall not fail to profit 
 by your intelligent criticism, as my future editions in England and my 
 own country will testify. Allow me to say, however, that your closing 
 critique on a reading of Balbi, which I give in the notes, is not, I think, 
 conformable to the author’s meaning. This I gather from the context as 
 well as from a more explicit statement on the subject by Calderon, another 
 
390 
 
 WILLIAM niCKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 authority quoted by me, from whom the reasons given by me in the text 
 are more especially derived. When the notice which you have been so 
 Kind as to write of the work appears, you will have the kindness to send 
 it to me; and this reminds me that I have not been so fortunate as to 
 receive an article which you promised some time since to send me on the 
 career of Charles le Tcmeraire, a subject which has much interest for me, 
 and which I trust } on will not forget. 
 
 Do you know that our friends the Ticknors propose to visit Europe id 
 the spring, and to pass a year or more on the Continent ? I know you 
 will like to take by the hand again this dear old friend, who has a mind 
 as bright, and a heart as warm, as in earlier days. I know no one whose 
 
 society I can so ill spare. I met your friend Mrs.-last evening, and 
 
 she spoke to me about you and Madame de Circourt, whom she spoke of 
 ns being in a very poor state of health. I was aware that she had suf¬ 
 fered much from the deplorable accident which lately befell her; but i 
 trust, for your sake and for that of the society of which she is so distin¬ 
 guished an ornament, that her apprehensions have exaggerated the 
 amount of her illness. 
 
 I congratulate you on the termination of this unhappy war, which 
 seemed likely to bring nothing but misery to all the parties engaged in it, 
 though Napoleon may have found his account in the lustre which it has 
 thrown upon the French arms; a poor compensation, after all, to a 
 reflecting mind, for the inevitable evils of war. In the mean time you 
 are blessed with au imperial baby, which, I suppose, is equivalent to half 
 a dozen victories, and which will be worth more to Napoleon, if it can 
 serve to perpetuate his dynasty. But whoever has read the past of France 
 for the last thirty years will feel no great confidence in omens for the 
 future. 
 
 We have some petty subjects for quarrelling with John Bull on hand 
 just now, which may easily be disposed of, if the governments of the two 
 countries aro in a tolerably amiable mood. If they are not, I trust there 
 is good sense and good feeling enough in the two nations to prevent their 
 coming to blows about trifles which are not of the slightest real import¬ 
 ance to either party. Unhappily, it does sometimes happen that disputes, 
 which are founded on feeling rather than reason, are the most difficult for 
 reasonable men to settle. 
 
 With constant regard, believe me, my dear Count Circourt, 
 
 Very truly your friend, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO SIR CHARLES LYELL. 
 
 Boston, November 11,1856 
 
 I wrote to her [Lady Lyell] in my last letter, I think, that I was about 
 to send something again in the historical way into the world. The 
 greater part, however, is not my work, but that of a much bigger man. 
 Robertson, you know, closes his “ History of Charles the Fifth ” with his 
 reign, bestowing only two or three pages, and those not the most accurate, 
 
LETTER FROM DEAN MILMAN. 
 
 3d J 
 
 on his life aftei his abdication. As his reign comes between that of Fer¬ 
 dinand and Isabella and the reign of that virtuous monarch Philip the 
 Second (who may be considered as to other Catholics what a Puseyite 
 is to other Protestants), my publishers thought it would be a proper 
 thing — that is a good thing — if I were to furnish a continuation of Rob¬ 
 ertson, for which I have the materials, so as to bring him within the 
 regular series of my historical works. This I have accordingly done to 
 the tune of some hundred and fifty pages, with comparatively little trouble 
 to myself, having already touched on this theme in “Philip the Second.” 
 It was intended for the Yankee public in particular; but Routledge brings 
 it out in London in four editions at once; and a copy of the largest octavo 
 I have ordered him to send to you. Do not trouble yourself to read it, 
 or thank me for it, but put it on your shelves, as a memento of friend¬ 
 ship, very sincere, for you. 
 
 FROM DEAN MILMAN. 
 
 Deanery St. Paul's, December 1 , 1866. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 The date of your last letter looks reproachfully at me, but I am sure 
 that you will ascribe my long silence to anything rather than want of the 
 most sincere and cordial friendship. I received it during our summer 
 wanderings in Germany, where we passed many weeks —holiday-weeks — 
 in great enjoyment, and, I rejoice and am thankful to be able to say, in 
 uninterrupted, perhaps improved, health. We paid a visit to our friend 
 Bunsen at Heidelberg, whom we found (I know not whether you made his 
 acquaintance in England) in the dignity and happiness of literary quiet and 
 labor, after having so honorably lost his high diplomatic position. He 
 has a beautifully situated house, looking over the bright Neckar, and up 
 to the noble ruins of the Castle. From thence we took the course of 
 the fine Bavarian cities, Aschaffenburg, Wurtzburg, Bamberg, Nurem¬ 
 berg. At Donauwik we launched on the rapid Danube, and followed its 
 stream to Vienna and to Pestli. To us the Danube is a noble stream, 
 especially after its junction with the Inn, amid the magnificent scenery 
 about Passau ; though I know that you Americans give yourselves great 
 airs, and would think but lightly of the power and volume of such a 
 river. From Vienna to Prague and Dresden. At Dresden we had the 
 great pleasure of falling in with the Tick nors, whom I had frequently 
 seen during their short stay in London; and also with their most charm¬ 
 ing relative, our friend Mrs. Twisleton and her lord. Then to Berlin, 
 and after a peep into Holland we found our way home. We, indeed, 
 have been hardly settled, at home (having paid some visits in the autumn) 
 till within two or three weeks. 
 
 Among the parcels which awaited me on my arrival was your graceful 
 and just tribute to the memory of our excellent friend, poor Mr. Lawrence. 
 I should have read it with great interest for his sake if from another hand, 
 — with how much more, when it came from you, executed with your ac¬ 
 customed skill and your pleasant style, heightened by your regret and 
 affection. 
 
392 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PEESCOTT. 
 
 I have not yet seen your concluding chapters (announced in this week’s 
 Athenaeum) to the new edition of Robertson’s “ Charles the Fifth.” I 
 doubt not that you have found much to say, and much that we shall be 
 
 glad to read, after Stirling’s agreeable book.(By the way, at tho 
 
 Goldene Kreu/. Hotel at Regensburg [Ratisbon], which was once a fino 
 palace, they show the room in which John of Austria was born.) But 
 his life is comparatively of trivial moment in the darkening tragedy (for 
 you must allow it to gather all its darkness) of Philip the Second’s later 
 years. Though I would on no account urge you to haste incompatible 
 with the full investigation of all the accumulating materials of those fear¬ 
 ful times, yet you must not allow any one else to step in before you, and 
 usurp the property which you have so good a right to claim in that awful 
 impersonation of all that is anti-Christian in him who went to his grave 
 ■with the conviction, that he, above all other men, had discharged the 
 duties of a Christian monarch. 
 
 I am now, as you may suppose, enjoying my repose with all my full 
 and unexhausted interest in literary subjects, in history especially, and 
 poetry, (I trust that it will last as long as my life,) but without engaging 
 in any severe or continuous labor. Solve senescentem, is one of the wisest 
 adages of wise antiquity, though the aged horse, if he finds a pleasant 
 meadow, may allow himself a light and easy canter. I am taking most 
 kindly to my early friends, the classic writers ; having read, in the course 
 of my later life, so much bad Greek and Latin, I have a right to refresh 
 myself, and very refreshing it is, with the fine clear writings of Greece 
 and Rome. 
 
 So far had I written when, behold ! your second letter made its appear¬ 
 ance, announcing your promised present of “ Charles the Fifth.” I at 
 first thought of throwing what I had written behind the fire, but soon de¬ 
 termined rather to inflict upon you another sheet, with my best thanks, 
 and assurances that I shall not leave my neighbor Mr. Routledge long at 
 peace. 
 
 And now to close, my dear friend, I must add Mrs. Milman’s kind love. 
 She begs me to say that you have read her a lesson of charity towards 
 Philip the Second, which she almost doubts whether your eloquence can 
 fully enforce upon her. 
 
 H. H. Milman. 
 
 Do come and see us again, or make me twenty years younger, that I 
 may cross to you. 
 
 TO LADY MARY LABOUCHERE. 
 
 Boston, February 7, 1S57. 
 
 My dear Ladt Mary, 
 
 It was with very great pleasure that I received the kind note in your 
 handwriting, which looked like a friend that I had not looked upon for a 
 long time. And this was followed soon after by the portrait of your dea* 
 mother, forwarded to me by Colnaghi from London. It is an excellent 
 likeness, and recalls the same sweet and benevolent expression which has 
 lingered in my memory ever siuce I parted from her at Castle Howard 
 
LETTER TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 393 
 
 I have wished that I could think that I should ever see her again in her 
 princely resilience. But there is little chance, I fear, of my meeting her 
 again in this world. Pray, when you next see her, give my most respect¬ 
 ful aud affectionate remembrances to her. You have been fortunate in 
 keeping one parent from the skies so long. My own mother survived till 
 some few years since, and we were never parted till death came between 
 us. This is a blessing not to be estimated. And she was so good that 
 her removal, at the age of eighty-four, was an event less to be mourned on 
 her account than on ours who survived her. 
 
 I was extremely sorry to hear of Lord Ellesmere’s severe illness. Sir 
 Henry Holland gave me some account of it in a letter some time since. 
 From what you write and what I have heard elsewhere, I fear that his 
 restoration to health is still far from being complete. 
 
 I wish there were any news here that would interest you. But I 
 lead a very quiet, domestic sort of life, which, as far as I am concerned, 
 affords little that is new. I am at present robbed of both my sons, who 
 are passing this winter in Paris, and probably will pass the next in Italy. 
 The eldest has his wife and children with him, and I carry on a sort of 
 nursery correspondence with my little granddaughter, who has almost 
 reached die respectable age of five. My own daughter, Mrs. Lawrence, 
 and her two children, live within a stone’s-throw of me, both in Boston 
 and in the country, where we pass our summers. And this doubles the 
 happiness of life. 
 
 It is a pleasant thing for us that our two nations should have such 
 kindly feelings as they now seem to have for one another. The little 
 affair of the “Resolute” seems to have called them all out. We are 
 brethren who have too large an inheritance in common of the past to for¬ 
 get it all for some petty quarrel about a thing which can be of no real 
 importance to cither. 
 
 I am glad to learn that the members of your own family are in such 
 good health. I suppose you see little of Morpeth, to whom I write occa¬ 
 sionally, and think myself lucky when I get an answer, especially when it 
 comes through so kind a secretary as you. I am not likely to forget your 
 features, for the charming portrait which you last sent me stands in a 
 frame on a ledge of my book-case in the library, which is our sitting- 
 room. 
 
 Pray remember me most kindly to your sisters and your brother 
 Charles, and believe me, dear Lady Mary, with sincere regards to Mr 
 Labouchere, 
 
 Most truly and affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, April 4, 1867. 
 
 I believe I told you of my headaches, which Jackson considers as be¬ 
 longing to my rheumatic habits, and bred in the bone. Very bad habits 
 they are. I am happy to say the aches have nearly subsided, though I 
 have lost two good months by them. Agassiz, who dined with me on 
 
 17 * 
 
394 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Wednesday, filled me with envy by saying he had worked fifteen hours th« 
 day before. What is the man made of ? The great book on Turtles has 
 been delayed, from his desire to make it more complete. He has brought 
 into it discussions on a great variety of themes terrestrial and celestial. It 
 reminded me, I told him, of the old cosmographical myth of the Indians, 
 where the world was said to rest on an elephant and the elephant on the 
 back of a tortoise. For myself, I think it would be a great improvement 
 if he would furnish a chapter on turtle-doves, with their tender associations, 
 instead of the real turtle, whose best associations, as far as 1 know, are 
 those connected with an alderman or a lord-mayor’s feast. But Agassiz 
 thinks he has not half exhausted the subject. 
 
 FROM MR. IRVING. 
 
 SuxxrsiDE, August 25, 1857. 
 
 My dear Mr. Prescott, 
 
 You say “ you don’t know whether I care about remarks on my books 
 from friends, though they be brothers of the craft.” I cannot pretend to 
 oe above the ordinary sensitiveness of authorship, and am especially alive 
 to the remarks of a master-workman like yourself. I have never been less 
 confident of myself and more conscious of my short-comings, than on this 
 my last undertaking, and have incessantly feared that the interest might 
 flag beneath my pen. You may judge, therefore, how much I have been 
 gratified by your assurance that the interest felt by yourself and Mrs. Pres¬ 
 cott on reading the work “ went on crescendo from the beginning, and did 
 not reach its climax till the last pages.” 
 
 I thank you, therefore, most heartily, for your kind and acceptable 
 letter, which enables mo to cheer myself with the persuasion that I have 
 not ventured into the field ouce too often; and that my last production 
 has escaped the fate of the Archbishop of Granada’s. 
 
 You hint a wish that I would visit your Northern latitudes, and partake 
 of the good-fellowship that exists there ; and, indeed, it would give me the 
 greatest pleasure to enjoy eommunionship with a few choice spirits like 
 yourself, but I have a growing dread of the vortex of gay society into 
 which I am apt to be drawn if I stir from home. In fact, the habits of 
 literary occupation, which of late years I have indulged to excess, have 
 almost unfitted me for idle, gentlemanly life. Relaxation and repose begin 
 to be insupportable to me, and I feel an unhealthy hankering after my 
 study, and a disposition to relapse into hard writing. 
 
 Take warning by my case, and beware of literary intemperance. 
 
 Ever, my dear Prescott, 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 Washington Irving 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 November 80, 1867 
 
 When the times are bad, I fortunately have a snug retreat on my litter 
 farm of the sixteenth century, and an hour or two’s conversation with my 
 
LETTER TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 395 
 
 good friend Philip generally puts me at peace with the world. I suppose 
 you eschew all books while you are on the wing. If you ever meet with 
 an English one, and can get hold of Thackeray's last, “ The Virginians,” 
 publishing in numbers, I believe, in England as well as here, I wish you 
 would look at it, if only to read the first paragraph, in which he pays a 
 very nice tribute to my old swords of Bunker Hill renown, and to their 
 unworthy proprietor. It was very prettily done of him. I am well booked 
 up now in regard to my English friends, first from the Ticknors, whom I 
 have examined and cross-examined until I am well enough acquainted 
 with their experiences, and now Sumner has arrived and given me four or 
 five hours’ worth of his in an uninterrupted stream, and a very pleasant 
 raconteur he is, especially when he talks of the friends of whom I have such 
 a loving remembrance on your - side of the water. He seems to have had 
 quite a triumphant reception. When a Yankee makes his appearance in 
 London circles, the first question asked, I fancy, if they think him worth 
 asking any about, is whether he is a pro-slavery man, or an anti-slavery, 
 and deal with him accordingly. It would seem droll if, when an English¬ 
 man lights on our soil, the first question we should ask should be whether 
 he was in favor of making the Chinese swallow opium, or whether he was 
 opposed to it; as if that were not only the moral, but the social, standard 
 by which everything was to be tested, and we were to cut him or caress 
 him accordingly. But Sumner was hailed as a maityr, and enjoys — 
 quite contrary to usage — the crown of martyrdom during his own life¬ 
 time. His ovation has agreed with him, and he goes to Washington tnis 
 week. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 1858- 1859. 
 
 PrasT Attack of Apoplexy.—Yields readily. — Clearness of Mind. 
 Composure. — Infirmities. — Gradual Improvement.— Occupa¬ 
 tions.— Prints tiie third Volume of “ Philip the Second.” — Sum¬ 
 mer at Lynn and Pepperell. — Notes to the “Conquest of Mex¬ 
 ico.”—Keturn to Boston. —Desire for active Literary Labor.— 
 Ague. — Correspondence. 
 
 O N the 4th of February, 1858, in the afternoon, I hap¬ 
 pened to call on my friend for a little visit or a walk, 
 that being the portion of the day in which, from our respective 
 occupations, we oftenest saw each other. As I entered, the 
 air of the servant who opened the door surprised me, and I 
 hardly understood the words he uttered with great emotion, to 
 tell me that Mr. Prescott was suddenly and seriously ill. He 
 tad, in fact, been seized in the street a couple of hours before, 
 and the affection was evidently of the brain, and apoplectic. 
 
 The attack occurred just on his return from his accustomed 
 walk in the early afternoon. Indeed, he reached home with 
 some difficulty, and went, not without much effort, at once, 
 and as it were instinctively and almost unconsciously, to his 
 working study. His mind wandered for a few moments, and 
 his powers of speech and motion were partly suspended. The 
 earliest articulate words he uttered were to his wife, as she was 
 tenderly leaning over him : “ My poor wife ! I am so sorry l'or 
 you, that this has come upon you so soon ! ” 
 
 The symptoms were not formidable, and those that seemed 
 most threatening yielded to remedies in the course of the 
 afternoon. His venerable physician, Dr. Jackson, expressed 
 himself to me at nine o’clock in the evening with much hope¬ 
 fulness, and the next day nearly all anxiety concerning an 
 immediate recurrence of the disease was gone. But a mark 
 had been made on his physical constitution which was never to 
 be obliterated. 
 
FIRST ATTACK OF APOPLEXY. 
 
 397 
 
 For the first two days he was kept almost entirely in bed, 
 and in a state of absolute rest and quietness, with his room 
 somewhat darkened. On the third day I saw him. He talked 
 with me as clearly as he ever had when in full health, and 
 with intellectual faculties as unclouded. But his utterance 
 was slightly affected. His movements were no longer assured. 
 A few words and many proper names did not come promptly 
 at his summons. He occasionally seemed to see figures — espe¬ 
 cially the figure of a gentleman in black —- moving about the 
 room, though he was quite aware that the whole was an opti¬ 
 cal delusion. If he looked into a book, one line was strangely 
 mingled with another, and the whole became confused and 
 illegible. All this he explained to me in the simplest and 
 clearest manner, as if he were speaking, not of his own case, 
 but of that of another person. He was, in fact, not under the 
 smallest misapprehension as to the nature of his attack, nor 
 as to what might be its consequences at a moment’s notice. 
 Neither did he at all exaggerate his danger, or seem alarmed 
 or anxious at the prospect before him. He saw his condition 
 as his physicians and his family saw it, and as the result proved 
 that it must have been from the first. 
 
 In five or six days he walked out with assistance ; but he 
 was put upon a rigorous, vegetable diet, and his strength re¬ 
 turned slowly and imperfectly. After a few weeks the irregu¬ 
 larity in his vision was corrected; his tread became so much 
 more firm that he ventured into the streets alone; and his 
 enunciation, except to the quick ear of affection, was again 
 distinct and natural. But his utterance never ceased to be 
 marked with a slight effort; proper names were never again so 
 easily recalled as they had been ; and, although his appropriate 
 gait was recovered, it was at best a little slower than it had 
 been, and, in the last weeks of his life, when I walked with 
 him a good deal, he sometimes moved very heavily, and more 
 than once called my attention to this circumstance as to a con¬ 
 siderable change in his condition. In his general appearance, 
 however, at least to a casual observer, in the expression of his 
 fine manly countenance, and in his whole outward bearing, he 
 seemed such as he had always been. Those, therefore, who 
 saw him only as he was met in his accustomed walks, thought 
 
398 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 him quite recovered. But his family and his more intimate 
 friends were too vigilant to be thus deluded. They knew, from 
 the tirst, that he was no longer the same. 
 
 Iieading was the earliest pleasure he enjoyed, except that 
 of the society of his household and of a chosen few out of it. 
 But it was only the lightest hooks to which he could listen 
 safely, — novels and tales, — and it was only those he liked 
 best, such as Miss Edgeworth’s Helen and Scott’s Guy Man- 
 nering, that could satisfy him enough to enable him to keep his 
 attention fastened on them. Even of such he soon wearied, 
 and turned with more interest, though not with conviction, to 
 parts of Buckle’s first volume on the “ History of Civilization,” 
 then recently published. 1 
 
 A very different and a stronger interest, however, he felt in 
 listening, as he did a little later, to the accounts of cases of 
 eminent men of letters resembling his own; to Adam Fergu¬ 
 son’s, in the Memoirs of Lord Cockburn, which was full of 
 encouragement, and to Scott’s, in Lockhart’s “Life,” which, on 
 the other hand, could not fail to sadden him, and yet which 
 he insisted on following, through all its painful details, to its 
 disheartening, tragical catastrophe. 
 
 This pliasis of his disease, however, passed gradually away, 
 and then he began to crave afresh the occupations and modes 
 of life to which he had always been accustomed ; — simple, both, 
 •is they could be, and laborious, but which had become seriously 
 important to him from long habit. His physician advised a 
 very moderate and cautious use of wine; a glass a day at first, 
 and afterwards a little more, so as to increase his strength, and 
 enable him to return, in some degree at least, to the studies 
 that were so necessary to his daily happiness; still restricting 
 him, however, to a merely vegetable diet. The prescriptions 
 were rigorously obeyed; and he was able soon to take exercise 
 in walking equal to four miles a day, which, if it was mate¬ 
 rially less than he had found useful and easy when he was in 
 
 1 When Professor Playfair was suffering from his last painful disease, his 
 affectionate attendants tried to amuse him with the early novels of Scott, then 
 yust in the course of publication, and other books of the same sort, which, 
 when well, he much enjoyed. But now they soon became wearisome to him. 
 
 “ Try a little of Newton’s ‘ Priucipia,’ ” said the dying philosopher; and, foi 
 e time, his attention was commanded. 
 
LAST RESIDENCE IN PEPPERELL. 
 
 399 
 
 full health, was yet much more than he had of late been able to 
 sustain. It was, therefore, a great point gained, and he thank¬ 
 fully acknowledged it to be such. But still he marked the 
 difference in his general strength, and knew its meaning. 
 
