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THE

CONTINENTAL MONTHLY:

DEVOTED TO

LITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY

HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE.

The death of Henry Thomas Buckle, at this period of his career, is no ordinary calamity to the literary and philosophical world. Others have been cut short in the midst of a great work, but their books being narrative merely, may close at almost any period, and be complete; or others after them may take up the pen and conclude that which was so abruptly terminated. So it was with Macaulay; he was fascinating, and his productions were literally devoured by readers of elevated taste, though they disagreed almost entirely with his conclusions. His volumes were read--as one reads Dickens, or Holmes, or De Quincey--to amuse in leisure hours.

Mr. Buckle was born in London, in the early part of the year 1824, and was consequently about thirty-eight years of age at the time of his death. His father was a wealthy gentleman of the metropolis, and thoroughly educated, and the historian was an only son. Devoted to literature himself, it is not surprising that the parent spared neither money nor labor to educate his child. He did not, however, follow the usual course; did not hamper the youthful mind by the narrow routine of the English academy, nor did he make him a Master of Arts at Oxford or Cambridge.

At what age he first conceived the project of writing his history, is not yet publicly known. He never figured in the literary world previous to the publication of his first volume. He appears to have early grasped at more than a mere temporary fame, and determined to stake all upon a single production. His reading was always systematic, and exceedingly thorough; and as he early became charmed with the apparent harmony of all nature, whether in the physical, intellectual, or moral world, he at once commenced tracing out the laws of the universe, to which, in his mind, all things were subject, with a view of illustrating that beautiful harmony, every where prevailing, every where unbroken. All this influenced every thing, 'and mind and gross matter, each performed their parts, in relative proportions, and according to the immutable laws of progress.'

This is taking in a wide field; and Mr. Buckle may be regarded as somewhat egotistic and vain; but the fact that he proves himself, in a great degree, the possessor of the knowledge he conceives requisite, rather than asserts it, is a sufficient vindication against all aspersions.

Mr. Buckle regards physical influences as the primary motive power which produces civilization; but these influences are fixed in their nature, and are few in number, and always operate with equal power. The capacity of the intellect is unlimited; it grows and expands, partially impelled by surrounding physical circumstances, and partially by its own second suggestions, growing out of those primary impressions received from nature. The moral influence, the historian asserts, is the weakest of the three, which control the destiny of man. Not an axiom now current, but was known and taught in the days of Plato, of Zoroaster, and of Confucius; yet how wide the gap intervening between the civilization of the different eras! Moral without intellectual culture, is nothing; but with the latter, the former comes as a necessary sequence.

All individual examples are rejected. As all things act in harmony, we can only draw deductions by regarding the race in the aggregate, and studying its progress through long periods of time. Statistics is the basis of all generalizations, and it is only from a close comparison of these, for ages, that the harmonious movement of all things can be clearly proved.

Mr. Buckle was a fatalist in every sense of the word. Marriages, deaths, births, crime--all are regulated by Law. The moral status of a community is illustrated by the number of depredations committed, and their character. Following the suggestions of M. Quetelot, he brings forward an array of figures to prove that not only, in a large community, is there about the same number of crimes committed each year, but their character is similar, and even the instruments employed in committing them are nearly the same. Of course, outside circumstances modify this slightly--such as financial failures, scarcity of bread, etc., but by a comparison of long periods of time, these influences recur with perfect regularity.

Free Will and Predestination--the two dogmas which have, more than any others, agitated the public mind--are discussed at length. Of course he accepts the latter theory, but under a different name. Free Will, he contends, inevitably leads to aristocracy, and Predestination to democracy; and the British and Scottish churches are cited as examples of the effect of the two doctrines on ecclesiastical organizations. The former is an aristocracy, the latter a democracy.

No feature of Mr. Buckle's work is so prominent as its democratic tendencies. The people, and the means by which they can be elevated, were uppermost in his mind, and he disposes of established usages, and aristocratic institutions, in a manner far more American than English. It is this circumstance which has endeared him to the people of this country, and to the liberals of Germany--the work having been translated into German. For the same reason, he was severely criticised in England.

Having devoted the first volume to a discussion of the laws of civilization, it was his intention to publish two additional volumes, illustrating them; taking the three countries in which were found certain prominent characteristics, which he conceived could be fully accounted for by his theories, but by no other, and above all, by none founded upon the doctrine of free will and individual responsibility. These countries were Spain, Scotland, and the United States--nations which grew up under the most diverse physical influences, and which present widely different civilizations.

Amid all this abuse, our author stood immutable. But once did he ever condescend to notice his maligners, and then only to expose their ignorance, at the same time pledging himself never again to refer to their attacks. A thinking man, he could not but be fully aware that their style, and self-evident malice, could only add to his reputation.

The historian is a theorist, yet no controversialist. He states his facts, and draws his conclusions, as if no ideas different from his own had ever been promulgated. He never attempts to show the fallacies of any other author, but readily understands that if he establishes his system of philosophy, all contrary ones must fall. How fortunate it would have been for the human race, if all innovators and reformers had done the same!

