criticism, or whether he is obnoxious to it at all, are points which we do not here propose to discuss. It is sufficient to say that herein, as in so many other traits, his history reflects his character, and that this kindliness of temper, and this disposition to dwell upon what was bright, and to forget what was dark, in all with whom he was thrown into relations, was a most prolific source of happiness to him through life.

And so it was with the higher interest of religion. Mr. Prescott was a man of religious faith and feeling. Under the influence of a great sorrow, he had studied the evidences of Christianity with characteristic thoroughness, and reposed upon the faith of a Christian man in all the experiences of life; but it was a subject on which he did not like to talk. Nothing could have induced him to make proclamation of his religious emotions, or to tell the growth of his religious faith. And he had very little taste for theological discussions and controversies, and dwells upon them as little as is possible consistently with the discharge of his duty as an historian.

But in describing Mr. Prescott as sympathetic in his nature, social in his tastes, heartily enjoying life, a universal favorite, the idol of those who were nearest to him in friendship and blood, we have not shown the whole of his character. There is another side to it, and one of the most valuable points in Mr. Ticknor's biography consists in the fulness with which this side is brought out. We say valuable, because of the moral lesson which it teaches. Mr. Ticknor shows us the stoical element which ran through his friend's life, and which none knew of while he was living but those who knew him most intimately. His whole being, seemingly so easy, joyous, and careless, was under the rule of a strong will and a vigilant and exacting conscience. All the world knows what obstacles he had to overcome, arising from his imperfect sight. But besides this his general health was by no means robust. Two serious disabilities, rheumatism and dyspepsia, were always hovering around him, ready to pounce upon him, and nothing but constant care kept off their assaults. And there was yet another lion in his path, another difficulty to be surmounted, which was not less grave than those we have enumerated. He was not one of those men who love work for its own sake; on the

contrary, had it not been for his sense of duty, he would have been happy enough in the career of a man of wit and pleasure about town. The common satisfactions which grow, unsown, by the wayside of life, would have sufficed him. For he had an organization and temperament finely attuned to enjoyment. He loved the society of his friends, the easy chat of his own domestic circle, light reading, and had a decided taste for lounging, loafing, as he called it. He was ever spurring himself up to his work, and struggling manfully against his natural disinclination to labor. His diaries abound with strong expressions of self-reproach on account of wasted time, and equally strong resolutions of future amendment.

Nor did he content himself with making good resolutions. Early in life, while he was a student in college, he began to punish himself for neglect of duty by a system of self-imposed pecuniary mulcts and penalties. He made bets with his friends that he would avoid or do certain things, in relation to which he was sure that he should be mortified to have them know that he had failed. But they were bets in which the obligation was only on one side; for when he lost, he would pay the sum staked, but if he won, he would say nothing about it. And while he was at work upon his "Ferdinand and Isabella," if he found his industry flagging, he resorted to the same system with his secretary and reader, Mr. English. He had a standing agreement with him binding each of them to take from the other the amount Mr. Prescott should himself decide to be won on certain wagers written by himself and sealed up. Mr. English never saw them, and never knew the subject of the bets, trusting, as well he might, implicitly to Mr. Prescott's honor. Two bets were paid to him at different periods by Mr. Prescott, and one was exacted from him, of much smaller amount than the aggregate of the two he had won.

This habit of strengthening good resolutions by pecuniary penalties was almost the only trait in Mr. Prescott's character which could be called an oddity. For in general he was singularly free from whims and eccentricities, alike in conduct and opinion. He inherited from his father sound commonsense, moderation of mind, and a tendency to respect established institutions and recognized forms. The aggregate sen

timent of the wise and good men around him formed a standard to which he was ever ready to conform. He was not impatient of existing imperfections, and had nothing of the temper of an iconoclast. He never felt himself drawn to men who embody the spirit of protest and dissent. With him the beaten way was the safe way. One reason of the popularity of his writings is, that they express and reflect in their judgments and criticisms the average sentiments of mankind. He had no prejudices and no love of paradox. His taste in literature was of the same kind. He liked such books as have been approved by the general judgment of mankind, and had none of the pleasure which some men have in reading those which are favorites with the few. Eccentricities of thought and peculiarities of style repelled rather than attracted him. He never, for instance, could read Carlyle with any satisfaction, and the quaint garb of the "History of the French Revolution" made him insensible to its substantial merits.