 Encouraged, however, by his improvement, such as it was, 
 and permitted at least, if not counselled to it, by his medical 
 adviser, he now adventured once more within the domain of 
 his old and favorite studies. He did not, indeed, undertake to 
 prepare anything for the fourth volume of “ Philip the Sec¬ 
 ond ”; nor did he even go on to fill out the third to the full 
 proportions into which he had originally determined to cast it 
 But the conclusion of the last chapter that he ever finished, 
 a few paragraphs only — which, as was his wont, he had, I 
 believe, composed before his attack and had preserved to a 
 good degree in his memory — was now reduced to writing, 
 and the manuscript completed so far as it was destined ever 
 to be. 
 
 In April, 1858, he went to press with it, and in the course 
 of the summer the stereotyping was finished; the whole having 
 undergone, as it advanced, a careful revision from his ever- 
 faithful friend, Mr. Folsom. In this part of the work of pub¬ 
 lishing, he took much pleasure; more, I believe, than he had 
 before in any similar case. The reason is simple. He did not 
 like to think that he was, in consequence of his diminished 
 strength, obliged to reduce the amount of his intellectual exer¬ 
 tions ; and, while his present occupation was light and easy, 
 he could feel that it was indispensable, and that it came now 
 in regular course, instead of being taken up because he was 
 unequal to work that was heavier. He expressed this to me 
 with much satisfaction at Lynn one day after dinner, when lie 
 was near the end of his task ; for, although he felt the fearful 
 >mcertainty of his condition, he did not like to think that he 
 was in any degree yielding to it. His courage, in this respect, 
 was absolute. It never faltered. 
 
 At Pepperell, where he went on the 25th of September, he 
 ventured a little further. In 1844 two translations of his 
 “ Conquest of Mexico ” had appeared in Mexico itself, one of 
 which was rendered more than commonly important by the 
 comments of Don Jose F. Ramirez at the end of the second 
 
400 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 volume, and the other by the notes of Don Lucas Alaman, a 
 statesman and man of letters of no mean rank, who had long 
 occupied himself with the history of his country. Mr. Prescott 
 now busied himself with these materials, as, I think, he had 
 done before, and prepared a considerable number of additions 
 and emendations for a future edition of the original work. 
 
 “ I am now amusing myself,” he says, under the date of Sep¬ 
 tember 30th, “ with making some emendations and additional 
 notes for a new edition, some day or other, of the ‘ Conquest 
 of Mexico.’ Two Mexican translations of the work, enriched 
 with annotations, furnish a pretty good stock of new materials 
 for the purpose.” The amount that he accomplished is con¬ 
 siderable, and it will, I hope, be used hereafter, as its author 
 intended it should be. 
 
 But though such labor was light compared with that needful 
 in the prosecution of his studies for the “ History of Philip the 
 Second,” if he had ventured to take them up in earnest, still 
 little that he did during that summer and autumn was wholly 
 free from painful effort. I witnessed it more than once while 
 he was at Lynn, where headaches, though treated as of little 
 account, yet gave occasion for grave apprehensions, — not the 
 less grave, because their expression, which could have done 
 only harm, was carefully forborne by those about him. 
 
 His occupations at Pepperell, however, can hardly have in¬ 
 jured him. At any rate, he felt that what he had done had 
 been an amusement rather than anything else; and when he 
 left that much-loved region, wdth its cheerful drives and walks, 
 and with all the tender associations that rested on it, — that 
 tapestried the rooms of the old house and lighted up the whole 
 landscape, and its waters, woods, and hills, — he made the fol¬ 
 lowing simple record: — 
 
 Pepperell, October 2Sth. — Return to town to-morrow. The country 
 is now in its splendid autumn robe, somewhat torn, however, and draggled 
 by the rain. Have been occupied with corrections and additions to my 
 “ Mexico.” On my return to Boston shall resume my labors on “ Philip,” 
 and, if my health continues as good as it has been this summer, shall 
 hope to make some progress. But I shall not press matters. Our villeg- 
 jiatura has been brightened by the presence of all the children and grand¬ 
 children, God bless them ! And now we scatter again, but not far apart 
 
 These touching words are the last he ever wrote in the 
 
LAST OCCUPATIONS. 
 
 401 
 
 private Memoranda, which he had now kept above forty years, 
 and there are no w r ords in the whole mass of above twelve 
 hundred pages that are more expressive of what was peculiar 
 to him. His domestic affections were always uppermost in his 
 character, and never more so than they were in the last weeks 
 and months of his life; indeed, I think, never so much and 
 so manifestly. How he loved his children, — all his children, 
 — how he delighted in his grandchildren, how he held them 
 all “ in liis heart of heart,” those who most knew him, knew 
 best 
 
 On his return to Boston, he looked stronger than he did when 
 he left it four months earlier. His spirits were more natural; 
 sometimes as bright as they had ever been. He was in better 
 flesh, and his muscular power was increased, although not 
 much. But I think he never passed a day without a sense of 
 the shadow that he knew must always rest on his way of life, 
 whether it should be long or short. 
 
 During the first weeks after his coming to town, he was 
 occupied with affairs that had accumulated during his absence. 
 As usual, they somewhat wearied and annoyed him; perhaps 
 more than they had on other similar occasions. But he dis¬ 
 missed them from his thoughts as soon as he could, and then 
 he seemed to turn with a sort of irresistible craving to the in¬ 
 tellectual pursuits which long habit and conscientious devotion 
 to them had made so important to his happiness. 
 
 About New Year of 1859, he spoke to me more than once 
 of a change in his modes of life. He thought, as he told me, 
 that, if his diet were made more nourishing, his general strength 
 would be improved, and he should thus become capable of more 
 labor in all ways, and especially upon his “ Philip the Second.” 
 On this, however, he did not venture. His obedience to his 
 medical director was exact to the last. He restrained himself 
 rigorously to a vegetable diet, and never took more wine than 
 was prescribed to him, as if it had been a medicine. 
 
 But he could not fully resist the temptation of his old books 
 and manuscripts; nor was he altogether discouraged by his wise 
 professional adviser from making an inconsiderable and wary 
 experiment with them. Indeed, something of the sort seemed 
 to have become important for his health as well as for his 3pir- 
 
402 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 its, which were now pining for the aliment that was demanded 
 alike by his physical and moral constitution. During two or 
 three weeks, therefore, he was occupied with that portion of 
 the History of Philip the Second with which his fourth volume 
 would necessarily open. His researches, no doubt, were not 
 as laborious as they had sometimes been, when he was busy 
 with a difficult subject. They were, in fact, entirely prefatory, 
 involving only the plan of an opening chapter, and the general 
 mode in which that part of the war of the Netherlands might 
 be discussed, to which the volume itself was to be largely 
 devoted. Even in this, I believe, he was careful, and gave 
 much less time to work than was his wont. But whenever he 
 thought, he thought intently. He could not help it. It was 
 a habit which he had cultivated with so much care, that he 
 could not now shake it off. It is possible, therefore, that his 
 occupations during these weeks were among the causes that 
 hastened the final event. But if they were, their influence 
 must have been small. Nothing gave token of what, from 
 inscrutable causes, was not only inevitable, but was near. 
 
 About a fortnight before his death, he suffered from an ague, 
 which gave him so much pain, that it entirely interrupted his 
 accustomed occupations. During the five or six days of its 
 continuance, I spent the leisure of each afternoon with him. 
 His strength was a good deal diminished, and he was generally 
 lying on his sofa when I saw him ; but never was he brighter 
 or more agreeable, never more cheerful or more interesting. 
 And so it continued to the end. I saw him only twice or three 
 times afterwards; but those who were constantly with him, and 
 watched every word and movement with affectionate solicitude, 
 observed no change. 
 
 That his intellectual faculties were not affected, and that 
 his temperament had lost little of its charming gayety, the 
 letters and memoranda of the year leave no doubt. They 
 were not, I suppose, always written without effort, but the 
 effort was successful, which, in general, it would not have 
 been, and in his case was so in consequence mainly of the 
 original elements that had been so gently mixed in his whole 
 nature. 
 
LETTER TO MR. BANCROFT, 
 
 403 
 
 TO MR. BANCROFT. 
 
 Boston, February 19 (indorsed 1868). 
 
 Dear Bancroft, 
 
 It is well enough for a man to be ill sometimes, if it is only to show 
 m him the affectionate sympathy of his friends, though in truth this was 
 hardly necessary to prove yours. Two weeks since I had a slight touch 
 of paralysis, which should have fallen on a man of more flesh than I can 
 noast. It was so slight, however, that the doctor thinks there was no 
 rupture of any vessel in the brain. The effects of it hav" passed off, 
 excepting only some slight damage in that part of the cranium which 
 holds proper names. I am somewhat reduced, as much perhaps in conse¬ 
 quence of the diet I am put upon as the disease ; for meat and generous 
 wine are proscribed for the present. 
 
 So you are to make your bow to the public in i.fay ; j.nct the world, I 
 have no doubt, as it shows signs of revival, will gladly wake from its 
 winter’s trance to receive you. 
 
 That is a charming paragraph which you have sent me, containing a 
 letter wholly new to me, 2 and I look forward to the hours when I shall 
 devour the coming volume, the one of greatest interest to me, and not one 
 least difficult to you. 
 
 I hope your wife is in good health. Pray remember me most affection¬ 
 ately to her, and believe me 
 
 Ever faithfully your friend, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO MR. BANCROFT. 
 
 Boston, April 3, 1858. 
 
 I am truly obliged to you, my dear Bancroft, for sending me your 
 account of Bunker Hill battle, in which I am so much interested. 2 I 
 have read it with the greatest care and with equal pleasure. It was a dif¬ 
 ficult story to tell, considering how much it has been disfigured by feelings 
 of personal rivalry and foolish pretension. In my judgment, you have 
 steered clear of all these difficulties, and have told the story in a simple 
 though eloquent style, that cannot fail to win the confidence of your 
 reader, and satisfy him that you have written with no desire but to tell the 
 truth, after a careful study of the whole ground. 
 
 For the last thirty years or more the friends and kinsmen of the promi¬ 
 nent chiefs in the action have been hunting up old Revolutionary surviv¬ 
 ors, most of whom had survived their own faculties, and extorting from 
 them such views as could carry no conviction to a candid mind. My 
 
 3 A remarkable letter from Colonel Prescott, the historian’s grandfather, to 
 the Committee of Safety, in Boston, August, 1774. See Bancroft’s History, 
 Vol. VII. (1858,) p. 99. Mr. Bancroft possesses the autograph of this vigor¬ 
 ous, patriotic document. 
 
 s At the end of Vol. VII. of Bancroft’s History, lf)68, sent in the proof-sheet 
 o Mr. Prescott. 
 
404 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 father took no interest in all this, and made no effort to contradict the 
 accounts thus given from time to time to the public. He thought, as I 
 did, that these random statements would make no permanent impression 
 on the public mind. He waited to see — what I, more fortunate than he, 
 have now lived to see — an impartial account given of the action by the 
 classical pen of the historian, whose writings are destined not merely for 
 the present age, but for posterity. While you have done entire justice to 
 my grandfather, you have been scrupulous in giving due praise to Putnam 
 and Warren, and to the latter in particular you have paid an eloquent 
 tribute, well deserved, and in your happiest manner. 
 
 You are now entering on the most brilliant and fascinating part of your 
 grand subject, and I hope no political coquetry will have the power to 
 entice you away in another direction until you have brought it to a com¬ 
 pletion. Since my apoplectic thump I have done nothing in the literary 
 way, giving my wits a good chance to settle and come into their natural 
 state again. I am rather tired of this kind of loafing, and am now 
 beginning to fall into the old track, — but with caution. As I am on a 
 vegetable diet, though the doctor has allowed me to mend my cheer with 
 a little wine, I may hope to be armed against any future attack. 
 
 With affectionate remembrances to your wife, believe me, my dear 
 Bancroft, 
 
 Always faithfully your friend, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, April 6, 1858. 
 
 My dear Ladt Lyell, 
 
 Susan wrote you last week an account of my apoplectic troubles, in 
 which you take so affectionate an interest. The attack was one wholly 
 unexpected by me, for I had nothing about me except the headaches of 
 last year, which looked in that direction. I am not a plethoric, red- 
 visaged gentleman, with a short neck and a portly paunch “ with good 
 capon lined,” seeming to invite the attack of such an enemy. Nor am I 
 yet turned of seventy, much less of eighty, when he takes advantage of 
 decayed strength to fall upon his superannuated victim. But the fiend is 
 no respecter of persons or ages. Yet I must acknowledge he has dealt 
 rather kindly with me. The blow caused some consternation in my little 
 circle, by sending my wits a wool-gathering for a few days. But they 
 have gradually come to order again, and the worst thing that now remains 
 is the anchoritish fare of pulse and water on which they have put me. 
 Probably owing to this meagre diet more than to the disease, I have been 
 somewhat reduced in strength. But as the doctor has now reinforced my 
 banquet with a couple of glasses of sherry, I look confidently to regain¬ 
 ing my former vigor, and gradually resuming my historical labors, — 
 amusements I should say, for the hardest thing to do is to do nothing. 
 We are made hupp}' now by the return of Amory, who is soon to be fol¬ 
 lowed by William and his family, who will make one household with us 
 this summer at Lynn. It is a pleasant reunion to look forward to after 
 our long separation. .... 
 
LETTER TO LADY LYELL, 
 
 405 
 
 MEMORANDA. 
 
 April 18th, 1858..— More than five months since the last entry. 
 Daring the first three I wrote text and notes of Book VI., Chapters I. 
 and II., in all eighty-five pages print. On the 4th of February I had a 
 slight apoplectic shock, which affected both sight and power of motion, 
 the last but for a few moments. 
 
 The attack — so unexpected, though I had been troubled with head 
 aches through the winter, in a less degree, however, than in the preceding 
 year — caused great alarm to my friends at first. Much reason have I to 
 be grateful that the effects have gradually disappeared, and left no traces 
 now, except a slight obscurity in the vision, and a certain degree of 
 weakness, which may perhaps be imputable to my change of diet. For I 
 have been obliged to exchange my carnivorous propensities for those of a 
 more innocent and primitive nature, picking up my fare as our good 
 parents did before the fall. In this way it is thought I may defy the foul 
 fiend for the future. But I must not make too heavy or long demands on 
 the cranium, and if I can get three or four hours’ work on my historic 
 ground in a day, I must be content. 
 
 TO MR. PARSONS . 4 
 
 Boston, April 20, 1858. 
 
 Dear Theofh., 
 
 I return you the vegetarian treatise, with many thanks. It furnishes a 
 most important contribution to kitchen literature. From the long time I 
 have kept it, you might think I have been copying the receipts. I marked 
 some for the purpose, but soon found them so numerous, that I concluded 
 to send to London for the book itself. I shall receive a copy in a few 
 days. I was very sorry to hear that you had wounded yourself with a 
 pruning-knife, and I trust long before this you have got over the effects 
 of it. This is an accident that cannot befall me. The more’s the pity. 
 I wish with all my heart I could get up a little horticultural gusto, if it 
 were only for multiplying and varying the pleasures of life. 
 
 God bless you, dear Theoph. Believe me, always affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm. II. Prescott. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, May 31, 1858. 
 
 My dear Lady Lyedd, 
 
 It was a loving remembrance in you, that of my birthday. It shows 
 you have a good memory, at least for your friends. Threescore years and 
 two is a venerable age, and should lead one to put his house in order, es- 
 
 4 This note needs a little explanation, and I will give it in the words of the 
 friend to whom it is addressed. He says: “ I had been advised to eat mainly 
 vegetable food; and, noticing among the advertisements of London books one 
 of a vegetarian cookery-book, I ordered it; and, when Prescott told me that 
 he was strictly limited to a vegetable diet, I sent it to him.” 
 
406 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 Decially after such a thump on the cranium as I have had. I hope I shall 
 
 i -r i • w :*-c Tt is a very watery diet at any late, bcttei 
 suited, T should say, to moral philosophy than to carnivorous history. 
 Ferguson, however, wrote both. 
 
 at the beginning of the present month- d J does honor , 0 f 
 
 Stills 0 been^ too ^rauded.to myWaOier, Colonel Pres¬ 
 cott’s memory. The book is ^ntten with ^pmt, Jmt^it ^ ^ 
 
 not supported his story ) a sin ® his original materials are ample, 
 
 take it all on the writer s wordL And yet ih told nl0 that 
 
 1 f“t PP M - y ° U „it" 1 am fut^r Sant must relish his acute and 
 
 few readers will deny that his big volume 
 
 is the book of the age. 
 
 , ** ssjs? tts 
 
 dition for a long while. 
 
 TO MADAME CALDERON. 
 
 Lynn, September 7, 1868. 
 
 * >g£ 'tfsgjz 
 
 sire, which nobody can give but 7°“^"^ ‘ ood friend Calderon 
 
 you are now staying, f at else, letting the world 
 
 still coquetting with politics . , h ” t a p events, that both 
 
 g o by, like an honest cavalier as I do ^ I hop** ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 you and he are in good hea , something about all this when 
 
 r-F i ^ve been very well of late, though. 
 
LETTER TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE. 
 
 4,- 
 
 during the last winter, in February, I experienced, what was little ex¬ 
 pected, an apoplectic attack. It alarmed my friends a good deal, and 
 frightened me out of my wits for a time. But the effects have gradually 
 passed off, leaving me only a slight increase of the obscurity in my vision. 
 As I don’t intend the foul fiend shall return again, I live upon vegetables 
 and farinaceous matter, like the anchorites of old. For your apoplexy 
 is a dangerous fellow', who lives upon good cheer, fat and red-faced gentle¬ 
 men, who feed upon something better than beets and carrots. I don’t 
 care about the fare, but I should be sorry not to give the last touches to 
 Philip the Prudent, and to leave him in the world in a dismembered con¬ 
 dition ! I am amusing myself now with putting through the press the 
 third volume. This will make three fifths of the whole work. Five 
 volumes are as heavy a load as posterity will be willing to take upon its 
 shoulders; and I am ambitious enough to consign my wares to posterity. 
 The book will make its appearance in December, and will give you and 
 Calderon some winter evenings’ readings, if you are not too much ab¬ 
 sorbed in the affairs of the public to have time for private matters. I am 
 just now occupied with making some notes and corrections for a new 
 edition of the “ Conquest of Mexico.” I have particularly good materials 
 for this in the two Mexican translations of it, one of them having Ala- 
 man’s notes, and the other those of Ramirez. I know very little about 
 these eminent scholars, though I have somewhere a notice which was sent 
 me of Alaman, put away so carefully and so long ago that I doubt if I 
 can lay my hands on it. Could you not give me some little account of 
 these two worthies, — of the offices they hold, their social position, and 
 general estimation 1 Ramirez somewhere remarks that he belongs to the 
 old Mexican race. This explains the difference of his views on some 
 points from Alaman’s, who has a true love for the “ Conquistadores.” On 
 the whole, it is a trial, which few historians have experienced, to be sub¬ 
 jected to so severe a criticism, sentence by sentence, of two of the most 
 eminent scholars of their country. Though they have picked many holes 
 m my finery, I cannot deny that they have done it in the best spirit and 
 in the most courtly style, ..... 
 
 TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE. 
 
 Boston, December 27, 18S8. 
 
 My dear Carlisle, 
 
 My eye was caught by the sight of your name this morning, as I war 
 running over the columns of my daily paper, and I read an extract from 
 a. late address of yours at Hull, not so complimentary as I could have 
 wished to my own country. The tone of remark, differing a good deal 
 from the usual style of your remarks on us, is, I fear, not undeserved 
 The more’s the pity. I send you the extracts, for, as I suppose you in¬ 
 tended it for our edification as well as for your own countrymen, I thought 
 you might be pleased to see that it was quoted here. At any rate, I im¬ 
 agine you will be gratified with the candid and liberal style in which it is 
 received. The Boston “ Daily Advertiser ” is one of onr most respectable 
 journals, and I may add that the opinions expressed in it perfectly coin¬ 
 cide with those of several well-informed persons who have spoken to nw 
 on the matter, and for whose judgment you would entertain respect. 
 
408 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PKESCOTT. 
 
 1 am not willing, any more than the editor is, to agree with 7°® *“ 
 vour desponding views as to the destinies of our country, and I should 
 mourn for my race if I thought that the grand experiment we are making 
 of the capacity of men for self-government should prove a failure. We 
 mult nofbe too hastily judged. We are a young people, and have been 
 tried bv the severest of all trials, uninterrupted prosperity; a harder trial 
 than adversity for a nation as well as for an individual. We have many 
 men of high intelligence as well as sound principle in the country and, 
 should exigencies arise to call them into action, I cannot doubt that the 
 would take the place of the vaporing politicians who have been allowed 
 too much to direct the affairs of the republic. 
 
 I have iust come out with a third volume of “ Philip the Second, a 
 I hope ere this you have received a copy which I directed my publisher, 
 
 R \tul?Cn:t n Lrdl°e n so, you will oblige me much by advertisng 
 me of it as I wish you to have all my literary bantbngs from my own 
 hand. 1 have done myself the pleasure also to send a copy to theDuc es 
 ami Ladv Mary. I trust that you and yours are all in good health. 
 
 This reminds me of a blank in your circle, one dear and revered name, 
 
 -sis: 
 
 them. My son and' daughter desire their kindest remembrances to y , 
 
 with which, believe me, my dear friend, always 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 Wm H. Prescott. 
 
 TO LADY LYELL. 
 
 Boston, January 10,1859. 
 
