He asked at what season he had best arrive in the United States, and whether he had better land at New York or at Boston.  Boston he said he regarded as “the intellectual head of the country, and New York, you know, for trade.”  I answered his questions as well as I could, and told him he must not omit seeing our Western country, and some of the new cities, like Chicago.  He asked me if I knew “a Mrs. Child,” who had written him a letter and sent him her book about the history of religion.  I knew of course that he meant “The Progress of Religious Ideas,” by Mrs. L. Maria Child.  He had been pleased with the letter, and with the book.

The conversation becoming general, Mr. B., of New York, told a story of an old Congressional debate in which John Randolph derisively compared Edward Everett to Richelieu:  Buckle at once said he should regard it as a compliment of the very highest kind to be compared to Richelieu.  You will smile, perhaps, if I tell you that I could not resist asking Buckle if he had read Dumas’s historical novels, and he said he had not, although he had felt an inclination to do so.  He asked one or two questions about them, and gave a rapid generalization of the history of France at that time.

This conversation at the dinner-table of course was by far the pleasantest part of the evening, for the fantasia did not amount to much, although the house was a fine one, the host most cordial, and the novelty of the entertainment was enjoyable.

February 12th.  Mr. Buckle called upon T. and myself in the afternoon, and sat talking between two and three hours.  I wish I could give you a full report of all that he said.  He told us of the only lecture he ever delivered; it was before the Royal Institution, March 19, 1858, and was printed in “Fraser’s Magazine” for April, just afterwards.  It may be found reprinted in America in “Littell’s Living Age,” No. 734.  The subject was “The Influence of Women on the Progress of Knowledge.”  Murchison, Owen, and Faraday told him afterwards, separately, that they were perfectly satisfied with it, which is certainly a strong combination of authority.  He told us all about his education, which is interesting, for he has been most truly self-taught.  When he was a boy, he was so delicate that it was thought he could not live; the celebrated Dr. Abernethy, who was a particular friend of his father, saw how important it was to keep him from mental excitement, and begged that he might not be troubled by lessons.  Accordingly, he was never sent to school at any time, except for a brief period to a clergyman who had directions not to make him study; and he was never regularly taught anything.  Until eight years of age he hardly knew his letters.  At the age of fifteen he found out Shakespeare and read it with great zest.  At seventeen he conceived the plan of his book, and resolved to do two things to make himself fit to write it:  first, he resolved to devote four hours a day to the