Mr. Prescott was a man of regular and methodical habits. Every day had its appointed hours of toil, and he was a little disturbed if anything interfered with the usual disposition of his time. His home was in Boston, and the greater portion of the year was passed here. During the hot weeks of summer he lived, for the benefit of the bracing sea-air, first at Nahant and afterwards at Lynn; and in the autumn he spent some time at Pepperell, in a house endeared to him as having been the home of his father and grandfather. These removals were necessary for his health; but they were not without their alloy of annoyance, inasmuch as they disturbed the even flow of his hours of labor, and threw him out of his regular grooves of occupation. In the later years of his life, he had to pay one of the penalties of celebrity in the frequent visits of strangers, naturally desirous of seeing face to face a writer whose works had charmed and instructed them. Such expressions were not unwelcome to a man of his cordial and sympathetic nature; and if his visitors were not always duly mindful of the brevity of human life, he never allowed them to see that he was.

It was one of the felicities of Mr. Prescott's character, that it had by nature some of those delicate graces which are usu

ally the fruit of cultivation and discipline. In making up the estimate of a man's claims to be loved and esteemed, we must take the impressions of his dependents and inferiors, his children and servants, for instance. A thoughtful consideration for the rights of those who cannot enforce their rights is usually found only in those who have learned the value of the virtue from having at some period of their lives suffered from the want of it. Mr. Prescott's life and training were of the kind that commonly makes men selfish. He was reared in the soft air of ease and indulgence; he never knew anything of poverty and struggle. His very infirmities, by the peculiar interest and affectionate solicitude they awakened, were not without their moral danger; for the worst element in any permanent physical disability is the petty selfishness which it fosters. But so pure was the gold of Mr. Prescott's nature, that it never contracted a speck of the rust of selfishness. He needed not the sting of unkindness to make him kind to others; and his kindness was a habit, and not an act. He could no more be harsh or stern or exacting with others, than a rose-tree could help bearing roses. Then it was no virtue in him, the stoic may say, to be gentle and kindly. Perhaps not; roses are not virtues, but they are very charming things, and so was Mr. Prescott's sweetness of nature. Many young men, for instance, were, in successive periods, his secretaries and readers. This is a somewhat trying relation; and if there be any selfishness or harshness in a man's character, such a relation will be sure to bring it out. But, of all these young men, not one ever left his service without the most affectionate and grateful regard. One of them has recorded a little trait of him which is characteristic enough to be mentioned. Mr. Prescott was very punctual, and liked to have his secretary appear at the exact hour, and was annoyed at any tardiness; but he only noted it by looking significantly at his watch no word of reproof was ever uttered by him.

Mr. Prescott's social nature, as might be surmised, was very strong. There was no music to his ear like the voice of a friend. His manners, always and everywhere engaging, were never more so than when he was seated at the head of his own table, surrounded by a moderate circle of those who loved him

and whom he loved. He never condescended to the trick of drawing others out, and he never needed to do so; for the sunshine of his countenance and the spontaneous charm of his conversation diffused around him an atmosphere of light and warmth which acted upon the minds of his guests as the air of a day in June acts upon the unexpanded buds of a garden. He was not only most agreeable himself, but he made others agreeable; and it was noticed that good talkers always talked their best at his table. But this warm social nature of his was always under the control of that strong will of which we have spoken as one of his marked and pervading characteristics. If he had previously determined to leave a scene of social enjoyment at a given hour, nothing but superior physical force would have kept him beyond the self-appointed time. No matter how fast and furious the mirth was, when the clock had struck he was gone. His friend, Mr. Gardiner, gives some amusing reminiscences on this characteristic trait.

But we must bring our notice to a close. We have dwelt mainly upon Mr. Prescott's life and character, and have said comparatively little of the taste, judgment, and affectionate appreciation which his biographer has shown. But this omission is not because we have not found these merits in the work, but because they are so conspicuous that they need not to be proclaimed. A more just and loving tribute was never paid by one friend to the memory of another. We shall be surprised if this biography does not attain a popularity equal to that of Mr. Prescott's own writings; it is, indeed, so tinged with the hues of his mind and character, that much of the charm which hangs over the pages of his histories will be found in the story of his life. And this story appears in no unworthy form. The quarto edition of the memoir is one of the finest productions of the American press. The engravings are among the best ever made in the country, and the paper, type, and press-work are of the highest excellence. It is a specimen of the art of book-manufacturing which reflects the greatest credit upon all who have taken part in it.