 I SSS, go Without thanking you tojto 
 
 SEE# srasyrJKsi : V. r 
 
 r. £ zpz ?' 
 
 wife a voyage to the moon would not be more chimenca • ., 
 
 a trip (as they pleasantly 
 
 some 1 'pages"in'it'on AmS JTantiqS which he has not yet read I 
 A all events I hope we shall meet again in this lower world, 
 suppose. At a - ! We sbou ld like to see each other in 
 
 Such a meeting would be only of the voice, without even a fiien y g P 
 
LETTER FROM LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 409 
 
 of the hand, to make the heart beat. It would be like a talk between 
 friends, after a long absence on the different sides of a partition to divide 
 them. Yet if we don’t meet before long, I don’t know, but I should 
 rather postpone the interview till we have crossed the Styx. But you, I 
 am told, are reversing the order of nature. I wonder where you got your 
 recipe for it. Yet the youth of the body is, after all, easier to preserve 
 than the youth of the soul. I should like a recipe for that. Life is so 
 stale when one has been looking at it for more than sixty winters 1 It 
 would be a miracle if the blood were not a little chilled. 
 
 FROM MR. IRVING. 
 
 Sunnysidk, January 12, 1859. 
 
 My dear Mr. Prescott, 
 
 I cannot thank you enough for the third volume of your “ Philip,” 
 which you have had the kindness to send me. It came most opportunely 
 to occupy and interest me when rather depressed by indisposition. I have 
 read with great interest your account of the Rebellion of the Moriscoes, 
 which took me among the Alpuxarras mountains, which I once traversed 
 with great delight. It is a sad story, the trampling down and expulsion 
 of that gallant race from the land they won so bravely and cultivated and 
 adorned with such industry, intelligence, and good taste. You have done 
 ample justice to your subject. 
 
 The battle of Lepanto is the splendid picture of your work, and has 
 never been so admirably handled. 
 
 I congratulate you on the achievement of the volume, which forms a 
 fine variety from the other parts of your literary undertakings. 
 
 Giving you my best wishes that you may go on and prosper, I remain, 
 my dear Mr. Prescott, 
 
 Yours ever truly and heartily, 
 
 Washington Irving. 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott, Esq. 
 
 FROM LORD MACAULAY.* 
 
 Holly Lodge, Kensington, January 8,1869. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I have already delayed too long to thank you for your third volume 
 It is excellent, and, I think, superior to anything that you have written, 
 parts of the “ History of the Conquest of Mexico ” excepted. Most of 
 those good judges whose voices I have been able to collect, at this dead 
 time of the year, agree with me. This is the season when, in this countrv. 
 friends interchange good wishes. I do not know whether that fashion has 
 crossed the Atlantic. Probably not, for your Pilgrim Fathers held it to 
 be a sin to keep Christmas and Twelfth Day. I hope, however, that you 
 
 * This letter Mr. Prescott never had the pleasure of reading. It arrived > 
 few days after his death. 
 
 18 
 
410 
 
 WILLIAM HICK LING TRESCOTT. 
 
 will allow me to express my hope that the year which is beginning may 
 he a happy one to vou. 
 
 Ever yours truly, 
 
 Macaulay. 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott, Esq., &c., &c. 
 
 TO SIR CHARLES LYELL. 
 
 Boston, January 23, 1859. 
 
 My dear Sir Charles, 
 
 I have had the pleasure of receiving your friendly letter of December 
 31st, and must thank you for another, in which you so kindly invited my 
 wife and me to visit you in England. Nothing, you may well believe, 
 could give her and myself greater pleasure than to pass some time under 
 your hospitable roof, which would afford me the inexpressible satisfaction 
 ol taking some friends again by the hand, whose faces I would give much 
 to sec. But I have long since abandoned the thought of crossing the great 
 water, and the friends on the other side of it are, I fear, henceforth to find 
 a place with me only in the pleasures of memory. And pleasant recollec¬ 
 tions they afford to fill many an hour which the world would call idle, for 
 there is neither fame nor money to be made out of them. But one who 
 has crossed sixty (how near are you to that ominous line?) will have 
 found out that there is something of more worth than fame or money in 
 this world. I was last evening with Agassiz, who was in capital spirits at 
 the prospect of opening to the public a project of a great museum, for 
 which Frank Gray, as I suppose you know, left an appropriation of fifty 
 thousand dollars. There will be a subscription set on foot, I understand, 
 for raising a similar sum to provide a suitable building for the collection, 
 — a great part of which has already been formed by Agassiz himself, — 
 and the Governor, at a meeting of the friends of the scheme held the 
 other evening at James Lawrence’s, gave the most cordial assurances of 
 substantial aid from the State. Agassiz expressed the greatest confidence 
 to me of being able in a few years to establish an institution, which would 
 not shrink from comparison with similar establishments in Europe. He 
 has been suffering of late from inflammation of the eyes, a trouble to 
 which he is unaccustomed, but for which he may thank his own impru 
 dcnce. I am glad to learn that you are pursuing, with your usual energy, 
 your studies on iEtna. The subject is one of the greatest interest. 1 
 must congratulate you on the reception of the Copley medal. However 
 we may despise, or affect to despise, the vulgar volitare per ora, it is a sat¬ 
 isfaction to find one’s labors appreciated by the few who are competent to 
 pronounce on their value. 
 
 Good by, my dear Lvell. With kindest remembrances to your wife, 
 believe me always faithfully yours, 
 
 Wm. H. Prescott. 
 
 This is the latest letter from my friend that has come to 
 my knowledge. Notes he continued to write afterwards. I 
 received several such down to within two or three days of his 
 
LAST PLEASURES. 
 
 411 
 
 death, and others, I doubt not, were sent to other persons in 
 kindness or on business at the same period. In this and in all 
 respects, he went on as usual. He seemed to himself to grow 
 better and better, and was even in a condition to enjoy some of 
 the pleasures of society. We had occasionally dined at each 
 other’s houses from the preceding spring, as he has noticed in 
 his letters to Lady Lyell, already inserted; and, less than a 
 week before his death, I was to have met a small party of 
 friends at his own table. But a family affliction prevented his 
 hospitality, and I was afterwards glad, as I well might be, that 
 the dinner did not take place. Not that he would have failed 
 in abstinence ; but he was less strong than he believed himself 
 to be, and less than we all hoped he was, so that the fatal blow 
 then impending might, by the excitement of merely social in¬ 
 tercourse, have fallen sooner than it otherwise would, or, at 
 least, we might afterwards have believed that it had. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 1859. 
 
 Anxiety to return to serious Work. — Pleasant Forenoon. — Sui>- 
 den Attack of Apoplexy. — Death. — His Wishes respecting his 
 Remains.— Funeral. — Expressions of Sorrow on both sldes of 
 the Atlantic. 
 
 F ROM day to day, after New Year of 1859, he seemed 
 more to miss his old occupations. On the 27th of Jan¬ 
 uary, he talked decidedly of beginning again to work in good 
 earnest on the “ History of Philip the Second,” and speculated 
 on the question whether, if he should find his physical strength 
 unequal to the needful exertion, he might venture to reinforce 
 it by a freer diet. On the following morning — the fatal day 
 — he talked of it again, as if his mind were made up to the 
 experiment, and as if he were looking forward to his task as to 
 the opening again of an old and sure mine of content. His 
 sister, Mrs. Dexter, was happily in town making him a visit, 
 and was sitting that forenoon with Mrs. Prescott in a dressing- 
 room, not far from the study where his regular work was 
 always done. He himself, in the early part of the day, was 
 unoccupied, walking about his room for a little exercise; the 
 weather being so bad that none ventured out who could well 
 avoid it. Mr. Kirk, his ever-faithful secretary, was looking 
 over Sala’s lively book about Russia, “ A Journey due North.” 
 for his own amusement merely, but occasionally reading aloud 
 to Mr. Prescott such portions as he thought peculiarly interest¬ 
 ing or pleasant. On one passage, which referred to a former 
 Minister of Russia at Washington, he paused, because neither 
 of them could recollect the name of the person alluded to; and 
 Mi’. Prescott, who did not like to find his memory at fault, 
 went to his wife and sister to see if either of them could recall 
 it for him. After a moment’s hesitation, Mrs. Prescott hit 
 
HIS DEATH. 
 
 413 
 
 upon it; a circumstance which amused him not a little, as she 
 so rarely took an interest in anything connected with public 
 affairs, that he had rather counted upon Mrs. Dexter for the 
 information. He snapped his fingers at her, therefore, as he 
 turned away, and, with the merry laugh so characteristic of 
 his nature, passed out of the room, saying, as he went, li How 
 came you to remember ? ” They were the last words she ever 
 heard from his loved lips. 
 
 After reaching his study, he stepped into an adjoining apart¬ 
 ment. While there, Mr. Kirk heard him groan, and, hurrying 
 to him, found him struck with apoplexy and wholly unconscious. 
 This was about half past eleven o’clock in the forenoon. He 
 was instantly earned to his chamber. In the shortest possible 
 space of time, several medical attendants were at his bedside, 
 and among them — and the chief of them — was his old friend 
 and his father’s friend, Dr. Jackson. One of their number, 
 Dr. Minot, brought me the sad intelligence, adding his own 
 auguries, which were of the worst. I hastened to the house. 
 What grief and dismay I found there, needs not to be told. 
 All saw that the inevitable hour was come. Remedies availed 
 nothing. He never spoke again, never recovered an instant 
 of consciousness, and at half past two o’clock life passed away 
 without suffering. 
 
 He would himself have preferred such a death, if choice had 
 been permitted to him. He had often said so to me and to 
 others; and none will gainsay, that it was a great happiness 
 thus to die, surrounded by all those nearest and dearest to him, 
 except one much-loved son, who was at a distance, and to die, 
 too, with unimpaired faculties, and with affections not only as 
 fresh and true as they had ever been, but which, in his own 
 home and in the innermost circle of his friends, had seemed to 
 grow stronger and more tender to the last. 
 
 Four days afterwards he was buried; two wishes, however, 
 having first been fulfilled, as he had earnestly desired that they 
 should be. They related wholly to himself, and were as simple 
 and unpretending as he was. 
 
 From accidental circumstances, he had always entertained a 
 peculiar dread of being buried alive; and he had, therefore, 
 often required that measures should be taken to prevent all 
 
414 
 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
 
 possibility of the horrors that might follow such an occurrence, 
 injunctions wore obeyed. Of hi, absolute death rt was 
 indeed, permitted to doubt. It had occurred under cir¬ 
 cumstances which had been distinctly foreseen and by a blow 
 Ty too obvious, sure, and terrible. But stdl, as had been 
 promised to him, a principal vein was severed, so that, if 
 should again be awakened, it might ebb silently away with 
 
 tuiv nossible return of consciousness. 
 
 His other request was no less natural and characteristic. 
 
 He desired that his remains, before they should be deposite 
 in the house appointed for all living, might rest, for a time, in 
 the cherished room where were gathered the intellectual ti eas¬ 
 es amidst which he had found so much of the happiness of 
 Ids life. And tliis wish, too, was fulfilled. Silently, noiseless- 
 lv he was carried there. Few witnessed the solemn scene, bu 
 on those who did, it made an impression not to be forgotten. 
 Thl he lay, in that rich, fair room, - his manly form neither 
 shrunk nor wasted by disease; the features that had expressed 
 and inspired so much love still hardly touched by the effacing 
 ‘turners of death, —there he lay, in unmoved, inaccessible peace, 
 and the lettered dead of all ages and climes and countries coi¬ 
 ned there seemed to look down upon him in their earth y 
 andpasshmless immortality, and claim that Ins name should 
 hereafter be imperishably associated with tliens. 
 
 Bu, ,bi, was only for a season. A, the appointed hour- 
 his am y, and none else, following-be was borne to th 
 Church' 1 vriiere he was wont to worship. No ceremonies had 
 been arranged for the occasion. There had been no invita- 
 r„. There was no show. But the church was fu, was 
 crowded The Representatives of the Commonwealth, then m 
 
 had adjourned so as be present; J e "embers£ 
 Historical Society, whose honored wish to take othuai cm 0 
 of the duties of the occasion had been declined, were there as 
 mo,™ 7 The whole community was moved; the.poorwhom 
 
 me, whose — 
 
 gSsuT. ~ never before witnessed in this land fo, 
 
HIS FUNERAL. 
 
 416 
 
 the obsequies of any man of letters wholly unconnected, as he 
 had been, with public affairs and the parties or passions of the 
 time; — one who was known to most of the crowd collected 
 around his bier only by tlie silent teachings of his printed 
 works. For, of the multitude assembled, few could have 
 known him personally; many of them had never seen him. 
 But all came to mourn. All felt that an honor had been 
 taken from the community and the country. They came be¬ 
 cause they felt the loss they had sustained, and only for that. 
 And after the simple and solemn religious rites befitting the 
 occasion had been performed, 1 they still crowded round the 
 funeral train and through the streets, following, with sadness 
 and awe, the hearse that was bearing from their sight all that 
 remained of one who had been watched not a week before as 
 he trod the same streets in apparent happiness and health. It 
 was a grand and touching tribute to intellectual eminence and 
 personal worth. 
 
 He was buried with his father and mother, and with the 
 little daughter he had so tenderly loved, in the family tomb 
 under St. Paul’s Church; and, as he was laid down beside 
 them, the audible sobs of the friends who filled that gloomy 
 crypt bore witness to their love for his generous and sweet 
 nature, even more than to their admiration for his literary 
 distinctions, or to their sense of the honor he had conferred 
 on his country. 
 
 Other expressions of the general feeling followed. The 
 Massachusetts Historical Society; the Historical Societies of 
 New York, of Pennsylvania, of Maryland, and of Illinois; 
 the American Academy of Arts and Sciences; the American 
 Antiquarian Society; the New England Genealogical Society; 
 the Essex Institute, meeting on the spot where he was bom; 
 and the Boston Athenaeum and Harvard College, with which, 
 from his youth, he had been much connected, — each bore 
 its especial and appropriate part in the common mourning. 
 The multitudinous periodicals and newspapers of the country 
 were filled with it, and the same tone was soon afterwards 
 heard from no small portion of what is most eminent for 
 
 1 By Mr. Prescott’s clergyman, the Rev. Rufus Ellis, pastor of the First 
 Congregational Church in Boston. 
 
WILLIAM HICIvLlNG PRESCOTT. 
 
 4 If. 
 
 —-i—: : 
 
 either side of the bSn^d blneficent Ught 
 
 loss had been sustained; that a Drunani 
 
 had been extinguished. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 6 A 
 
 18 * 
 
APPENDIX A. 
 
 THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 (See p. 1.) 
 
 f HE Prescott family belong to the original Puritan stock and blood 
 
 a of New England. They came from Lancashire, and about 1640, 
 twenty years only after the first settlement at Plymouth and ten years after 
 that of Boston, were established in Middlesex County, Massachusetts, 
 where not a few of the honored race still remain. 
 
 Like most of the earlier emigrants, who left their native homes from 
 conscientious motives, they were men of strongly marked characters, but 
 of small estates, and devoted to mechanical and agricultural pursuits, — 
 circumstances which fitted them as nothing else could so well have done 
 for the trials and labors incident to their settlement in this Western wilder¬ 
 ness. But, even among men like these, the Prescotts were distinguished 
 from the first. They enjoyed, to an uncommon degree, the respect of the 
 community which they helped to found, and became at once more or less 
 concerned in the management of the entire Colony of Massachusetts, when 
 those who took part in its affairs bore heavy burdens and led anxious 
 lives. 
 
 John, the first emigrant, was a large, able-bodied man, who, after living 
 some time in Watertown, established himself in Lancaster, then on the 
 frontiers of civilization. There he acquired a good estate and defended it 
 bravely from the incursions of the Indians, to whom he made himself 
 formidable by occasionally appearing before them in a helmet and cuirass, 
 which he had brought with him from England, where he was said to have 
 served under Cromwell. His death is placed in 1683. 
 
 Of him are recorded by Mr. William Prescott, father of the historian, 
 the following traditionary anecdotes, — given him by Dr. Oliver Prescott, 
 — which may serve, at least, to mark the condition of the times when he 
 lived. 
 
 “ He brought over,” says Mr. Prescott, “ a coat of mail-armor and 
 habiliments, such as were used by field-officers of that time. An aged 
 lady informed Mr. Oliver Prescott 1 that she had seen him dressed in this 
 armor. Lancaster (where Mr. Prescott established himself) was a frontier 
 town, much exposed to the incursions of the Indians. John was a sturdy, 
 strong man, with a stem countenance, and, whenever he had a difficulty 
 with the Indians, clothed himself with his coat of armor, — helmet, cuirass, 
 and gorget, — which gave him a fierce and frightful appearance. It is 
 
 1 Born in 1731, and died in 1804. 
 
420 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 related, that when, on one occasion, they stole a valuable horse from him, 
 he put on his armor and pursued them, and after some time overtook the 
 party that had his horse. They were surprised to see him alone, and one 
 of the chiefs approached him witli his tomahawk uplifted. John told him 
 to strike, which he did, and, finding the blow made no impression on his 
 cap, he was astonished, and asked John to let him put it on, and then to 
 strike on his head, as he had done on John’s. The helmet was too small 
 for the Indian’s head, and the weight of the blow settled it down to his 
 ears, scraping off the skin on both sides. They gave him his horse, and 
 let him go, thinking him a supernatural being. 
 
 “ At another time the Indians set fire to his barn. Old John put on 
 his armor and rushed out upon them. They retreated before him, and he 
 let his horses and cattle out of the burning stable. At another time they 
 set fire to his saw-mill. The old man armed cap-'a-pied, went out, drove 
 them off, and extinguished the fire.” 
 
 Jonas, a son of the first emigrant, was born in 1648, and died in 1723, 
 seventy-five years old. He lived in Groton. He was a captain of the 
 yeomanry militia, at a time when the neighborhood of the savages made 
 such a post important to the safety of the country ; and he was a justice 
 of the peace when that office, also, implied a degree of consideration and 
 authority now unknown to it. 
 
 Benjamin, one of the sons of Jonas, was born January 4, 1695-6. He 
 represented his native town many years in the General Court of the Colony, 
 was a colonel in the militia of his own county, and of the adjoining 
 county of Worcester, and in the year before his death, which occurred in 
 1738, was delegated to the important service of defending the territorial 
 rights of Massachusetts against the claims of New Hampshire, before a 
 royal commission appointed to adjudge the case. 2 
 
 Benjamin had three sons, each of whom distinguished himself in the 
 line of life he had chosen. 
 
 The eldest, James, remained on the family estate at home, and culti¬ 
 vated and managed it. He passed through all the degrees of military rank, 
 from that of an ensign to that of colonel. He represented Groton, for a 
 long period, in the General Court, and was afterwards in the Colonial 
 Governor’s Council. At the outbreak of the Bevolution, taking the popu¬ 
 lar side, he became a member of the Provincial Congress and of the Board 
 of War, and, after the peace of 1783, was successively sheriff of the county 
 and Judge of the Court of Common Pleas. He died, more than seventy- 
 nine years old, in 1800, at Groton, where the family had then been settled 
 above a century. 
 
 Oliver, the youngest son of Benjamin, was bom in 1731. He was grad¬ 
 uated at Harvard College in 1750, and became subsequently an eminent 
 physician in Groton and its neighborhood. But, like others of his family, 
 he turned to public affairs, both military and civil. In 1777, and for sev¬ 
 eral years afterwards, he was of the Governor’s Council, and in 1778 he 
 became one of the major-generals in the service of the Commonwealth. A 
 
 * This has sometimes been otherwise stated, but the record leaves no doubt 
 upon the matter. See Journal of the House of Represer tatives, August 12th, 
 ani October 13th, 1737. 
 
THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 421 
 
 severe illness in 1781 somewhat impaired his activity, and the same year 
 he was appointed Judge of Probate for his native county of Middlesex, an 
 office which he held, to the great acceptance of all, till his death. He, 
 however, never ceased to be interested in his original profession, and, be¬ 
 sides other marks of distinction for his medical knowledge, he received in 
 1791 the degree of Doctor in Medicine, honoris causa, from Harvard Col¬ 
 lege. He died in 1804, leaving several sons, the eldest of whom, Oliver, 
 delivered an address before the Massachusetts Medical Society in 1813, on 
 the Secale cornutum or ergot, which was found so important in relation to 
 the use of that remedy, that, besides being reprinted in this country and in 
 London, it was ttanslated into French and German, and inserted in the 
 thirteenth volume of the Dictionnaire des Sciences Me'dicales. He died at 
 Newburyport in 1827. 
 
 William, the second son of Benjamin, and grandfather of the historian, 
 was of a more bold and enterprising nature than his brother James, and 
 has left a name which will not be forgotten. He was born in Groton on 
 the 20th of February, 1726; but, in a spirit of adventure common through¬ 
 out New England at that period, and not yet unknown, he preferred to 
 remove farther into the land and establish himself in the primeval forest. 
 This he did, before he was of age. But it was not necessary for him to 
 go far. He removed only a few miles, and afterwards, when he had served 
 as a soldier, caused the land on a part of which he had settled to be made 
 a township, naming it after Sir William Peppered, who had just then so 
 much distinguished himself by the capture of Louisbourg. Pepperell is in 
 the upper part of the county of Middlesex, just on the line of the State, 
 and next to the town of Hollis, which is in New Hampshire. There, not 
 above a mile from the border, he always lived, — or at least he always had 
 his only home there, — holding his estate, as his great-grandson continues 
 to hold it still in 1862, under the original Indian title. The Indians, in¬ 
 deed, long continued to be his near neighbors ; so near, that there were 
 periods of anxiety, during which those who went to the field with the 
 plough did not feel safe unless their rifles stood leaning against the neigh¬ 
 boring trees. 
 
 This was a rude training, no doubt; and living, as he did, among the 
 savages, an unmarried man, it seems early to have given him soldierlike 
 habits and tastes. At any rate, when he was twenty-seven years old, he 
 was a lieutenant in the militia, and at twenty-nine, in the true spirit of ad¬ 
 venture, entered, with the same rank, the regular service in the Colonial 
 troops sent to remove the French irom Nova Scotia. This was in 1755. 
 But the service was a short, and not an agreeable one. On his return 
 home, therefore, he left the army, and married Abigail Hale, a descendant, 
 like himself, of the original Puritan stock of the country. It was a for¬ 
 tunate connection for the young soldier, who now seemed to have settled 
 down on his farm for a peaceful and happy life, retaining only so much 
 of his military tastes as was implied by accepting the command of the 
 yeomanry of his neighborhood. 
 
 But troublesome times soon followed, and a spirit like his was sure ta 
 be stirred by them. This he early permitted to be seen and known. In 
 August, 1774, he counselled his assembled townsmen to stand by the men 
 of Boston in their resistance to the unjust and unconstitutional claims of 
 
422 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 the royal authority, and embodied their thoughts and purposes In a fervent 
 letter which is still extant. “ lie not dismayed,” he said, “ nor disheartened 
 in this day of great trials. We heartily sympathize with you, and are 
 always ready to do all in our power for your support, comfort, and relief, 
 knowing that Providence has placed you where you must stand the first 
 shock. We consider, we are all embarked in one bottom, and must sink 
 or swim together .” 3 Soon afterwards, in 1775, being recognized as a 
 good soldier, who in Nova Scotia had become familiar with the discipline 
 of a camp, and being, besides, no less known for his political firmness, he 
 was made colonel of a regiment of minute-men, who, as their name im¬ 
 plies, were to be ready at a moment’s warning for any revolutionary 
 emergency. It was a duty he loved, and it was not long before his 
 courage and firmness were put to the test . 4 
 
 On the 19th of April, 1775, within an hour after the news reached him 
 of the skirmishes at Lexington and Concord, he hurried to Groton, and, 
 collecting as many of his men as he could muster, and leaving orders for 
 the rest to follow, marched to Cambridge, hoping to overtake the British 
 troops, then in full retreat towards Boston. This, however, was impossi¬ 
 ble. But a force, full of the active and devoted spirit of the time, was 
 rapidly collected at Cambridge, under the command of General Artemas 
 Ward. By his orders, Colonel Prescott was despatched on the evening 
 of June the 16th, with about a thousand men, to Charlestown, where, in 
 the course of the night, he threw up a redoubt on Bunker's Hill, —or to 
 speak more accurately on Breed’s Hill, — and fought there, the next day, 
 the first real battle of the Involution, manfully putting in peril that reputa¬ 
 tion, which, to a soldier, is dearer than life, and which, if the cause he 
 then espoused had failed, would have left his own name and that of his 
 descendants blackened with the charge of rebellion. But things did not 
 
 3 Bancroft’s “ History of the United States,” Vol. VII. (Boston 1858), p. 99. 
 This is the document already alluded to, {ante, p. 403, note,) as sent by Mr. 
 Bancroft to Mr. Prescott the historian. 
 
 4 Two circumstances in relation to this commission are worth notice. The 
 first is, that, with a disregard to exactness not uncommon in times of great 
 peril, the month and day of the month when the commission was issued are 
 not given. The other is, that the President of “the Congress of the Colony 
 of the Massachusetts Bay ” who signed it is General Joseph Warren, who fell 
 a few days later on Bunker Hill; and the justice of the peace before whom, 
 on the 26th of May, 1775, Colonel Prescott took the oath of allegiance, was 
 Samuel Dexter, one of the leading men of the Colon}’, — the grandfather of 
 Mr. Franklin Dexter, who, nearly half a century later, married a grand¬ 
 daughter of the same Colonel Prescott, — a man of severe integrity, and of 
 an original, strong, uncompromising character, who, during the short period 
 in which his health allowed him to occupy himself with political affairs, ex 
 ercised no small influence in the troubled commonwealth. A notice of him, 
 by his son, the eminent lawyer, who died in 1816, may be found in the 
 “ Monthly Anthology ” for 1810. Mr. Dexter, the elder, was the founder of 
 the Dexter Lectureship of Biblical Literature in Harvard College. At the 
 time when he signed the commission of Colonel Prescott, he was a member 
 of the Provincial Congress. Colonel Prescott, it should be noted, served as 
 colonel before he took the oath, namely, as early as the month ot April 
 
THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 423 
 
 jo turn out. He was, indeed, defeated, — mainly for want of ammu 
 nition, — and driven from the hill, which he was among the last to leave. 
 A brave resistance, however, had been made, and the defeat had many of 
 the results of a victory. When Washington heard of it, he exclaimed, 
 “ The liberties of the country are safe”; 6 7 and Franklin wrote, “ England 
 has lost her Colonies forever.” 6 
 
 Colonel Prescott continued in the army until the end of 1776/ when, on 
 the retirement of the American troops from Long Island, the excellent man¬ 
 ner in which he brought oft' his regiment was publicly commended by Gen¬ 
 eral Washington. But from this period until his death, except during the 
 autumn of 1777, when, as a volunteer with a few of his former brother-offi¬ 
 cers, lie assisted in the capture of Burgoyne at Saratoga, he resided on his 
 farm in Pcpperell. He did not, however, withdraw himself entirely from 
 public affairs. He served as a Representative in the Legislature of Massa¬ 
 chusetts, and when the formidable insurrection known as “ Slrays’s Rebel¬ 
 lion” broke out in his own county of Middlesex, he hastened to Concord 
 and assisted in protecting the courts of justice, and in preserving law and 
 order. He died on the 13th of October, 1795, and was buried with the. 
 military honors becoming his life and character. His widow, an admirable 
 person, full of gentleness and dignity, survived him many years, and died 
 in 1821, at the advanced age of eighty-eight. 
 
 They had but one child, William, who was bom on his father’s farm, 
 August the 19th, 1762, and lived there, in great simplicity, until 1776. 
 His early education was entirely due to his mother, for whom be always 
 felt a deep reverence, and of whom, late in his own life, he said: “ She 
 was more remarkable, than any one I have ever known, for her power of 
 governing children and young people, and that without any austerity in 
 her manner. They all respected, loved, and obeyed her. Her kindness 
 won their hearts. I feel that I am indebted to her wise and affectionate 
 government and guidance of my childhood and youth, — her daily coun¬ 
 sels and instructions, — for whatever character and success I may have 
 had in life.” Considering what Mr. Prescott had become when he wroto 
 these words, a more beautiful tribute could hardly have been paid to 
 womanly tenderness and wisdom. 
 
 But, at the age of fourteen, he was placed under the instruction of 
 “Master Moody,” of Dummer Academy, in Essex County, then known 
 as the best teacher of Latin and Greek in New England, and — what was 
 of no less consequence to his pupils — wholly devoted to his duties, which 
 he loved passionately. Nearly three years of careful training under such 
 an instructor almost changed the boy to a man, and four years more at 
 Harvard College, where he was graduated in 1783, completed the trans¬ 
 formation. 
 
 But as he approached manhood, he felt the responsibilities of life 
 
 6 Irving’s “ Life of Washington” (1855). Vol. I. p. 488 
 
 * The last words of Vol. VII. of Bancroft’s “ History of the United States ” 
 (1858). 
 
 7 His commission in the army of “ The United Colonies,” signed by John 
 Hancock, President, and Charles Thomson, Secretary, is dated January 1 , 
 1776 , and constitutes him Colonel of the “ Seventh Regiment of Foot.” 
 
424 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 already crowding upon liim. The first of these, and probably the one that 
 pressed heaviest upon his thoughts, was the idea that, for the seven preced¬ 
 ing years, he had been a burden upon the small means of his father, when 
 he might rather have been a relief. This state of things he determined at 
 once should no longer continue, and, from that moment, he never received 
 any pecuniary assistance from his family. On the contrary, after the 
 death of his father, whose life, like that of most military men «f his time, 
 had been one of generous hospitality, rather than of thrift, he assumed 
 the debts with which the estate had become encumbered, and, for above a 
 quarter of a century, made the most ample and affectionate arrangements 
 for the support of his much-loved mother, who thus died in peace and hap¬ 
 piness on the spot whese she had lived above sixty years. 
 
 His earliest resource, when he began the world for himself, was one 
 then common among us, and still not very rare, for young men who have 
 left college without the means necessary to continue their education 
 further. He became a teacher. At first, it was for a few months only, in 
 Brooklyn, Connecticut; but afterwards for two years in Beverly, Massa¬ 
 chusetts. Here he lived very happily in a cultivated society, and here he 
 studied his profession under Mr. Dane, a learned jurist and statesman 
 who afterwards founded the Law Professorship in Harvard College that 
 bears his name. During this period Mr. Prescott received an invitation 
 to become a member of General Washington’s household, where, while 
 pursuing his legal studies, he would have acted as the private tutor of a 
 youthful member of the family, to whom its great head was much 
 attached. But the young law-student declined the offer, in consequence 
 of his previous engagements, and his college classmate, Lear, took the 
 coveted place. 
 
 Mr. Prescott began the practice of his profession in Beverly; but, at 
 the end of two years, in 1789, finding the field there not wide enough for 
 his purposes, he removed to the adjacent town of Salem, the shire town 
 of the county, and the seat of much prosperous activity. His success, 
 from the first, was marked and honorable, and it continued such so long 
 as he remained there. During a part of the time, he entered a little, but 
 only a little, into political life, serving successively as a Representative of 
 Salem and as a Senator for the county of Essex in the Legislature of the 
 State. But, although he took no selfish interest in the success of any 
 party, he maintained then, as he did till Iris death, the opinions of the 
 Federalists, who received their name from an early and faithful support 
 of the Federal Constitution, and who subsequently devoted themselves to 
 sustaining the policy and measures of Washington during his civil admin¬ 
 istration of the affairs of the country. In truth, however, while Mr. 
 Prescott lived in Salem, he gave himself up almost exclusively to his 
 profession, in which his talents, his integrity, and his industry gained for 
 him so high a rank, that, as early as 1806, he was offered a seat on the 
 bench of the Supreme Court of the Commonwealth; an offer repeated 
 with much urgency in 1813, but one which, on both occasions, he de¬ 
 clined, partly from the state of his family, but chiefly from considerations 
 connected with his health. His refusal occasioned no little regret; for it 
 was a place to which he was admirably adapted by the judicial character 
 of his mind, by his moral courage, and by a singular power he had of 
 
THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 425 
 
 holding any subject under advisement until the last moment, and then 
 deciding it as promptly and firmly as if he had never hesitated. 
 
 But from 1803, when he ruptured a blood-vessel in liis lungs, and was 
 compelled, in consequence, to give up all severe occupation for many 
 months he was never an active or vigorous man. To relieve himself, 
 therefore, from a kind of business which was quite as onerous as it was 
 profitable, and which made his life in Salem more burdensome than ho 
 could well bear, he determined, in 1808, to remove to Boston. He did 
 so, however, with reluctance. He had many kind friends in Salem, to 
 whom he and his family were sincerely attached. He had passed there 
 nineteen years of great professional usefulness, enjoying the respect of a 
 very intelligent and thriving community. He had been happ^ much 
 beyond the common lot, and he was by no means without misgit |igs at 
 the thought of a change so important and decisive. 
 
 His removal, however, proved fortunate beyond his hopes. His pro¬ 
 fessional business in Boston, while it was less oppressive than his business 
 in Salem had been, insured him immediately an increased and ample 
 income. Into public affairs he entered little, and only so far as his duty 
 plainly required ; for political life was never agreeable to him, and, besides 
 this, it interfered with his professional labors and the domestic repose he 
 always loved and needed. But from 1809 he served for a few years in 
 the Council of the Commonwealth, under Governor Gore and Governor 
 Strong, and enjoyed all the confidence of those eminent and faithful mag¬ 
 istrates, as they enjoyed all his. In 1814 he was elected, by the Legisla¬ 
 ture of Massachusetts, to be one of the delegates to the Convention 
 which, in that year, met at Hartford, in Connecticut, to consider the con¬ 
 dition of the New England States, exposed and neglected as they were 
 by the general government, during the war then carrying on against 
 Great Britain. It was inconvenient and disagreeable to him to accept 
 the office. But he had no doubt that he ought to do it. Nor did he ever 
 afterwards regret it, or fail to do justice to the honorable and high-miuded 
 men who were associated with him in its duties. 
 
 He went to that remarkable Convention, fearing, unquestionably, from 
 the great excitement which then prevailed throughout New England on 
 the subject of the war, that rash measures, tending to affect the integrity 
 of the Union, might be suggested. But he was present through the 
 whole session, and found his apprehensions entirely groundless. “ No such 
 measure,” he said, “ was ever proposed in the Convention, nor was there,” 
 in his opinion deliberately recorded long afterwards, “ a member of that 
 body who would have consented to any act, which, in his judgment, 
 would have tended directly or indirectly to destroy or impair the union 
 of the States.” If there was ever a man loyal to the constitution and 
 laws under which he lived, it was Mr. Prescott; nor did he deem any one 
 of his associates at Hartford, in this respect, less faithful than himself. 
 
 In 1818 he was appointed Judge of the Court of Common Pleas for 
 the City of Boston, and accepted the office, thinking to hold it so as to 
 facilitate his retirement from the practice of his profession. But he found 
 it more laborious and engrossing than he had anticipated, and resigned it 
 at the end of a year. 
 
 In 1820-21 he served as a delegate from the city of Boston to the 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 42 o 
 
 Convention for revising the Constitution of the Commonwealth of Massa¬ 
 chusetts, and, on its first organization, was made chairman of the com¬ 
 mittee charged with the most difficult and perplexing subject that was 
 submitted to that body "or discussion and decision, — the representation 
 of the people in their own government. It was not an enviable post; but, 
 by his wisdom and moderation, by an energy and a firmness that were still 
 always conciliating, and by a power of persuasion that rested on truth, he 
 at last led the Convention to a decision, although, at one critical moment, 
 it had seemed impossible to decide anything. The members of that body, 
 therefore, as distinguished for talent and for personal character as any that 
 was ever assembled in Massachusetts, ahvays felt — even those who had 
 differed ('••om him — that they and the Commonwealth w’ere under lasting 
 obligations to his wisdom and integrity. 
 
 lie continued at the bar until 1828, making in all above forty years of 
 service to the law. During more than half of that time his practice was 
 as extensive, as honorable, and as successful as that of any member of the 
 profession in the State, which, while he belonged to it, numbered in its 
 ranks such men as Sullivan, Parsons, Dexter, Otis, and Webster, all of 
 whom, except the last, ceased to be members of the bar before he did. 
 During the whole of his professional life he enjoyed, in an eminent degree, 
 the kindly regard and sincere respect of his brethren, and of the different 
 members of the courts before which he was called to practice, no one of 
 whom ever, for a moment, imagined that any spot had fallen on the abso¬ 
 lute purity and integrity of his character. Of his distinction as a jurist 
 there was as little doubt. Mr. Dauiel Webster, when, with much sensi¬ 
 bility, he announced Mr. Prescott’s death to the Supreme Court, then in 
 session at Boston, well said of him, that “ at the moment of his retire¬ 
 ment from the bar of Massachusetts he stood at its head for legal learning 
 and attainments.” 
 
 The last sixteen years of Iris life were spent in the quietness of his 
 home, where his original nature, disencumbered of the cares that had op¬ 
 pressed him during a very busy life, seemed to come forth with the fresh¬ 
 ness of youth, lie read a great deal, especially on subjects connected 
 with religion, ethics, metaphysics, and history, — all of them sciences of 
 which he never tired. Agriculture, too, the occupation of some of his 
 earlier days, had great charms for him; and he showed no little skill in 
 cultivating the estate on which he was born, and where, during much of 
 his life, and especially the latter part of it, he spent a happy portion 
 of each year. But whether in the city, or at Pepperell, or on the sea¬ 
 shore at Nahant, where, during many seasons, he passed the hottest weeks 
 of our hot summers, he loved to be surrounded by his family, — his chil¬ 
 dren and his grandchildren ; and with them and among his private friends, 
 he found in his decliniug years what, in the intervals of leisure during his 
 whole life, he had most enjoyed and valued. 
 
 It was in this happy retirement that there broke in upon him the light 
 which so gilded the mild evening of his days, — the success of his son as 
 an historian, shedding new distinction on a name already dear to his 
 country, and carrying that name far beyond the limits of the language 
 spoken by all who had borne it before him. Mr. Prescott in the inner¬ 
 most circle of his friends never disguised the happiness his son’s reputation 
 
THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 427 
 
 gave him, although certainly, from the instinctive modesty of his nature, 
 nothing could be more graceful than the way in which he expressed it. 
 
 But there is an end to everything earthly. In the autumn of 1843, 
 while at his old home in Pepperell, 8 lie had a slight attack of paralysis. 
 He recovered from it, however, easily, and, except to the ever-watchful 
 eyes of affection, seemed fully restored to his wonted health. But he him¬ 
 self understood the warning, and lived, though cheerfully and with much 
 enjoyment of life, yet as one who never forgot that his time must be short, 
 and that his summons could hardly fail to be sudden. In the last days of 
 November, 184-4, he felt himself slightly incommoded, —not, as before, in 
 the head, but in the region of the heart. As late, however, as the evening 
 before his death, no change was noticed in his appearance when he retired 
 to bed, nor is it probable that, after a night of his usual comfortable rest, 
 he noticed any change in himself when he rose the next morning. At 
 any rate he went, as was his custom, quietly and directly to his library. 
 But he had hardly reached it, when he perceived that the messenger of 
 death was at his side. He therefore desired the faithful attendant, who 
 had for many years been attached to his person, not to leave him, and a 
 few moments afterwards, surrounded by the family he so much loved, ill 
 the full possession of his faculties, and with a peaceful trust in his Maker 
 and in the blessedness of a future life, he expired without a struggle. It 
 was Sunday, December the 8th, 1844, and on the following Wednesday 
 he was buried in the crypt of St. Paul’s Church. 
 
 While he was a young lawyer in Salem, Mr. Prescott was married, 
 December 18th, 1793, to Catherine Greene Hickliug, daughter o Thomas 
 Hickling, Esq., earlier a merchant of Boston, but then, and subsequently 
 until his death at the age of ninety-one, Consul of the United States in 
 the island of St. Michael. It was a connection full of blessing to him 
 and to his house during the fifty-one years that it pleased God to permit 
 it to be continued. Pew women have done more to relieve their husbands 
 from the cares of life, and to bear for them even a disproportionate share 
 of its burdens. Still fewer have, at the same time, made their influence 
 felt abroad through society, as she did. But she was full of energy and 
 activity, of health, cheerfulness, and the love of doing good. Probably 
 no woman, in the position she occupied among us, ever gave her thoughts, 
 her conversation, and her life in so remarkable a degree to the welfare of 
 others. When, therefore, she died, May 17th, 1852, nearly eighty-five 
 years old, it is not too much to say that her death was mourned as a 
 public loss. 9 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Prescott had seven children, all of whom were born to 
 them in Salem, between 1795 and 1806, but four died without reaching 
 the age of a single year. 
 
 Of the other three the eldest was the historian. 
 
 The next was Catherine Elizabeth, who still survives (1862). She was 
 born November 12th, 1799, and was married September 28th, 1819, to 
 Franklin Dexter, son of Samuel Dexter, the eminent lawyer and states¬ 
 man. Mr. Franklin Dexter was bom in 179.3, and, after a careful aca¬ 
 demical and professional education, and a visit to the most interesting and 
 
 * See ante, p. 190. 
 
 9 See ante. o. 308. 
 
428 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 cultivated portions of Europe, established himself as a lawyer in Boston. 
 He rose early to distinction at the bar, and by his courage, his quickness 
 of perception, his acute and manly logic, and an intellectual grasp which 
 the strongest could not escape, he vindicated for himself a place in tho 
 front rank of a company of eminent men, such as New England had 
 never before seen collected. But his tastes and his preferences led him 
 into paths widely different from theirs. His mind turned instinctively to 
 what was refined and beautiful. He loved letters more than law, and art 
 more than letters; so that, perhaps without deliberately intending it, he 
 always sought much of his happiness in both, and found it. When, 
 therefore, he had reached an age at which, with a constitution of only 
 moderate vigor, repose became desirable, and had obtained a fortune equal 
 to the wants of one who never over-estimated the worth of what the world 
 most desires, he gave himself more and more to the happiness of domestic 
 life and to the pursuit of ait, towards which, from an early period, he had 
 — and perhaps rightly — thought his genius more inclined than to any 
 other. But life was not long protracted. He died in 1857, leaving be 
 hind him in the minds of his contemporaries a persuasion, that, if his 
 severe taste in what related even to his favorite pursuits, and the fastidious 
 acuteness with which he looked quite through the ways ot men, and de¬ 
 tected the low motives which often lead to power, had not cnecked him in 
 mid-career, he might have risen to an eminence where he would have left 
 behind him not a few of the rivals to whom, during the active years of his 
 life, he had willingly yielded the honors of success. 
 
 The only brother of the historian who lived beyond infancy was Ed¬ 
 ward Goldsborough, who was born at Salem, January 2d, 1804. At a suit¬ 
 able age, after the removal of his father to Boston, he was sent to the 
 same school in which his elder brother had laid the foundation for his dis¬ 
 tinction. But his tendencies were not then towards intellectual culture, 
 and, at his own earnest desire, he was placed in a counting-house, that he 
 might devote himself to mercantile pursuits. A taste for letters was, how¬ 
 ever, somewhat to his own surprise, awakened in him a little later; and, 
 with sudden but earnest efforts to recover the time that had been lost, he 
 succeeded in obtaining a degree at Harvard College in 1825. Subse¬ 
 quently, he studied law with his father, under tho most favorable circum¬ 
 stances ; and after 1828, when he began the practice of his profession, he 
 not only took his fair share of the business of the time, but, as so many 
 of his family before him had done, he served the Commonwealth both in 
 its Legislature and in its military organization, rising to the rank of colo¬ 
 nel in the militia. This seemed for a time to satisfy a nature too eager 
 for excitement and distinction. But after seven years of great activity, a 
 change came over him. He was grown weary of a busy, bustling life, 
 full of temptations which he had not always effectually resisted. His re¬ 
 ligious convictions, which from his youth had been strong, if not constant, 
 now became paramount. He was pained that he had not better obeyed 
 them, and, after many struggles, he resolutely determined to give himself 
 up to them entirely. And he did it. He began at once a course of reg¬ 
 ular studies for the ministry, and in 1837 was settled as an Episcopalian 
 clergyman in a retired parish of New Jersey, where he devoted himself 
 earnestly to the iuties ho had assumed. But his labors were severe, and 
 
THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 429 
 
 his health failed under them ; slowly, indeed, but regularly. Still, no 
 anxiety was felt for the result; and when he determined to visit the 
 Azores, where several of his mother’s family, as we have seen, had long 
 resided, he embarked with every promise that the mild climate of those 
 Fortunate Isles would restore the impaired forces of his physical constitu¬ 
 tion, and permit him soon to resume the duties he loved. But on the 
 second day out, a sudden attack — perhaps apoplectic and certainly one 
 of which there had been no warning symptom—broke down his strength 
 at once; and early the next morning, April 11th, 1844, he died without a 
 movement of his person, like one falling asleep, his watch held gently in 
 his hand, as if he had just been noting the hour. 
 
 After his settlement as a clergyman in New Jersey, he was married to 
 an excellent and devoted wife, who survived him only a few years, but 
 they had no children. 
 
 William Hickling Prescott, the historian, as it has already been record¬ 
 ed, has three surviving children, viz.: — 
 
 1. William Gardiner Prescott, born January 27, 1826, and named after 
 his father’s friend, William Howard Gardiner, Esq. He was mar¬ 
 ried November 6, 1851, to Augusta, daughter of Joseph Augustus 
 Peabody, Esq., of Salem, and they have four children, — 
 
 Edith, born April 20, 1853, 
 
 William Hickling, born February 22, 1855, 
 
 Linzee, born November 27, 1859, 
 
 Louisa, born February 19, 1863. 
 
 2. Elizabeth Prescott, born July 27, 1828, and married, March 16, 
 1852, to James Lawrence, Esq., son of the late Hon. Abbott Law¬ 
 rence, Minister of the United States at the Court of St. James from 
 1849 to 1853. They have three children,— 
 
 James, born March 23, 1853, 
 
 Gertrude, born February 19, 1855, 
 
 Prescott, bom January 17, 1861. 
 
 3. William Amory Prescott, born January 25, 1830, and named after 
 his mother’s brother and his father’s friend, William Amory, Esq. 
 He is unmarried (1862). 
 
APPENDIX B 
 
 THE CROSSED SWORDS. 
 
 (See p. 61.) 
 
 /MOLONEL WILLIAM PRESCOTT, the grandfather of the his- 
 torian, died, as has been mentioned, in 1795. Captain John Linzee, 
 grandfather of the historian’s wife, was born at Portsmouth, England, in 
 1743, but, establishing himself in the United States after the war of the 
 Revolution was over, died at Milton, near Boston, in 1798. In process of 
 time, the swords of these two opposing commanders came by transmission 
 and inheritance to the historian, and were by hint arranged, first over one 
 of the bookcases in his quiet study in Bedford Street, and afterwards on 
 the cornice of his library in Beacon Street. In either place the sight was 
 a striking one, and generally attracted the attention of strangers. Mr. 
 Thackeray, whose vigilant eye did not fail to notice it when he visited 
 Mr. Prescott in 1852, thus alludes to it very happily in the opening of his 
 “ Virginians,” published six years later: — 
 
 “ On the library-wall of one of the most famous writers of America 
 there hang two crossed swords, which his relatives wore in the great war 
 af Independence. The one sword was gallantly drawn in the service of 
 the king, the other was the weapon of a brave and honored republican 
 soldier. The possessor of the harmless trophy has earned for himself a 
 name alike honored in his ancestors’ country and in his own, where genius 
 like his has always a peaceful welcome.” 
 
 By the thirteenth article of Mr. Prescott’s will he provided for the dis¬ 
 position of these swords as follows : — 
 
 “ The sword which belonged to my grandfather, Colonel William Pres¬ 
 cott, worn by him in the battle of Bunker Hill, I give to the Massachusetts 
 Historical Society, as a curiosity suitable to be preserved among their col 
 lections ; and the sword which belonged to ray wife’s grandfather, Captain 
 Linzee, of the British Royal Navy, who commanded one of the enemy’s 
 ship’s lying off Charlestown during the same battle, I give to my wife.” 
 
 As Mrs. Prescott, and the other heirs of Captain Linzee, desired that 
 the swords should not be separated, Mr. Gardiner, who was Mr. Prescott’s 
 executor, sent them both to the Historical Society, accompanied by an in¬ 
 teresting letter addressed to the Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, its President, 
 and to be found, dated April 19th, 1859, in the volume of the “Proceed¬ 
 ings ” of that Society published in 1860, pp. 258-264. 
 
 Resolutions offered by Mr. Winthrop were unanimously adopted, di¬ 
 recting the swords to be arranged in a conspicuous place in the halls of 
 the Society, crossing each other, as they had been crossed in Mr. Prescott’s 
 
THE CROSSED SWORDS. 
 
 431 
 
 library, and with suitable inscriptions jetting forth their history and the 
 circumstances of their reception. 
 
 A tablet of black-walnut was, therefore, prepared, to which they now 
 stand attached, crossed through a carved wreath of olive-leaves; while 
 over them are two shields, leaning against each other, and bearing respec¬ 
 tively the Prescott and the Linzee arms. 
 
 On the right, next to the hilt of 
 Colonel Prescott’s sword, is the fol¬ 
 lowing inscription 
 
 The sword 
 of 
 
 COLONEL WILLIAM PRESCOTT, 
 
 worn by him 
 while in command of the 
 Provincial forces 
 
 Battle of Bunker Hill, 
 
 17 June, 1775, 
 and 
 
 bequeathed to the 
 Massachusetts Historical Society 
 by his grandson 
 William H. Prescott. 
 
 On the left, next to the hilt of 
 Captain Linzee’s sword, is the fol¬ 
 lowing inscription:— 
 
 The sword 
 of 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN LINZEE, R. N., 
 
 who commanded the 
 British sloop-of-war “ Falcon ” 
 while acting against the Americans 
 during the Battle of Bunker Hill, 
 presented to the 
 
 Massachusetts Historical Society, 
 
 14 April, 1S59, 
 by his grandchildren 
 Thomas C. A, Linzee 
 and 
 
 Mrs. William H. Prescott. 
 
 On two separate scrolls is the following inscription : — 
 
 These swords 
 
 for many years were hung crossed 
 in the library 
 
 of the late eminent historian 
 WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT, 
 in token of 
 
 international friendship 
 and 
 
 family alliance. 
 
 They 
 
 are now preserved 
 in a similar position 
 by the 
 
 MASS. HISTORICAL SOCIETY, 
 
 in memory 
 of the associations 
 with which they will be 
 inseparably connected. 
 
 On the evening of Thursday, April 28, 1859, at a meecing of the So¬ 
 ciety, held at the house of its President, the Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, 
 the Rev. Dr. N. L. Prothingham — who, at the special meeting of the 
 Society, called together by the death of the historian, had in apt and 
 beautiful words offered an affectionate tribute to the character of his friend 
 and parishioner — read the following lines, which, in words no less apt 
 and touching, give the poetical interpretation of 
 
 THE CROSSED SWORDS. 
 
 Swords crossed, — but not in strife! 
 
 The chiefs who drew them, parted by the space 
 Of two proud countries’ quarrel, face to face 
 Ne’er stood for death or life. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 4o2 
 
 Swords crossed, that never met 
 While nerve was in the hands that wielded them; 
 
 Hands better destined a fair family stem 
 On these free shores to set. 
 
 Kept crossed by gentlest bands! 
 
 Emblems no more of battle, bat of peace; 
 
 And proof how loves can grow and wars can cease, 
 l'heir once stern symbol stands. 
 
 It smiled first on the array 
 Of marshalled books and friendliest companies; 
 
 And here, a history among histories, 
 
 It still shall smile for aye. 
 
 See that thou memory keep, 
 
 Of him the firm commander; and that other, 
 
 The stainless judge; and him our peerless brother, — 
 
 All fallen now asleep. 
 
 Yet more; a lesson teach, 
 
 To cheer the patriot-soldier in his course, 
 
 That Right shall triumph still o’er insolent Force: 
 
 That be your silent speech. 
 
 Oh, be prophetic too! 
 
 And may those nations twain, as sign and seal 
 Of endless amity, hang up their steel, 
 
 As we these weapons do! 
 
 The archives of the Past, 
 
 So smeared with blots of hate and bloody wrong, 
 
 Pining for peace, and sick to wait so long, 
 
 Hail this meek cross at last. 
 
 And so was fitly closed up the history of this singular trophy, if trophv 
 that can be called which was won from no enemy, and which is a memento 
 at once of a defeat that was full of glory, and of triumphs in the field of 
 letters more brilliant than those in the fields of war. 
 
APPENDIX C 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM A LETTER ADDRESSED BY MR. ED¬ 
 MUND B. OTIS, FORMERLY MR. PRESCOTT'S SECRE¬ 
 TARY, TO MR. TICKNOR. 
 
 (See p. 217, note.) 
 
 Bostok, June 4th, 1869. 
 
 My dear Sir. 
 
 I well recollect the first interview I had with the author of “ Ferdinand 
 and Isabella.” I visited him at his library in his father’s house in Bed¬ 
 ford Street, where he resided in the summer of 1841. I had previously 
 read his History, and had copied, when a Sophomore, several of the closing 
 chapters of the work, by way of a voluntary rhetorical exercise, as I ad¬ 
 mired the purity and beauty of his style, little thinking, at the time, that 
 it would be my fate to copy several volumes of his subsequent composi¬ 
 tions. I had heard that he was blind; and, from the nature and amount 
 of his historical lore, I had expected to see an old gentleman, somewhat 
 the worse for wear. My surprise was very great when I was greeted by 
 a tall, handsome man, in the prime of life, who did not appear to me over 
 thirty years of age, although at that time he must have been about forty- 
 five. He seemed amused at the surprise, which I did not probably entirely 
 conceal, and asked me if I had not expected to find him halt, lame, and 
 maimed, as well as blind. 
 
 He was more strongly attracted, he told me, to civil than to literary 
 history, as his audience would be so much larger; — the literary historian, 
 necessarily, in a great measure, addressing himself to scholars, who may 
 alone be supposed to be deeply interested in his subject, and who alone 
 are competent to decide upon his merit, while the civil historian has the 
 world for his audience, and may interest every man who has civil or re¬ 
 ligious rights and liberties to study and defend. This was the substance 
 of the first conversation I ever had with Mr. Prescott, though, at this dis¬ 
 tance of time, I do not attempt to report his exact language. 
 
 Although he enjoyed the variety of a sea-shore, country, and city life, 
 there was a uniformity, regularity, and order in his mode and habit of 
 living, that I have never seen equalled by any other man. One day was 
 very much the counterpart of another; and I sometimes thought that he 
 had reduced life to such a system, and regulated his every action so much 
 by rule, that there was danger of merging volition in a mechanical, clock¬ 
 work existence, and losing liberty in the race for knowledge and fame. 
 
 19 B B 
 
434 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 This regularity and uniformity of life were undoubtedly necessary fot 
 the preservation of his health, and the performance of his self-imposed 
 literary tasks. 
 
 Mr. Prescott has given some account, in the Preface to his “ History 
 of the Conquest of Peru,” and, I believe, in the Prefaces to his other 
 works, of the nature and degree of his impaired vision, of his use of a 
 noctograph or writing-case for the blind, and of the general duties of his 
 secretary, with all of which you must be familiar; but perhaps it may not 
 be without interest, if I give from memory a brief sketch of his mods of 
 writing a chapter of history. 
 
 Tt was the habit of Mr. Prescott, as you are aware, to study the grand 
 outlines of his subject, and to plan the general arrangement and propor 
 tions of his work, — classifying the various topics he would have to treat, 
 and dividing them into books and chapters, —before studying them closely 
 in detail, when preparing to compose a chapter. When he had decided 
 upon the subject to be discussed, or events to be related, in a particular 
 chapter, he carefully read all that portion of his authorities, in print and 
 manuscript, bearing on the subject of the chapter in hand, using tables of 
 contents and indices, and taking copious notes of each authority as he 
 read, marking the volume and page of each statement for future reference. 
 These notes I copied in a large, legible hand, so that, at times, he could 
 read them, though more frequently I read them aloud to him, until he had 
 impressed them completely on his memory. After this had been accom¬ 
 plished, he would occupy several days iu silently digesting this mental 
 provender, balancing the conflicting testimony of authorities, arranging 
 the details of his narrative, selecting his ornaments, rounding his periods, 
 and moulding the whole chapter in his mind, as an orator might prepare 
 his speech. Many of his best battle-scenes, he told me, he had composed 
 while on horseback. Ilis vivid imagination carried him back to the six¬ 
 teenth century, and he almost felt himself a Castilian knight, charging 
 with Cortc's, Sandoval, and Alvarado on the Aztec foe. 
 
 When he had fully prepared his chapter in his mind, he began to dash 
 it off with rapidity by the use of his writing-case. As he did not see his 
 paper when he wrote, he sometimes wrote twice over the same lines, which 
 did not have a tendency to render them more legible. His usual fluency 
 of composition was sometimes interrupted, not by a dearth, but by too 
 great copiousness of expression, several synonymous phrases or parallel 
 forms of speech presenting themselves at once. All these he wrote down, 
 one after the other, in duplicate, to be weighed and criticised at leisure, 
 not waiting to settle the difficulty at the time, fearing that by delay he 
 might lose the ease of style which usually accompanies rapidity of com¬ 
 position. When beginning to describe a battle, he would often, to rouse 
 his military enthusiasm, as he said, hum to himself his favorite air, “ 0 
 give me but my Arab steed,” &c. 
 
 As the sheets were stricken off, I deciphered them, and was ready to 
 read them to him when he had finished the chapter. He was as cautious 
 in correction as he was rapid in writing. Each word and sentence wm 
 
LETTER OF MR. OTIS. 
 
 435 
 
 carefully weighed, and subjected to the closest analysis. If found wanting 
 in strength or beauty, it was changed and turned until the exact expres¬ 
 sion required was found, when lie dictated the correction, which was made 
 by me on his manuscript. He allowed nothing to remain, however beau¬ 
 tiful in itself, which he did not think added to the beauty and strength of 
 the whole. He hated fine writing, merely as fine writing. I have known 
 him mercilessly to strike out several pages of beautiful imagery, which he 
 believed on reflection had a tendency rather to weaken than enhance the 
 effect he desired to produce. 
 
 After the chapter had been thus carefully corrected, I copied it in a 
 large, heavy, pike-staff hand, that those who run might read. I had to 
 acquire the hand for the occasion, and my practice in that line may ac¬ 
 count for my present legible, but somewhat inelegant ehirography. When 
 the chapter was copied in this large hand, Mr. Prescott re-perused and re¬ 
 corrected it. He then read again my copy of the original notes that he 
 had taken from the authorities on which he founded his chapter, and from 
 them prepared the remarks, quotations, and references found in his foot¬ 
 notes, which were also usually rapidly stricken off with his writing-case, 
 and copied by me in the same large, legible hand with the text. This 
 copy was again and again carefully scrutinized and corrected by himself. 
 
 Mr. Prescott believed that an historian could not be too careful in 
 guarding against inaccuracies. I recollect that, when he had finished the 
 “ History of the Conquest of Mexico,” the whole manuscript was submit¬ 
 ted to yourself for critical suggestions and corrections, the value of which 
 he acknowledges in his Preface. When the manuscript was sent to press, 
 before the plates were stereotyped, the printed sheets were sent to the 
 author, for his final corrections, besides being subjected to the careful in 
 spection of Mr. Nichols, the corrector of the Cambridge press, and to the 
 sharp eye of Mr. Charles Folsom, whose critical acumen Mr. Prescott 
 fully appreciated. 
 
 Mr. Prescott loved his books almost as he loved his children ; he liked 
 to see them well dressed, in rich, substantial bindings ; and if one, by any 
 accident, was dropped, “ it annoved him,” he said jestingly, “ almost as 
 much as if a baby fell.” 
 
APPENDIX D. 
 
 LITERARY HONORS. 
 
 (See p. 224, note.) 
 
 1 7ROM the time when, in 1838, Mr. Prescott’s reputation “burst out 
 ^ into sudden blaze,” literary honors of all kinds awaited him in pro- 
 fusion, both at home and abroad. I will give here a list of the more con¬ 
 siderable of them in the order of time. 
 
 1838. Massachusetts Historical Society, Boston. 
 
 American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia. 
 
 Rhode Island Historical Society, Providence. 
 
 1839. Royal Academy of History, Madrid. 
 
 Royal Academy of Sciences, Naples. 
 
 American Antiquarian Society, Worcester, Mass. 
 
 New York Historical Society, New York city. 
 
 Georgia Historical Society, Savannah. 
 
 New Hampshire Historical Society, Concord. 
 
 1840. American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Boston. 
 
 Literary and Historical Society of Quebec. 
 
 1841. Herculaneum Academy, Naples. 
 
 Doctor of Laws, Columbia College, South Carolina. 
 
 1842. Kentucky Historical Society, Louisville. 
 
 1843. Doctor of Laws, Harvard College, Massachusetts. 
 
 Indiana Historical Society, Indianapolis. 
 
 1844. Maryland Historical Society, Baltimore. 
 
 National Institute, Washington, D. C. 
 
 1845. French Institute, Academy of Moral Sciences, Paris. 
 
 Royal Society of Berlin. 
 
 1846. New Jersey Historical Society, Princeton. 
 
 1847. Royal Society of Literature London. 
 
 Society of Antiquaries, London. 
 
 New England Historic-Genealogical Society, Boston. 
 
 1848. Doctor of Laws, Columbian College, Washington, D. C- 
 1850. Doctor of Civil Law, Oxford, England. 
 
 1S51. Mexican Society of Geography and Statistics, Mexico. 
 
 1S52. Royal Irish Academy, Dublin. 
 
 1854. Wisconsin Historical Society, Madison. 
 
 1856. Historical Society of Florida, St. Augustine. 
 
 Historical Society of Iowa, Burlington. 
 
 1857. Historical Society of Tennessee, Nashville. 
 
LITERARY HONORS. 
 
 437 
 
 He received the honors of membership from several societies of young 
 men in different parts of the country, two or three of which, like a de¬ 
 bating-society at Cambridge, a literary association at Philadelphia, and one 
 at Marysville, Kentucky, took his name. He was not insensible to such 
 marks of regard from those who, in the coming generation, are to be a 
 part of the voice of posterity. 
 
APPENDIX E 
 
 TRANSLATIONS OF MR. PRESCOTT’S HISTORIES. 
 
 I. Spanish. 
 
 H ISTORIA del Reinado de los Reyes Catolicos, D. Fernando y D a . 
 
 Isabel, eserita en Ingles por William H. Prescott, traducida del 
 Original por D. Pedro Sabau y Larroya. 4 tom. 8 to. Madrid, Riva- 
 deneyra, 1845, 1846. 
 
 liistoria de la Conquista de Mejico con nna Resena preliminar de la 
 Civilizacion antigua Mejieana y la Vida del Conquistador, Hernan Cortes, 
 eserita en Ingle's por William Prescott (sic), y traducida del Original por 
 D. J. B. de Beratarrechea. 3 tom. 8vo. Madrid, Rivadeneyra, 1847. 
 
 Historia de la Conquista de Mexico con una Ojeada preliminar sobre la 
 antigua Civilizacion de los Mexicanos y con la Vida de su Conquistador, 
 Fernando Cortes. Eserita en Ingle's por W. Prescott (sic), y traducida 
 al Espanol por Joaquin Navarro. 3 tom. 8vo. Mexico, impreso por 
 Ignacio Cumplido, editor de esta Obra, 1844-6. 
 
 The second volume contains one hundred and twenty-four pages of notes 
 on the whole work, by D. Jose' F. Ramirez, and the third consists of seventy- 
 one lithographic prints of the antiquities of Mexico, portraits of persons 
 who have figured in its history, &c., with explanations to illustrate them, 
 by D. Isidro R. Gondra, head of the Mexican Museum. 
 
 Historia de la Conquista de Mejico con un Bosquejo preliminar de la 
 Civilizacion de los antiguos Mejicanos y la Vida de su Conquistador, 
 Hernando Cortes, eserita en Ingle's por Guillermo H. Prescott, Autor de 
 la “ Historia de Fernando e Isabel,” traducida al Castellano por D. Jose 
 Maria Gonzalez de la Vega, Segundo Fiscal del Tribunal Superior del 
 llepartamcnto de Mejico, y anotada por D. Lucas Alaman. 2 tom. 8yo 
 grande. Mejico, imprenta de V. G. Torres, 1844. 
 
 I have imperfect notices of the following translations into Spanish : — 
 
 Historia de los Reyes Catolicos por Guillermo Prescot (sic), traducida 
 por D. Atiliano Calvo. Edicion ilustrada con buenos grabados que repre- 
 sentan diversos pasages, vistas y retratos de los mas ce'lebres personages. 
 1 tomo. 4to. 
 
 Historia del Descubrimiento y Conquista del Peru, con Observacioues 
 preliminares sobre la Civilizacion de los Incas. 2 tom. 8vo. Madrid. 
 
 There is also a translation of the “ History of Philip the Second,” but 
 it L perhaps, not yet all published. 
 
TRANSLATIONS OF MR. PRESCOTT’S HISTORIES. 
 
 43y 
 
 II. French. 
 
 Histoire du Regne de Ferdinand et d’Isr.belle, traduite de 1’Anglais do 
 Guillaume II. Prescott, par J. Eenson et P. Ithicr. 4 vol. 8vo. Paris et 
 Bruxelles, Didot, 1860, 1861. 
 
 Histoire de la Conquete du Me'xique, avec un tableau preliminaire dt 
 I’ancienne Civilisation Me'xicaine, et la Vie de Fernand Corte's, par Wil 
 liam H. Prescott, publie'e en Franyais par Ame'dee Pichot. 3 vol. 8vo 
 I’aris, F. Didot, 1846. 
 
 Histoire de la Conquete du Perou, pre'cede'e d’un Tableau do la Civili 
 sation des Incas, par W. II. Prescott, traduite de 1’Anglais par H. Poret 
 3 vol. 8vo. Paris, F. Didot, 1860. 
 
 Histoire du Regne de Philippe Second, par Guillaume II. Prescott, tra 
 duite de l’Anglais par G. Reason et P. Ithicr. Tomes I. et II. I’aris 
 F. Didot, 1860. 
 
 Don Carlos, sa Vie et sa Mort, par W. II. Prescott, traduite de l’An 
 glais par G. llenson. 8vo. Bruxelles, Van Meneen et C ic , 1860. 
 
 III. Italian. 
 
 Storia del Regno di Ferdinando e Isabella, Sovrani Cattolici di Spagna, 
 di II. Prescott (sic), recato per prima volta in Italiauo da Ascanio Tern- 
 pestini. 3 tom. 8vo. Firenze, per V. Batelli e Compagni, 1847, 1848. 
 
 A notice of the original work by the Marquis Gino Capponi, who took 
 much interest in having it translated, may be found in the “Archivio 
 Storico Italiano,” Tom. II., 1845 ; Appendice, p. 606. 
 
 A portion of the “ History of the Conquest of Peru ” was translated 
 into Italian and published at Florence in 1855 and 1856, in two parts, but 
 it was made from the Spanish version and not from the original English. 
 The first is entitled, “ Compendio delle Notizie generali sul Peru avanti 
 la Conquista, cc., tratte dalla Storia di Guglielmo Prescott, e recatc in 
 Italiano da Cjesare] M[aghcrini].” 8vo. Firenze, Tipografia Gali- 
 leiana, 1855. The other part is entitled, “ Scoperta e Conquista del Peril, 
 Storia di Guglielmo Prescott, tradotta da Cjesare] Mjagherini].” 8vo. 
 Firenze, Tipografia Galileiana, 1856. This last translation stops at the 
 year 1551, the year of Gonzalvo Pizarro’s death. 
 
 IV. German. 
 
 Geschichte der Regierung Ferdinand’s uud Isabella’s der Katholischen 
 von Spanien. Von William H. Prescott. Aus dem Englischen iibersetzt 
 [von H. Eberty], 2 Bande. 8vo. Leipzig, Brockhaus, 1842. 
 
 Geschichte der Eroberungvon Mexico, mit einer einleitenden Uebersicht 
 des friihere mexicauischen Bildungszustandes uud dem Lebeu des Ero- 
 berers, Hernando Cortez. Von William H. Prescott. Aus dem Engli- 
 schen iibersetzt [von H. Eberty]. 2 Bande. 8vo. Leipzig, Brockhaus, 
 1845. 
 
 Geschichte der Eroberung von Peru, mit einer einleitenden Uebersicht 
 
440 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 des Bildungszustandes unter den Inkas. Von William H. Prescott. Aus 
 dem Englischen iibersetzt [Von H. Eberty]. 2 Bande. Svo. Leipzig, 
 Brockhaus, 1848. 
 
 Geschichte Pliilipp’s des Zweiten, von William H. Prescott. Deutsch 
 von Joh. Scherr. Svo. Theil I. - III. Leipzig, 0. Wigand, 1855, sqq. 
 
 Das Klosterleben Carl’s des Piinften, von W. H. Prescott. Aus dem 
 Englischen von Julius Seybel. 8vo. Leipzig, Lorck, 1857. 
 
 This last constitutes the twenty-third volume of Lorck’s “ Conversa¬ 
 tions- und Reise-Bibliothek.” 
 
 V. Dutch. 
 
 Zeden, Gewoonten en Regeringsvorm in Peru voor de Komst der Span- 
 jaarden, geschetst door W. II. Prescott, uit het Engelsch vertaald door 
 Mr. G. Mees, Az. 8vo. pp. 162. Amsterdam, P. Kraij, Junior, 1849. 
 
 This is a translation of the first book of the “ History of the Conquest 
 of Peru,” omitting a considerable number of the notes. 
 
 All the historical works of Mr. Prescott, in the original English, have 
 been reprinted both in Paris and in Leipzig ; and, I believe, other trans¬ 
 lations have been made of some of them, notices of which I have failed to 
 obtain. The “ History of Ferdinand and Isabella” is said to have ap¬ 
 peared in Dutch and Russian, but I have no distinct account of either. 
 
APPENDIX F 
 
 CONVERSATION OF MR. PRESCOTT SHORTLY BEFORE 
 HIS DEATH. 
 
 HE last printed notice of Mr. Prescott and of his conversation is a 
 
 very interesting one, by the Reverend William H. Milburn, of 
 New York, the blind, or nearly blind, friend of whom Mr. Prescott speaks 
 more than once in his letters. From their common misfortune they had 
 a strong sympathy with each other; and Mr. Milburn, having chanced to 
 visit the historian the evening bat one before the day of his death, wrote an 
 account of his interview immediately afterwards to the Messrs. Harpers 
 for their “ Weekly,” February 12th, 1859. 
 
 “ On the evening in question,” says Mr. Milburn, “ Wednesday, Jan¬ 
 uary 26th, Mr. Prescott entered the library with a slower and heavier step 
 than when I had been in the habit of seeing him years before; but his 
 manner had the same unaffected simplicity and cordial warmth. Whether 
 a stranger would have perceived it, I cannot say; but my ear, sharpened 
 by necessity, at once detected the work of paralysis in an occasional thicken¬ 
 ing of the speech, — I mean, a difficulty in perfect articulation now and 
 then Among his very first inquiries was a particular one concerning the 
 members of your own firm, — your health, the state and prospects of your 
 business, &c., manifesting the deepest interest; adding the remark that, 
 through all the years of his business and personal connection with your 
 firm, he had never experienced anything but the greatest kindness and 
 consideration at your hands; that his enjoyment of your success was un¬ 
 diminished ; and that he felt particularly grateful for the kindly mention 
 which had been made of his personal affliction last year in your paper, and 
 for the handsome notice of the third volume of his * Philip the Second ’ in 
 the current number of your ‘ Magazine.’ 
 
 “ He then proceeded to a mention of various mutual friends that had 
 passed away since our last meeting, especially of the Hon. Abbott Law¬ 
 rence and Mr. Francis C. Gray, at whose dinner-tables we had often met; 
 and then of some of his surviving friends, especially of Mr. Ticknor, who, 
 he said, had shortened and brightened what, but for him, must have been 
 many a sad and weary hour; and of Mr. Agassiz, concerning whose 
 Museum he expressed the liveliest interest. He remarked that the eyes 
 of the latter had suffered greatly from his work, and that he would be 
 sadly balked in his prospects, but that he was able to find relief in mani¬ 
 fold manipulating labors. This led him naturally to speak of his own and 
 my infirmity, which were about equal in degree, and of the different live) 
 we had led ; — his, of retired study; mine, of travel and active toil. 
 
 “ He aided . ‘ I suppose that Ticknor will never write another book 
 
 19# 
 
442 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 hut he has been doing perhaps better for the community and posterity by 
 devoting himself for several years to the interests of the Boston City 
 Library, which may be taken in good part as his work, — and a more 
 valuable contribution to the good of the people has seldom been made. 
 It is a rare thing for such an institution to get a man so qualified by taste, 
 knowledge, and accomplishment to look after its interests with such energy 
 and patience.’ 
 
 “ Of Mr. Gray he observed : ‘ Poor Gray! I think he was the most 
 remarkable man I ever knew for variety and fulness of information, and a 
 perfect command of it. He was a walking Encyclopedia. I have seen 
 many men who had excellent memories, provided you would let them 
 turn to their libraries to get the information you wanted; but, no matter 
 on what subject you spoke to him, his knowledge was at his fingers’-ends, 
 and entirely at your service.’ 
 
 “ He then led the conversation to his English friends, to some of whom 
 he had given me letters on my recent visit to that country. He first spoke 
 of Lady Lycll, the wife of the celebrated geologist. ‘ She is one of the 
 most charming people I have ever seen,’ he said. ‘ When she married 
 Sir Charles, she knew nothing of geology; but, finding that her life was 
 to be passed among stones, she set herself to work to make friends of 
 them, and has done so to perfection. She is in thorough sympathy with 
 all her husband’s researches and works ; is the companion of his journeys ; 
 oftentimes his amanuensis, for her hand has written several of his books; 
 and the delight and cheer of his whole life. Unaffected, genial, accom¬ 
 plished, and delightful to an almost unequalled extent, she is one of the 
 rarest women you can meet. And,’ he continued, ‘ you saw my friend 
 Dean Milman. What an admirable person he is ! I had a letter from 
 him only a day or two since, in which he gave an interesting account of 
 the opening of his Cathedral, St. Paul’s, to the popular Sunday-evening 
 preachings, — a matter which has enlisted all the sympathies of the Bishop 
 of Loudon and of himself. He has been a prodigiously hard worker, and 
 so has acquired a prematurely old look. Accomplished as historian, 
 divine, poet, and man of letters, he is at the same time among the most 
 agreeable and finished men of society I saw in England.’ 
 
 “ ‘ Did you see Dean Trench'? ’ he proceeded. Upon my replying in 
 the affirmative, he added : ‘ I am sorry never to have seen him ; I have 
 heard such pleasant things concerning him. He did me the favor some 
 time since to send me his “ Calderon,” which I enjoyed greatly.’ Replv- 
 ing in the negative to my inquiry as to whether he had read the Dean’s 
 books on ‘ Words,’ &c., he said, < They shall be the very next books I 
 *-ead.’ 
 
 “ < England’s a glorious country,’ he said, ‘ is n’t it I What a hearty 
 and noble people they are, and how an American’s heart warms toward 
 them after he has been there once, and found them out in their hospitable 
 homes ! ’ 
 
 “ I said : ‘ Mr. Prescott, are n’t you coming to New York ? We should 
 all be very glad to see you there.’ ‘ No,’ he replied, ‘ I suppose that the 
 days of my long journeys are over. I must content myself, like Horace, 
 with my three houses. You know I go at the commencement of summer 
 to my cottage by the seaside at Lynn Beach, and in autumn to my patri- 
 
LETTER OF THE REV. MR. MIL3URN. 
 
 443 
 
 moni&I acres at Pepperell, which have been in our family for two hundred 
 years, to sit under the old trees I sat under when a boy; and then, with 
 winter, come to town to hibernate in this house. This is the only travel¬ 
 ling, I suppose, that I shall do until I go to my long home. Do you 
 remember the delightful summer you spent with us at Lynn, two or three 
 years ago 1 I wish you would come and repeat it next summer.’ 
 
 “ In another part of the conversation he said : ‘ These men with eyes 
 have us at a serious disadvantage, have n’t they 1 ? While they run, we 
 can only limp. But I have nothing to complain of, nor have you ; Prov¬ 
 idence has singularly taken care of us both, and, by compensation, keeps 
 the balance even.’ 
 
 “ He then spoke with entire calmness of the shock which his system 
 nad received from his first stroke of apoplexy last year; said that it hud 
 weakened him a good deal; but he was very grateful that he was able to 
 take exercise, although confined to a spare diet, and not allowed to touch 
 meat or anything of a stimulative kind; and managed, moreover, to keep 
 up his literary labors. ‘ I have always made my literary pursuits,’ he said, 
 a pleasure rather than a toil; and hope to do so with the remainder of 
 “ Philip,” as I am yet able to work two or three, and sometimes more, 
 hours a day.’ He stated that his eye had suffered considerably from the 
 blow, and, while we talked, he found it necessary to shade his face. In 
 the course of the conversation we were joined by the ladies of the family, 
 Mrs. Prescott, her sister, his daughter, and daughter-in-law. He then 
 spoke in glowing and grateful terms, as I alluded to the interest taken in 
 his health throughout the country, of the kindness which he had invariably 
 experienced at the hands of his countrymen. ‘ I can never,’ he said, ‘ be 
 sufficiently grateful for the tokens of esteem, regard, and affection, which 
 I have had from them through all the years of my literary career. True, 
 it makes me feel like an old man to see my fifteen volumes upon the shelf, 
 but my heart is as young as it ever was to enjoy the love which the coun¬ 
 try has ever shown me.’ When I said it was a cheering thing for a man 
 to know he had given so much happiness as he had done by his books, he 
 said that it was his ywa truest happiness to trust that he had been able to 
 confer it. He said he hoped to live to finish ‘ Philip,’ which was now 
 three fifths done. As I bade him good by, I said, ‘God bless you, Mr. 
 Prescott; I know I breathe the prayer of the country when I say, May 
 your life be spared for many years, to add volume after volume to the 
 fifteen.’ He rejoined, ‘ My greatest delight is the love of my friends and 
 their appreciation of my labors.’ 
 
 “ Little did I think that the hand which so warmly grasped mine as he 
 led me down the stairs would, ere eight and forty hours were past, be cold 
 and stiff in death. Peace to the memory of one of the sweetest and noblest 
 men that ever lived ! 
 
 “ Yours very truly, 
 
 “William H. Milbubh.” 
 
APPENDIX G 
 
 ON HIS DEATH. 
 
 S OON after Mr. Prescott’s death I received many notes and letters, 
 expressive of affection and admiration for him. From among them 
 I select the following. 
 
 The first is by Mr. George Lunt, who was his secretary in 1825—6, 
 and knew him well. See ante, p. 78. 
 
 ON A LATE LOSS. 
 
 Imitation of Horace, Lib. L Od. XXIV. 
 
 Quia desiderio ait pudor, ka. 
 
 What time can bring relief— 
 
 What blame reprove our grief ? 
 
 The well-beloved lies low 1 
 The funeral strains prolong, 
 
 0 Muse of tragic song, 
 
 With liquid voice and harp attuned to wool 
 
 Does, then, perpetual sleep 
 Hold him? and bid us weep 
 
 In vain to seek through earth 
 For honor so unstained, 
 
 Such manly truth maintained, 
 
 Such glory won and worn by modest worth? 
 
 By all the good deplored, 
 
 No tears sincerer poured, 
 
 Than fell thine own, 0 friend! 
 
 Yet pious thou in vain, 
 
 Claiming for earth again 
 
 Gifts, which kind Heaven on no such terms will lend. 
 
 No fond desires avail, 
 
 Friendship’s deep want must fail, 
 
 Even love’s devout demand; 
 
 Inexorable Death, 
 
 Pledges of deathless faith. 
 
 Keeps souls once gathered to the shadowy land. 
 
 And oftenest to that bourne 
 They pass, nor more return, — 
 
 The best we miss the most; 
 
 Hard seems the stroke of fate, 
 
 But Heaven bids us wait, 
 
 And there, at last, rejoin the loved, the lost. 
 
ON HIS DEATH. 
 
 445 
 
 Auother short poem came anonymously to my door, but was afterwards 
 ascertained to have been written by the Rev. George Richards, then a 
 clergyman of Boston. It was founded upon some remarks made by me 
 at the meeting of the Historical Society, February 1st, on the occasion of 
 Mr. Prescott’s death, concerning his wish, that, previous to their final de- 
 posit in the house appointed for all living, his remains might rest for a 
 time in his library, under the shadow, as it were, of the books he had so 
 much loved; the remarks being nearly the same with those abouA the 
 same circumstance in the account given, at page 414, cf his last days 
 burial. 
 
 Mr. Richards entitled his poem 
 
 THE HISTORIAN IN HIS LIBRARY. 
 
 His wish fulfilled! ’T is done, as he had said: 
 
 Borne sadly back, with slow and reverent tread; — 
 
 Now closeted, — the dead with kindred dead. 
 
 Ye need not listen, —no low-whispered word 
 From that hushed conclave will be overheard; 
 
 Nor start,—as if the shrouded sleeper stirred. 
 
 He rests, where he hath toiled: the busy pen 
 Misses the busier brain; nor plods, as when 
 It traced the lore of that far-searching ken. 
 
 He lies amid his peers; the storied great 
 Look down upon him, here reclined in state, — 
 
 As mute as they who speechless round him wait. 
 
 His task is done; his working-day is o’er; 
 
 The morning larum wakens him no more, — 
 
 Unheard its summons, on that silent shore. 
 
 The pomp of Kings, the Incas’ faded pride, 
 
 The freighted bark, the lonely ocean wide. 
 
 Dread war, glad peace, no more his thoughts divide. 
 
 He lies, like warrior, after set of sun, 
 
 Stretched on the plain where his great deeds weie done. 
 
 Where he the green, immortal garland won. 
 
 Bound him the relics of the hard-fought field, 
 
 Helmet and lance and unavailing shield, 
 
 And well-proved blade he never more shall wield. 
 
 So leave him, for a while, in that still room, 
 
 His books among; — its sober, twilight gloom 
 Fit prelude to the stiller, darker tomb. 
 
 The last of these tokens that I shall cite is from one of the most faithful 
 and valued of his English friends. It is 
 
446 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 FROM DEAN MILMAN. 
 
 Deanery, St. Paul’s, February 19th, [1859] 
 My dear Mr. Ticknor, 
 
 I must unburden myself to some one of the profound sorrow which 1 
 (I should have written we) feel for our irreparable loss. I have had the 
 happiness to form and retain the friendship of many excellent men; no 
 one has ever, considering the short personal intercourse which I enjoyed 
 with him, and our but occasional correspondence, wakened such strong 
 and lasting attachment. He found his way at once to my heart, and has 
 there remained, and ever will remain, during the brief period to which I 
 can now look forward, as an object of the warmest esteem and affection. 
 I think I should have loved the man if I had only known him as an 
 author; his personal society only showed his cordial, liberal, gentle char¬ 
 acter in a more distinct and intimate form. That which was admiration 
 oecame love. There is here but one feeling, among those who had not 
 the good fortune to know him, as among those who knew him best, — 
 deep regret for a man who did honor to the literature of our common lan¬ 
 guage, and whose writings, from their intrinsic charm and excellence, were 
 most popular, without any art or attempt to win popularity. 
 
 The suddenness of the blow aggravates its heaviness. I had written to 
 him but a few weeks ago, (I doubt not that he received my letter,) ex¬ 
 pressing the common admiration with which his last volume was received 
 here by all whose opinion he and his most discerning friends would think 
 of the highest value. In one respect he has ended well, for he never sur¬ 
 passed passages in the last volume; but it is sad to think that he has 
 ended, and left his work incomplete. I can hardly hope that much can 
 be left finished by his hand; if anything is left, I trust it will pass into 
 the hand of him best qualified to shape and mould it into form, yourself. 
 As I feel that I can express our sorrows to no one so fitly as to you, so 
 there is no one to whom the sacred memory of our friend can be intrusted 
 with equal confidence. From all that I have heard, his end (premature 
 as our affection cannot but think it) was painless and peaceful; and if — 
 as surely we may trust — the possession and the devotion of such admi¬ 
 rable gifts to their best uses, — the promotion of knowledge, humanity, 
 charity, in its widest sense ; if a life, I fully believe, perfectly blameless, 
 the discharge of all domestic duties so as to secure the tenderest attach¬ 
 ment of all around ; if a calm, quiet, gentle, tolerant faith will justify — 
 as no doubt they may — our earnest hopes ; it is that better peace which 
 has no end. 
 
 Both Mrs. Milman and I trust you will undertake the friendly office of 
 communicating our common sorrow to those whose sorrow must be more 
 pungent than ours, though, I venture to say, not more sincere. We shall 
 always think with warm interest of all those who bear the honored name 
 of Prescott, or were connected by ties of kindred or affection with him. 
 And permit me to add to yourself our kindest condolence, our best wishes 
 and our hopes that we may see you again, and soon, in Europe. 
 
 Believe me, my dear Mr. Ticknor, 
 
 Ever your sincere friend, 
 
 H. II. Milman 
 
INDEX 
 

 
 Aflr*. 
 
 < 5 / ' 
 
 *«/. J ‘ 
 
 
 
INDEX 
 
 Abbotsford, visit to, 307. 
 
 Adams, J. Q., library, 8; Minister 
 in London, 41; on the “ Ferdinand 
 and Isabella,” 217 note. 
 
 *’■ ms, Sir W., 40. 
 
 ’Siz, L., 394, 410, 441. 
 
 a. ..iaji, Lucas, 400, 407. 
 
 Albany, visit to, 247. 
 
 AlbIri, E., 252, 346 note. 
 
 Alfikri, V., Life, 219. 
 
 Allison, Sir A., 296, 311. 
 
 Allen, John, 113 and note. 
 
 Allston, Washington, 63, 327. 
 
 Al-Makkari, translated, 172. 
 
 Alnwick Castle, visit to, 303 - 308. 
 
 Amadis de Gaula, 9, 69 note. 
 
 American Academy of Arts and Sci¬ 
 ences, 415. 
 
 American Antiquarian Society, 415. 
 
 Americanisms, 212 note. 
 
 American Stationers’ Company, 99. 
 
 Ames, Joseph, portrait of Prescott, 
 216. 
 
 Amory, Mrs. Charles, 278. 
 
 Amory, Susan, wife of Mr. Prescott, 
 50. See also Prescott, Susan. 
 
 Amory, Thomas C., 50. 
 
 I ory, William, 278, 429. 
 
 Antwerp, visit to, 301. 
 
 Apcplexy, Mr. Prescott’s first attack, 
 3LS; his own views of it, 397, 403, 
 404, 405, 407; second attack fatal, 
 412,413. 
 
 Arabs in Spain, Gayangos on, 171. 
 
 Archives du Royaume, 342, 343. 
 
 Argyll, Duke of, visit to, 311; Ad¬ 
 dress of, 330. 
 
 Armada, documents for, 252. 
 
 Ascham, Roger, 66. 
 
 Ascot Races, 286, 287. 
 
 Asfinwall, Colonel Thomas, rela¬ 
 tions with Mr. Prescott, 103, 230, 
 248, 384; letters to, 224, 230, 249. 
 
 Asylum for the Blind, 234 - 236. 
 
 Athenaeum. See Boston Athenaeum. 
 
 Bancroft, George, relations with 
 Mr. Prescott, 93 and note, 337 ; 
 
 on the “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” 
 88, 104, 338; letters from Mr. Pres¬ 
 cott to, 93, 336, 337, 338, 354, 355, 
 403; History of the United States, 
 333, 337, 354, 355, 403, 406. 
 
 Beacon Street home, 244. 
 
 Bedford Street home, 50, 243, 244, 
 364. 
 
 Belgium, visit to, 300, 303, 323. 
 
 Bell, Sir Charles, 127 note. 
 
 Benavides, 195. 
 
 Bentinck, Lord William, 387. 
 
 Bentley, R., publishes for Mr. Pres¬ 
 cott in London, 104, 111 note, 230, 
 231, 248. 
 
 Berlin, Royal Society of, Mr. Prescott 
 elected into, 223. 
 
 Bernaldes, Andres, Chronicle, 82. 
 
 Berry, Miss, note of, 319. 
 
 Bigelow, T., 246 note. 
 
 Biographical and Critical Miscella¬ 
 nies, 230-237. 
 
 Biot, on Humboldt, 156. 
 
 Blindness, remarks on, 235. 
 
 Bliss, Alexander, of the Club, 52 
 note. 
 
 Bonds to induce work. See Wagers. 
 
 Books not easily obtained, 8. 
 
 Boston Athenaeum, 8, 415. 
 
 Boston, Prescott homes in, 364. 
 
 Boston Public Library, 444. 
 
 Bowditch, Nathaniel, 5. 
 
 Brazer, John, of the Club, 62 note 
 
 Bradford, Samuel D., 24. 
 
 Bridgman, Laura, 235. 
 
 British Museum, 170, 179. 
 
 Brougham, Lord, 209 and note ; 
 manners in the House of Lords, 292. 
 
 Brown, Charles Brockden, Life 
 of, 234. 
 
 Brussels, visit to, 800. 
 
 Buckle, T., History of Civilization, 
 398, 406. 
 
 Bulwer, Sir Henry Lytton, 278. 
 
 Bunker Hill Battle, 403, 404, 422. 
 
 Bunsen, C., Prussian Minister in 
 London, 292. 
 
 Byron, Lord, 88, 173. 
 
 CO 
 
450 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Calderon, Don Angel, 153, 187,1 
 278. 
 
 Calderon, Madame, Travels in 
 Mexico, 237; letter to, 406. 
 
 Cane presented to Mr. Prescott, 351. 
 
 Capponi, the Marquis Gino, 175 
 and note, 253, 340, 346, 347, 439. 
 
 Carlisle, Dowager Lady, 231, 313, 
 393 
 
 Carlisle, Earl op, letters from, 257, 
 385; letters to, 327, 328, 329, 330, 
 332, 407 ; kindness to Mr. Prescott 
 in London, 281, 289; at Naworth 
 Castle, 312; at Castle Howard, 312 
 sqq.; Lectures of, 328. See also 
 Morpeth, Viscount. 
 
 Carlos, Don, 178, 362. 
 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 299, 339. 
 
 Carter, Robert, Secretary to Mr. 
 Prescott, 77 note; on Mr. Prescott’s 
 charities, 149, 150. 
 
 Cary’s Dante, 64. 
 
 Cervantes, Review of, 236. 
 
 Chambers. Rebellion of 1745, 176. 
 
 Channing, Rev. W. E., Sermon 
 to Children, 4; on the “ Ferdi¬ 
 nand and Isabella,” 114; his style, 
 209. 
 
 Charles the Fifth at Yuste, 251; 
 at St. Gudule, 300; Mr. Prescott 
 urged to write his history, 348; de¬ 
 clines, but writes the account of 
 his life at Yuste, 378, 379. 
 
 Chatsworth, visit to, 318. 
 
 Cherry-tree at Lynn, 373, 374 and 
 note. 
 
 Chevalier, Michel, on the “ His¬ 
 tory of the Conquest of Mexico,” 
 227. 
 
 Christianity, examination of its truth 
 by Mr. Prescott, 86; re-examina¬ 
 tion, 154. 
 
 Circourt, Count Adolphe de, on 
 the “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” 106 
 and note, 112; his Essays and Re¬ 
 views, 226; letter to, 389. 
 
 Classical Studies of Mr. Prescott, 6, 
 9, 16, 23, 24, 26, 43, 65. 
 
 Clemencin, Diego de, on Isabella 
 the Catholic, 91, 271. 
 
 Club-room, a periodical, 53, 64. 
 
 Club to which Mr. Prescott belonged, 
 62-54. 
 
 Cogswell, Joseph G., 157 note; on 
 the “ Conquest of Mexico,” 193. 
 
 College Life, Mr. Prescott’s remarks 
 on, 25 note. 
 
 Columbus, 222 and note; Irving’s 
 Life of 176. 
 
 Conde, History of the Arabs, 88. 
 
 Cooper, Sir Astley, 40. 
 
 Copyright, international, 166, 377. 
 
 Corneille, Pierre, 57, 236 note. 
 
 CortIss, Fernando, portrait of, 177; 
 character, 201. 
 
 Critical and Historical Essays, 230- 
 239. 
 
 Crossed Swords, the, 51, 430. 
 
 Curtis, George T., on the “ Con¬ 
 quest of Mexico,” 193; on Mr. 
 Prescott’s style, 211. 
 
 Dane, Nathan, 424. 
 
 Dante, 61 - 64. 
 
 Daponte, Lorenzo, controversy, 232, 
 233. 
 
 Davidson, Margaret, Irving’s Life 
 of, 176. 
 
 Dawson, George A. F., of the Club, 
 52 note. 
 
 Dexter, Elizabeth, sister of the 
 historian, 427. See also Prescott, 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 Dexter, Franklin, of the Club, 62 
 note; contributions to the Club- 
 Room, 53; notice of, 427. 
 
 Dlaz, Bernal, 201. 
 
 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, on 
 Plato, 142 note. 
 
 Dummer Academy, 6, 423. 
 
 Dunham, Dr., on the “ Ferdinand 
 and Isabella,” 105. 
 
 Earthquake at St. Michael’s, 34. 
 
 Edgeworth, Maria, on “ Ferdinand 
 and Isabella,” 178; letter from, 253-, 
 her fictions, 367, 398. 
 
 Edie Ochiltree, 369 and note. 
 
 Edinburgh Review, mistake about 
 Mr. Prescott’s blindness, 249, 251. 
 
 Elgin Marbles, 41. 
 
 Eliot, Samuel A., of the Club, 62 
 note. 
 
 Eliot, William H., of the Club, 52 
 note. 
 
 Ellesmere, Earl, visit from, 876; 
 letter from, 387. 
 
 Ellis, Rev. Rufus, 415 note. 
 
 Ellis, Rev. Dr. George E., 143 
 note. 
 
 England, first visits to, 40 - 42, 44, 46; 
 proposes to go again, 184; visit 
 there, 279-320 ; society, 285, 292, 
 298, 309 ; hospitality, 292, 295; 
 country life, 303-318, 323; rela¬ 
 tions with the United States, 331; 
 character, 319, 320, 355, 442; in¬ 
 tolerance, 320, 395. 
 
 English, James L., Secretary to Mr. 
 Prescott, 77, 81; on Mr. Prescott’s 
 modes of work, 82, 83; bonds with 
 him, 137. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 451 
 
 Entertainments at Harvard College 
 Commencements, 25. 
 
 Essex Institute, 415. 
 
 Everett, Alexander H., letter to, 
 73; aids Mr. Prescott, 18]. 
 
 Everett, Edward, aids Mr. Pres¬ 
 cott, 178, 268; relations with him, 
 335; letters to, 341, 344, 349, 351; 
 letters from, 298, 342, 343, 347; 
 lecture on Peru, 342; on Washing¬ 
 ton, 406. 
 
 Eye, injury to Mr. Prescott’s, 18 - 20; 
 severe attack of rheumatism in, 26 
 -29; sutlers in St. Michael’s, 32; 
 state of, when in England, 41; in 
 Italy, 43; in Paris, 43; influence on 
 his character, 115, 116, 120; never 
 to be depended on, 122 and note; 
 premature decay of, 122; hardly 
 used at all, 123; always anxious 
 about, 125, 127; best condition of, 
 182; infirmity of, connected with 
 style, 213, 214; increased trouble, 
 246; very bad condition, 247; mis¬ 
 takes of Edinburgh Review about, 
 249,250; Miss Edgeworth on, 253 ; 
 increasing infirmity, 262, 263, 273, 
 324; never permanently blind, 352. 
 
 Earrk, Dr., London, 40. 
 
 Eaukiel, Charles, 112. 
 
 Felton, Cornelius C., Editor of 
 Lord Carlisle’s Diary, 385, 386. 
 
 “Ferdinand and Isabella,” thought 
 of as a subject for history, 70, 71, 
 72, 73; materials for, collected, 74; 
 book written, 78 - 95 ; four copies 
 privately printed, 96; doubts about 
 publishing, 96 ; published, 97; suc¬ 
 cess, 108 - 114 ; anxiety about, 
 161; Ford’s letter on, 179; his re¬ 
 view of, 208, sqq.; threatened 
 abridgment, 185. 
 
 Ferguson, Adam, 398, 406. 
 
 Fisher, Dr. John D., asylum for the 
 blind, 234. 
 
 Florence, visit to, 345. 
 
 Folsom, Charles, of the Club, 52 
 note; corrects Mr. Prescott’s writ¬ 
 ings, 99, 143 and note, 199, 211 and 
 note, 399. 
 
 Ford, Richard, his review of “ Fer¬ 
 dinand and Isabella,” 106, 113. 206, 
 207, 339; Mr. Thomas Grenville on 
 it, 198; Handbook of Mr. Ford, 
 251; letter from, 179; letter to, 325. 
 
 France, visits to, 42, 43, 300. 
 
 Freeman, Rev. James, 381 note. 
 
 Frisbie, L., Professor, 13. 
 
 Frothingham, Rev. Dr. N. L., on 
 Mr. Prescott’s character, 29; poem 
 
 on “ The Crossed Swords,” 431, 
 432. 
 
 Furnace, the, at St. Michael’s, 35. 
 
 Gachard on Charles V., 378; on 
 Philip II., 389. 
 
 Gallatin, Albert, letter from, 195. 
 
 Gardiner, Rev. Dr. John S. J 
 school of, 6, 7, 242 note. 
 
 Gardiner, William Howard, friend 
 of Mr. Prescott, 10 -12; on Mr. 
 Prescott’s habit of making resolu¬ 
 tions, 16-18; on his involuntary 
 laughter, 22; letters to, 36, 45; reads 
 classics with Mr. Prescott, 48; of 
 the Club, 52 note; account of the 
 Club, 54 note;. Latin ode to, 116; 
 revises the “ Ferdinand and Isabel¬ 
 la,” 97, 101; reviews it, 104, 109; 
 on Mr. Prescott’s social character, 
 129-131; on his mathematics, 184 
 note; on his Pepperell farm, 370 
 note; last dinner with him, 383. 
 
 Gayangos, Pascual de, review of 
 the “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” 106, 
 113; materials for the Conquest of 
 Peru, 261; for Philip II., 251, 255, 
 267-270; letters to, 170, 172, 175, 
 178, 194, 195, 196, 227, 251, 252, 
 
 255. 
 
 German instruction, difficult to ob¬ 
 tain, 8. 
 
 German studies not undertaken by 
 Mr. Prescott, 65. 
 
 Gibbon, Autobiography, 70 note; 
 habits of composition, 141 note. 
 
 Gonsalvo de Cordova, manuscripts 
 of, 175 and note. 
 
 Gray, Francis Calley, gift to Har¬ 
 vard College, 410; character, 441, 
 442. 
 
 Gray, John Chipman, friend of Mr. 
 Prescott, 17; travels with him, 42; 
 of the Club, 52 note. 
 
 Greenough, Richard S., bust of 
 Mr. Prescott, 216. 
 
 Greenwood, Francis W. P., of the 
 Club, 52 note; reviews the “ Fer¬ 
 dinand and Isabella,” 104. 
 
 Grenville, Thomas, 198. 
 
 Guicciardini, Pietro, 347. 
 
 Guizot, Franqois, 112, 119 note, 
 378. 
 
 Hale, Dr. Enoch, of the Club, 62 
 note. 
 
 Hallam, Henry, on the “ Ferdinand 
 and Isabella,” 113; on Mr. Pres¬ 
 cott’s style, 211; letters from, 197 
 
 256, 388. 
 
 Hamilton, John C., letter to, 200. 
 
ib'2 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Hampton Court, visit to, 282. 
 
 Ham’s Hall, visit to, 303. 
 
 Harper and Brothers publish the 
 “ Conquest of Mexico,” 190; the 
 “ Miscellanies,” 231; the “ Conquest 
 of Peru,” 218; their establishment 
 burnt, 361; regard for them, 441. 
 
 Hartford Convention, 425. 
 
 Harvard College, Mr. Prescott enters, 
 12; life there, 15-25; his honors 
 there, 23, 24, 415. 
 
 Hayward, George, 223. 
 
 Head, Sir Edmund, 384. 
 
 Hickling, Thomas, Maternal grand¬ 
 father to Mr. Prescott, Consul at 
 St. Michael’s, 29, 427; visit to him, 
 31-39. 
 
 Higginson, Mehitable, 2. 
 
 Hillard, George S., on the “ Ferdi¬ 
 nand and Isabella,” 108; on the 
 “Conquest of Mexico,” 193; his 
 “ Six Months in Italy,” 339 and 
 note, 360. 
 
 Historical judgment, standard for, 
 
 200 . 
 
 Historical Society of Massachusetts, 
 bequest to, 51, *430. 
 
 Holland, excursion in, 301-303. 
 
 Holland, Lord, on the “ Ferdinand 
 and Isabella,” 112, 113. 
 
 Holland, Sir Henry, 323, 327. 
 
 Homes of the Prescott family, 2, 47, 
 60 and note, 364-374. 
 
 Horace, imitation of, 444. 
 
 Horner, L., visit to, 282. 
 
 Howard Castle, visit to, 312-316. 
 
 Howard, Lady Mary, 312, 313, 314, 
 317. See also Labouchere, Lady 
 Mary. 
 
 Howards, family of, 289, 317. 
 
 Howe, Dr. Samuel G., labors for the 
 blind, 235. 
 
 Hughes, Archbishop, on the “ Ferdi¬ 
 nand and Isabella,” 217. 
 
 Humboldt, Alexander von, opin¬ 
 ion of, 165, 183; on the “ Conquest 
 of Mexico,” 221, 225 ; assists Mr. 
 Prescott, 268; Mr. Prescott’s desire 
 to see him, 384. 
 
 Illinois Historical Society, 415. 
 
 Indian Summer, 380 and note. 
 
 Institute, French, Mr. Prescott elect¬ 
 ed a corresponding member, 222- 
 224. 
 
 Irving, Pierre M., Life of Wash¬ 
 ington Irving, 162, 163 and note. 
 
 Irving, Washington, Conquest of 
 Granada, 89, 237; correspondence 
 with about the “ Conquest of Mexi¬ 
 co,” 168 - 163 ; about copyright, 
 
 166; his“ Sketch-Book,” 167 ; “ Co¬ 
 lumbus,” 176; “Memoir of Mar¬ 
 garet Davidson,” 176; style, 182, 
 208; going Minister to Spain, 188; 
 on Christmas, 361; letters from, 
 394, 409. 
 
 Italian poetry, reviews of, 231, 233. 
 
 Italian studies, 68-64, 71, 72. 
 
 Italy, travels in, 42, 43. 
 
 Jackson, Dr. James, friend and 
 medical adviser of Mr. Prescott; 
 on the original injury to his eye, 
 18 and note; on the subsequent 
 severe inflammation, 27-29; on his 
 first attack of apoplexy, 396; on 
 the second and fatal one, 413; let¬ 
 ter on Mr. Prescott’s illnesses, 18 
 note. 
 
 Johnson, Samuel, on Addison’s style, 
 208 and note ; on the blindness of 
 Milton, 74. 
 
 Jonson, Ben, 67. 
 
 Kenyon, JonN, 239, 295. 
 
 King, Charles, 44 note. 
 
 Kirk, John Foster, Secretary to, 
 Mr. Prescott, 78 note, 281, 298, 412. 
 
 Kirkland, John T., 13 note. 
 
 Knapp, Jacob Newman, 3. 
 
 Kossuth, 333. 
 
 Labouchere, Lady Mary, letter to, 
 393. See also Howard, Lady Mary. 
 
 Lamartine, A., 106. 
 
 Latin Christianity, by Dean Milman, 
 362. 
 
 Laura of Petrarch, 69 - 61. 
 
 Lawrence, Abbott, Minister in Lon¬ 
 don, 281 ; at Alnwick Castle, 306 ; 
 illness and death, 383, 386, 387 ; 
 Life of, by Mr. Prescott, 380 and 
 note ; Lord Ellesmere on, 387. 
 
 Lawrence Elizabeth, daughter of 
 Mr. Prescott, and her children, 382, 
 429. See also Prescott. Elizabeth. 
 
 Lawrence, James, married to Miss 
 Prescott, 330, 331, 334; villa at 
 Lynn, 386 ; meeting about a zo¬ 
 ological museum at his house, 410. 
 
 Lebanon Springs, 189. 
 
 Lembke, Dr. W. F., collects materi¬ 
 als for Mr. Prescott’s histories, 161 
 and note, 181, 266, 267. 
 
 Leopold, King of Belgium, 301. 
 
 Linzee, Capt. John, grandfather of 
 Mrs. W. H. Prescott, 51, 430. 
 
 Literarv honors received by Mr. Pres¬ 
 cott, 436, 437. 
 
 Literary loafing, 121 note, 189, 190. 
 
 Livy, i75. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 453 
 
 Lockhart, John G., on the “ Fer¬ 
 dinand and Isabella,” 113 ; Mr. 
 Prescott’s review of his Life of 
 Scott, 154, 237 ; first meeting with, 
 282 note ; letter from, 327; death, 
 384. 
 
 Longman & Co., 103, 113 note. 
 
 Loring, Charles G., of the Club, 52 
 note, 143 note. 
 
 Lunt, George, Secretary to Mr. 
 Prescott, 78 note; imitation of 
 Horace on his death, 444. 
 
 Lyell, Sir Charles, first visit to 
 the United States, 194 and note ; 
 second, 359 and note; third, 360, 
 375 ; first greeting of Mr. Prescott 
 in London, 281; Mr. Prescott’s re¬ 
 gard for, 298; letters to, 390, 410. 
 
 Lyell, Lady, letters to, 257, 281 
 note, 321, 322, 334, 359, 360, 361, 
 362, 363, 383, 384, 386, 393, 394, 
 404, 405, 408; last words about, 
 442. 
 
 Lynn, villa at, 373; life there, 376. 
 
 Mably, Etude de l’Histoire, 70, 90 
 and note. 
 
 Macaulay, habits of composition, 
 294; in society, 298; his History, 
 331, 388, 389; letter from, 409. 
 
 Mackintosh, Sir James, 211, 239. 
 
 Mahon. Lord (Earl of Stanhope), 
 history of Europe, 333. 
 
 Marsh, George P., on style and 
 composition, 142 note, 212 note. 
 
 Maryland Historical Society, 415. 
 
 Mason, William Powell, early 
 friend of Mr. Prescott, 14; of the 
 Club, 52 note. 
 
 Massachusetts Convention on the 
 Constitution, 426. 
 
 Massachusetts Historical Society on 
 Mr. Prescott’s death, 415; proceed¬ 
 ings on the Crossed Swords, 430, 
 431. 
 
 Memoirs, private, and private letters, 
 value for history, 179, 195. 
 
 Memoranda, Mr. Prescott’s private, 
 139, 164, 400. 
 
 Mexico, History of the Conquest of, 
 materials for, collected, 155, 156, 
 167, 181; correspondence about, 
 with Mr. Irving, 157 - 163; plan of, 
 182; begins to write it, 182; Intro¬ 
 duction, 183; work completed, 189 
 and note; published, 191 ; great 
 success, 192; English edition, 192; 
 his own thoughts on, 193, 199; a 
 solace to the suffering, 225; cor¬ 
 rected, 399, 400; translations of, 
 400, 438, 439, 440^ 
 
 Middleton, Arthur, ear'v friend of 
 Mr. Prescott, 12; assists nim in col¬ 
 lecting materials for his histories, 
 181, 266; family of, 280. 
 
 Mignet on the “ Ferdinand and Isa¬ 
 bella,” 112; on the election of Mr. 
 Prescott into the Institute, 223; ma¬ 
 terials for Philip II., 207, 342; on 
 Charles V., 378. 
 
 Milburn, the Rev. Wm. H., on Mr. 
 Prescott, 441. 
 
 Miller, General, 172 and note. 
 
 Milman, the Rev. H. H., on “Fer¬ 
 dinand and Isabella.” 113; review 
 of the “ Conquest of Mexico,” 193; 
 acquaintance with, 281; regard for, 
 296, 29S; on Mr. Prescott’s style, 
 211, 446; letters to, 200, 322, 362; 
 letters from, 202, 391; Mr. Pres¬ 
 cott's last words about, 442; letter 
 on Mr. Prescott’s death, 446. 
 
 Mii.man, Mrs., letters to, 330, 360, 
 388. 
 
 Milnes, R. Monckton, 288. 
 
 Milton, blindness, 19 ; prose stvle, 
 
 66 . 
 
 MoliUjre, 57; proposed Life of, 151, 
 152, 153, 154, 155; Review of, 236. 
 
 Montaigne, 67. 
 
 Moody, Master, 6, 423. 
 
 Morpeth, Viscount, visit to Boston, 
 186; letters from, 186, 199 ; memo¬ 
 randum on, 188 ; at New York, 349. 
 See also Carlisle, Earl of. 
 
 Morley, Lady, 397. 
 
 Motley, J. Lothrop, relations with 
 Mr. Prescott, 259-262. 
 
 Murray, John, Senior, declines pub¬ 
 lishing the “ Ferdinand and Isabel¬ 
 la,” 104, 113 note. 
 
 Murray, John, tbe younger, 285 
 note. 
 
 Nahant, cottage and life at, 370-372. 
 
 Napier, McVey, Editor of the Edin¬ 
 burgh Review, 113; on Mr. Pres¬ 
 cott’s blindness, 250. 
 
 Navarrets, Martin Fernandez 
 de, assists Mr. Prescott, 152 and 
 note, 166; death of, 224. 
 
 Naworth Castle, visit to, 311. 
 
 Nepaulese Princes, 282 note. 
 
 New England Genealogical Society 
 415. 
 
 New York, city of, visits to, 163, 188 
 216, 246. 
 
 New York Historical Society, 415. 
 
 New York, State of, 224. 
 
 Niagara, visit to, 219; painting of, 328, 
 329. 
 
 Noctograph, 116-118, 142, 434 
 
454 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 North American Review, articles for, 
 48. 87, 88, 238, 239. 
 
 Northampton, Lord, 290, 293. 
 
 Northumberland, Duke of, visit 
 to, 303-308. 
 
 Otis, Edmund B., Secretary to Mr. 
 Prescott, 77 note, 217 note; letter 
 of, 433. 
 
 Oxford, Bishop of, visit to, 290, 
 291. 
 
 Oxford University, doctorate at, 292 - 
 294. 
 
 Palfrey, John Gorham, of the Club, 
 
 52 note. 
 
 Paris, visits to, 42, 43, 300. 
 
 Parke, Baron (Lord Wensleydale), 
 318 note. 
 
 Parker, Daniel, 44. 
 
 Parker, Hamilton, Secretary to Mr. 
 Prescott, 78 note. 
 
 Parr, Dr. Samuel, 7. 
 
 Parsons, Professor Theophilus, 
 early friend of Mr. Prescott; of the 
 Club, 52 note ; on Mr. Prescott’s 
 social character, 132 ; on his con¬ 
 versation, 356 ; letter to, 405. 
 
 Pascal, 57. 
 
 Peabody, Augusta, 429. 
 
 Peabody, Jos., Salem merchant, 6. 
 
 Peele, Sir R., dinner, 284, 285 note; 
 death, 297; refusal of a peerage, 309; 
 his papers, 310. 
 
 Pennsylvania Historical Society, 415. 
 
 Perkins, Thomas H., liberality to 
 the Blind Asylum, 234 and note; 
 resemblance to Wellington, 2S4 and 
 note. 
 
 Pepperell farm, description of, 326; 
 attachment to, 360, 363 ; life at, 
 366 - 369 ; testamentary dispositions 
 respecting, 369, 370 and note. 
 
 Pepperell, town of, settled and name, 
 421. 
 
 Peru, History of the Conquest of, be¬ 
 gun, 216-218; work upon, 226, 241, 
 243; difficulties with, 245, 246; fin¬ 
 ished, 247; published, 248; misgiv¬ 
 ings about, and success, 248, 249. 
 
 Petrarch, discussion about, 69-61. 
 
 Phi Beta Kappa Society, 24 and note; 
 Mr. Sumner’s Oration before, 353. 
 
 Philip II., business habits and capa¬ 
 city, 343, 344, 348; letters of, in 
 Paris, 344; in Florence, 347. 
 
 Philip II., History of, materials col¬ 
 lected for, 178, 179, 194, 196, 251; 
 Mr. Motley’s letter about, 259-261; 
 Mr. Prescott’s difficulties, 262; in¬ 
 quiries begun. 264; arrangements, 
 266 - 271 ; doubts about form of, 
 
 273 ; synopsis of, 274 ; begins to 
 write, 276; memoirs, 277; stopped 
 by failure of health, 279; finishes 
 volume first as a history and not as 
 memoirs, 324; progress, 356, 359; 
 finishes second volume, 376; pub¬ 
 lishes the two, 377 ; their success, 
 377 ; works on volume third, 380, 
 382; finishes it, 399; publishes it, 
 407, 409. 
 
 Phillips, Charles, 173. 
 
 Pickering. John, 6; on the “ Ferdi¬ 
 nand and Isabella,” 96,104; Memoir 
 of, 265. 
 
 Pickering, Octavius, of the Club, 
 52 note. 
 
 Pickmans, merchants, 5. 
 
 Pizarro, 241 
 
 Playfair, Professor, 398 note. 
 
 Plummer Hall, 2. 
 
 Polk, President, 352 
 
 Prescott family, 419-429. 
 
 Prescott, Abigail, grandmother of 
 the historian, 421, 423. 
 
 Prescott, Benjamin, ancestor of the 
 historian, 420. 
 
 Prescott, Catharine Greene, 
 mother of the historian, notice of, 
 426, 427 ; influence on her son, 1, 2, 
 6; letters to, 33, 38, 290; son never 
 parted from her, 393; illnesses, 111, 
 334; death, 358. 
 
 Prescott, Catharine Hicklino, 
 daughter of the historian, death, 85, 
 86 and note. 
 
 Prescott, Catharine Elizabeth, 
 sister of the historian, letter to, 34 ; 
 her notices of him, 48; her mar¬ 
 riage, 427. See also Dexter, Eliza¬ 
 beth. 
 
 Prescott, Edward Goldsborough, 
 brother of the historian, death of, 
 218; notice of, 428, 429. 
 
 Prescott, Elizabeth, aaaghter of 
 the historian, letters to, 286, 302, 
 303; marriage, 330, 331, 334; lives 
 near him, 386. See Lawrence, Eliz¬ 
 abeth. 
 
 Prescott. James, ancestor of the his¬ 
 torian, 420. 
 
 Prescott, John, first emigrant cf tho 
 family. 419. 
 
 Prescott, Jonas, ancestor of the his¬ 
 torian, 420. 
 
 Prescott. Oliver, father and son, 
 420. 
 
 Prescott, Susan, wife of the histo¬ 
 rian, her marriage, 49, 60; notice 
 of, 240; letters to, 282, 288, 295, 
 297, 300, 311, 316. 
 
 Prescott, William, grandfather of 
 
INDEX. 
 
 455 
 
 the historian, letter to the people 
 of Boston, 403 note; commands on 
 Bunker Hill, 51; notice of, 421- 
 423. 
 
 Prescott, William, father of the his¬ 
 torian, notice of, 423 - 427; influ¬ 
 ence on his son, 5; removal from 
 Salem to Boston, 6; life there, 6; 
 letters to, 13, 31,33,38; illness, 190, 
 191; partial recovery, 218; death, 
 220; effects on his son, 220, 223 and 
 note, 227; character, 228, 229, 243, 
 245, 367. 
 
 Prescott, William Hickllng. 
 
 1796. — Birth, 1. 
 
 1800-1803. — Early education, 2, 3. 
 1803 -1811. — School-boy life, 3 - 
 
 11 . 
 
 1811-1814. —College life, 15-25; 
 loss of his left eye, 18; intends to 
 study law, 26. 
 
 1815. — Severe disease in his re¬ 
 maining eye, 26-29; residence 
 for his health in St. Michael’s, 
 31 — 39. 
 
 1816, 1817. — Travels in England, 
 France, and Italy, and return 
 home, 40-46. 
 
 1817, 1818. — Retired life at home, 
 48; writes his first article for a 
 Review, and foils, 48. 
 
 1818. — Gives up his intention to 
 study law, 49, 116. 
 
 1820. — Is married, 49, 50 ; with 
 some friends forms a Club, 52; 
 “ The Club-Room,” 64; deter¬ 
 mines on a life of letters, 65. 
 
 1821 -1824. — Prepares himself for 
 it, 56-66. 
 
 1825. — First Spanish studies, 67 - 
 69; proposes to write history of 
 some sort, 70 - 77. 
 
 1826. — Selects “ Ferdinand and 
 Isabella” for his subject, 72. 
 
 1827 -1837. — Writes and publishes 
 it, 79-110. 
 
 1837. — Thinks of wi iting a Life of 
 Molifere, 151. 
 
 1835 - 1843. — Prefers the “ Con¬ 
 quest of Mexico,” and w’rites and 
 publishes it, 181 -193. 
 
 1844. — Publishes a volume of Mis¬ 
 cellanies, 230 -239. 
 
 1844 - 1847. —Writes and publishes 
 the “ Conquest of Peru,” 216 - 
 248. 
 
 1844. — Death of his father, 220; 
 election into the French Institute 
 and the Roval Academy of Ber¬ 
 lin, 222-224. 
 
 1848. — Doubts about a History of 
 
 Philip II., 262; Memoir of Picker¬ 
 ing, 265; History of the Conquest 
 of Mexico under General Scott 
 proposed to him, 272. 
 
 1849. — Begins History of Philip 
 II., 276. 
 
 I860. —- Visit to England, 279 - 320. 
 
 1851. — Goes on with Philip H., 
 324. 
 
 1852. — Death of his mother, 358. 
 
 1854-1855. — Finishes and pub 
 
 lishes first two volumes of Philip 
 II., 376, 377. 
 
 1855 - 1856. — Addition to Robert¬ 
 son’s History of Charles V., 379. 
 
 1856. — Memoir of Mr. Lawrence, 
 380. 
 
 1857. — Failing health, 381. 
 
 1858. — First apoplectic attack, 
 396 - 398 ; finishes the third vol¬ 
 ume of Philip II., 399; correctc 
 “ Conquest of Mexico,” 400; last 
 residence in Pepperell, 400. 
 
 1859. — Last occupations, 402 ; last 
 letter, 410: last pleasures, 411; 
 death, 412, 413 ; funeral, 414, 415; 
 public sorrow, 415, 416. 
 
 Prescott, W. H. 
 
 Early amusements, 3, 10-12; reso¬ 
 lutions made and broken, 16, 17; 
 indulgences at college, 18 ; dis¬ 
 like of mathematics, 21, 196 and 
 note; involuntary fits of laugh¬ 
 ter, 22; likes puns, 50 note; per¬ 
 sonal appearance, 51; death of 
 his first daughter, 85 ; inquiries 
 into the truth of Christianity, 86; 
 Mably and Clemencin, 90, 91, 92; 
 character, habits, and modes of 
 work influenced by the infirmity 
 in his sight, 115 -128 ; smokes 
 moderately, and drinks wine by 
 rule, 126; social character, 129- 
 132; early determines on a life 
 of labor, 133; obstacles and ex¬ 
 pedients to overcome them, 134- 
 139; prepares his composition in 
 his memory, 140-143 ; moral 
 supervision of his character, 144, 
 146; much relating to his habits 
 little known, 145 - 147; conver¬ 
 sation and manners, 147, 148 ; 
 charities public and private, 148- 
 150; fresh inquiries into the truth 
 of Christianity, 164; correspond¬ 
 ence with Mr. Irving, 157 - 163; 
 threatened abridgment of “ Fer¬ 
 dinand and Isabella,” 184, 185; 
 acquaintance and friendship with 
 Lord Morpeth, 186 - 188 ; his 
 style, and how he formed it, 208 - 
 
456 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 215 ; death of his brother Ed¬ 
 ward, 218; death of his father, 
 220, 221 ; elected into the French 
 Institute and the Royal Academy 
 of Berlin, 222 -224; contributions 
 to the North American Review, 
 239 ; domestic relations, 240; life 
 at Pepperell, 241-244 ; removal 
 to Beacon Street, 244; journey to 
 Washington, 247; to Albany, 247; 
 letter of Mr. Motley, 259-261; 
 bad state of his eye, 262, 263; 
 Ranke, 270, 271; fear of deafness, 
 277; discouragement and anxie¬ 
 ties, 273- 275; failure of health, 
 277; visit to Washington, 278; 
 to England, 279 - 320; youthful 
 appearance, 301 ; difficulties, 
 824, 325; political opinions, 335; 
 political conversation, 356; his 
 different homes, 364-374; first 
 summer at Lynn, 375; corre¬ 
 spondence, 383 - 395 ; apoplec¬ 
 tic attack and recovery, 396 - 399; 
 occupations subsequently, 400- 
 402; correspondence, 403-410; 
 death and funeral, 412 - 416; 
 regularity of his habits, 433; pre¬ 
 ferred literary to civil history, 
 433; love of his books, 435; liter¬ 
 ary honors, 436, 437; translations 
 of his histories, 438,439, 440; con¬ 
 versation with Rev. Mr. Milbum, 
 441, 442, 443; feelings of grati 
 tude to his countrymen, 443; ex¬ 
 pressions of individual sorrow at 
 his death, 444-446. 
 
 Prescott, William Amory, son of 
 the historian, 242, 297, 429. 
 
 Prescott, William Gardiner, son 
 of the historian, 6 note, 242; in 
 London, 297 ; at Castle Howard, 
 313; his marriage and children, 
 429. 
 
 Putnam, Mrs., 6 note. 
 
 Putnam, General, 403. 
 
 Queen Victoria, presentation to, 
 289, 295 ; court ball, 296; visit to 
 Castle Howard, 313. 
 
 Ramirez, J. F., notes on the “ Con¬ 
 quest of Mexico,” 407, 440. 
 
 Ranke, L., assists Mr. Prescott in 
 collecting materials, 268; his Span¬ 
 ish Empire, 270 ; Mr. Prescott 
 prints part of it for his private use, 
 271. 
 
 Raphael’s cartoons, 41. 
 
 Raumer, F. von, Sixteenth and 
 Seventeenth Centuries, 194. 
 
 Readers of Mr. Prescott. See Secre¬ 
 taries. 
 
 Relazioni Venete, 194, 252, 253, 348 
 note. 
 
 Resolutions of Mr. Prescott as a basis 
 of conduct, 15, 16, 136 and note. 
 
 Reviews, why Mr. Prescott wrote 
 them, 238; list of, 239 note; opin¬ 
 ions on reviewing, 238, 239 ; small 
 value of, 350. 
 
 Rheumatism of Mr. Prescott, 28, 31, 
 40, 47, 118, 364. 
 
 Richards, the Rev. George, lines 
 on Mr. Prescott’s death, 445. 
 
 Richmond, portrait of Mr. Prescott, 
 295. 
 
 Ripley, George, 356. 
 
 Robertson, William, 79 note; his 
 Charles V., 179 ; his America, 197; 
 his Charles V. continued by Mr. 
 Prescott, 376, 379, 390. 
 
 Rogers, S., letters from, 169, 197; 
 anecdotes of, 294 ; visits to, 299. 
 
 Saint Michael’s Island, visits to, 31- 
 39. 
 
 Sala, Journey due North, 412. 
 
 Salem, life in, during Mr. Prescott’s 
 boyhood, 5. 
 
 Schafer, IL, History of Spain, 161 
 
 note. 
 
 Scott, Sir W., power to resist pain, 
 236 note; Review of his Life by 
 Lockhart, 237 ; love of his novels, 
 242, 367, 369 note, 398 ; Miss Edge- 
 worth on, 253; his diaries, 294, 299; 
 his last illness, 398. 
 
 Scott, General Winfield, project 
 for a history of his Conquest of 
 Mexico, 272. 
 
 Scottish popular poetrv, Review of, 
 236. 
 
 Scribe, Sir Robert Peel’s mistake 
 about, 286 note. 
 
 Secretaries to Mr. Prescott, difficult 
 to obtain, 77, 78; list of, 78 note. 
 
 Shaw, Mrs. Howland, 278. 
 
 Shaw, William Smith, founder of 
 the Boston Athenasum, 8. 
 
 Sherwood, Mrs. John, sonnet by, 
 374 note. 
 
 Simancas Castle, documents in, 226, 
 difficulty of access to, 266; materi¬ 
 als from, obtained, 269, 270; part 
 found in Paris, 342, 346. 
 
 Simonds, Henry C., Secretary to 
 Mr. Prescott, 78 note. 
 
 Sismondi, J. C. L., letter from, 167. 
 
 Smith, Alexander, earlv friend, 
 2S0, 321. 
 
 Solis, “ Conquista de Mexico,” firsr 
 
INDEX 
 
 457 
 
 Spanish book read by Mr. Prescott, 
 68, 69. 
 
 Southey, It., on “ Ferdinand and Isa¬ 
 bella,” 113 and note. 
 
 Sparks, Jared, of the Club, 62 
 note; on “ Ferdinand and Isabella,” 
 97 ; edition of Washington’s Works, 
 333. 
 
 Spiritual manifestations, 87 note. 
 
 Spooner, W. J., of the Club, 62 note. 
 
 Sprague, Charles, Ode to Shake¬ 
 speare reviewed bv Mr. Prescott, 
 88 . 
 
 Stackpole, J. L., 260 and note. 
 
 Stafford House, 289. 
 
 Stanley, Lord, 286. 
 
 Stephens’s, J. L., Central America, 
 197. 
 
 Stirling, William, Memoir of Mr. 
 Prescott, 284; relations with him, 
 326; his Cloister Life of Charles V., 
 378. 
 
 Story, Mr. Justice, 6. 
 
 Style of Mr. Prescott, great pains 
 taken with, 203 - 205 ; Ford on it, 
 206; its freedom, 210; consistent 
 with the author’s character, 212; 
 his individuality in it, 212 ; influ¬ 
 enced bv his infirmity of sight, 213, 
 214; result, 214, 216. 
 
 Styluses used with the noctograph, to 
 whom given, 360. 
 
 Sumner, Charles, illness of, 225; 
 visit with, to Washington, 246 ; Sen¬ 
 ator, 330, 332 ; relations with, 336; 
 on war, 352, 353 ; his visit to Eng¬ 
 land, 395 ; letters to, 339, 348, 349, 
 351, 352, 353. 
 
 Sutherland, Duchess of, visit to, 
 317. 
 
 Swords, The Crossed, 61,895, 430-432. 
 
 Taschereau, Jules, 152. 
 
 Taylor, President, 278. 
 
 Ternaux-Compans, 267. 
 
 Thackeray, W. M., 355, 359, 430. 
 
 Thanksgiving in Bedford Street, 365. 
 
 Thayer, N., 247. 
 
 Thierry, P. Augustin, blindness, 89, 
 119 note; letters from, 168, 255. 
 
 Ticknor, Mrs. Anna, letters to, 242, 
 298. 
 
 Ticknor, Miss Anna, letters to, 173, 
 174, 176. 
 
 Ticknor, George, acquaintance with 
 Mr. Prescott as a boy, 7; during an 
 illness in Boston, 29; in Paris, 43; 
 in his family, 50; readings togeth¬ 
 er, 57; relations on English studies, 
 58 ; on Spanish studies, 67; on Ital¬ 
 ian 58-68,70,71; letters to, 68, 61, 
 20 
 
 100,102,104,108, 152. 153, 160 note, 
 190,292, 308; letters from, 102, 110 j 
 Review of, 237, 265; remarks on, 
 441. 442. 
 
 Tocqukville, Alexis de, on review 
 writing, 239. 
 
 Translations of Mr. Prescott’s works, 
 438 - 440. 
 
 Trench, Dean, 442. 
 
 Trentham, visit to, 317. 
 
 True Grandeur of Nations, by Mr. 
 Sumner, 353. 
 
 Tuckeiiman, II., 232 note. 
 
 Tudor, William, 246 note. 
 
 Turnbull, D., 341, 342. 
 
 Twisleton, Edward, 324, 391. 
 
 Tytler, Patrick Frazer, letters 
 from, 169, 180, 201; on review writ 
 ing, 238, 239. 
 
 Unitarianism, 293. 
 
 Vargas y Ponce, manuscripts, 166. 
 
 Vega, Maria Gonzalez de la, 400, 
 438. 
 
 Veytia, History, 195. 
 
 Victoria, Queen. See Queen Vic¬ 
 toria. 
 
 Voltaire’s Charles XII., 175,176. 
 
 Wagers or bonds to induce work, 137, 
 138, 241, 245. 
 
 Wainwriqht, Bishop, of the Club, 
 62 note; visit to, 188 and note. 
 
 Ware, George F., Secretary, 78 note. 
 
 Ware, Henry, Senior, 13. 
 
 Ware, John, of the Club, 52 note; on 
 Mr. Prescott’s character, 87 note. 
 
 Warren, Henry, of the Club, 52 
 note. 
 
 Warren, General Joseph, 404,422. 
 
 Washington, visits at, 246, 278. 
 
 Washington, President, Irving’s 
 Life of, 394; edition of his Works 
 by Sparks, 333. 
 
 Watson, R., the historian, 79 note, 
 180, 270. 
 
 Webster, Daniel, on the “ Ferdi 
 nand and Isabella,” 101; Senator at 
 Washington, 278; on Mr. Prescott 
 Senior, 426. 
 
 Webster, Nathan, 120, 220. 
 
 Wellington, Duke of, 283,294,295. 
 
 Wensleydale, Lord. See Parke, 
 Baron. 
 
 Whitebait dinner, 326. 
 
 Whiting, Martin, of the Club, 62 
 note. 
 
 Wilberforce, Samuel. See Ox¬ 
 ford, Bishop of. 
 
 I William of Orange, 302. 
 
458 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Williams, E. Dwigiit, Secretary to 
 Mr. Prescott, T8 note. 
 
 Windsor Park, 287. 
 
 Win'throp, Francis William, of the 
 Club, 62 note. 
 
 Winthrop, Robert C., President of 
 the Massachusetts Historical So¬ 
 ciety, 480, 431. 
 
 W ithlvgton, G. R. M., Secretary to 
 Mr. Prescott, 78 note. 
 
 Wolf, Ferdinand, assists Mr. Pres¬ 
 cott, 268. 
 
 Women in London, none old, 297. 
 Wood’s Hole, visit to, 177, 186. 
 
 Yuste, Diaries about CharlesV at, 261 
 

 
 
 
GETTY RESEARCH INSTITUTE 
 
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