That which adds to the regrets occasioned by his loss, which must be entertained by every American, is the circumstance that his forthcoming volume was to be devoted to the social and political condition of the United States, as an example of a country in which existed a general diffusion of knowledge. Knowing, as all his readers do, that his sympathies are democratic, and in favor of the elevation of the masses, we had a right to expect a vindication-the first we ever had--from an English source. At the time of his death he was traveling through Eurohnny, did I ever tell you about the buttigoat which had never saw a mule? One day it saw one a standin in the sun, like it was asleep. The butty it looked awhile and then it walked around to the last part of the mule, a lookin mighty sly, much as to say: 'When he cant see me I'll sock it to him good and plenty.'

"But the mule knew what was doing, and when the butty tried to sock it to him he kicked him in the forehead real cruel, and the butty turned a flip flop and lit on his back with his feets in the air. Bime by he got up and shook his self, and stomped the ground, and looked at the mule a long time, which was a chewin his cud real peaceful. After a while the butty he said to his self: 'Ide like for to know which end that feller buts with. I know which I do by the ache.'"

The horse is the noblest animal which scours the plain, but the buttigoat can knock out a dog like the dog hadnt been there, for the butty was give dominion over the fishes of the sea, and the birds of the foul air and everything that is born of woman.

CATS

A feller which had took a unfurnished bed room in a lodgin' house, he said one evening to a friend which had called on him: "Now I got my room, and I have bought this bed and chair, but my money has give out, wot am I to do for a water pitcher, and a lamp, and a hair brush, and other little articles of luxury such as a man of refined taste likes to see about him?"

Then his friend he spoke up and said: "Just give me that old cat and come along o me, and we will get all them things mighty quick."

So they took the cat into the back yard of a other house and pinned her tail to a cloes line, where she swung free to the sport of the wind and owled awful! Then the fellers friend he said: "Now we will get plenty water jugs, and lamps, and hair brushes, and old shoes, and all things which is nice. All we got to do is just hide ourselfs till they come down like manna from Heaven."

They stayed all night till the cat had singed herself into the better land and they was most froze, and no manna. While they was a lookin up to a window a feller in his night shirt opened the window and looked out for to see the sun rise. Then one of them said to the shirt feller: "It is a nice mornin, gum dast you!" But the man at the window he didnt say nothing. So the other feller he hollered: "How do you like music, old stick-in-the-mud?" but the man didn't say nothin a other time. Then the feller which the cat was hisn he shook his two fists real terible and hollered: "Ile get even on you for this, you darned thief!"

The man in the house took notice and went away from the window, but pretty soon come back with a enormous ear trumpet, which he stuck in his ear and leaned out and shouted: "What?"

Old Gaffer Peters, which has got the bald head, he had a big Maltese cat, and the cat had a hole in its ear. One day it come in to Mister Brilys meat shop, which is the fat butcher, and Jack Brily, he catched it and shut it up. But first he cut off its ear which had the hole in it. Bime by Missis Doppy, which is old Gaffer's daughter and has a red head, she come in for to buy sausage meat. Jack he sneaked the cat ear into the sausage meat and Missis Doppy she took the meat home, but Jack he said, just as she left the shop:

"That is the dandiest sausage meat which we have ever made, you look at it when you get home, and see if it aint."

When she was gone Jack he shut the cat up in the box which catches the ground up meat as it comes out of the machine, and waited. Pretty soon Missis Doppy she come boilin in, real furious, and handed back the meat and showed Jack the cat ear with the hole in it and said: "Young man, do you know what that is?"

Jack he looked at it a long time, and then he said: "Looks like it might maybe be a washer off of some kind of machine. Where did you get it?"

Missis Doppy said: "I got it out of that meat. You made our cat in to sausage, you wicked thief!"

Just then old Mister Brily come in and asked what was up, and while Missis Doppy was a weepin and sayin what a mean man he was Jack said: "I dont see how that cat could get in the machine without our guilty knowledge, lets see if we can find the other ear."

So he flang open the box of the grinder and the cat jumped out, and made a dash for the door and most knocked Missis Doppy down and busted out of the shop like it was a whirl wind, and scampered up the street, toward home, you never have see such a circus! Missis Doppy she fainted dead away and Mister Brily he hurled a beef bone at Jack, which dodged and walked away, a singin about war with its wide dissolution.

But Mister Pitchel, thats the preacher, he says it is wicked for to poke fun at the women, cause they cant poke back. Mister Pitchel he can pray real fine, but if me and Billy was preachers I rather be a pirate like Rinard the Red Revenger, which declaimed war with the whole world and had ships and a castle and no goin to school.

When cats is roarin like distant thunder it makes a feller awful fraid unless he is a sleepin with his sister.

The pig it is a native of the Holy Land, and dogs is French, but cats is known from the earliest times and can pur. Missis Dumberly, which has eleven children, she was to our house, and she said, Missis Dumberly did, that she just couldn't bear cats. Then Uncle Ned he spoke up and said: "That is mighty lucky for the mice."

Missy, thats my sister, she doesnt like cats too, but girls is quadderpeds and cant climb trees, and when they are mad they spit and swear and hunch their backs up like they was camomiles.

Cats and taggers is the same thing, only the tagger he is bigger and can thrash the lion, and is the king of the jingle. If I was a tag Ide rather be a rhi nosey rose, for the rhi it has got a sticker, and when it fights the ephalent it jabs its sticker in to the stomach of the ephs belly. And that is why the cracky dile says: "Suffer little children to come into me."

Ephalents was one time used in battle, but once when the king of Rome was a chargin with ten thousand hundred ephs the enemies they turned loose a ton of rats, and the ephs all fled amain as one man! The king of Romes neck was broke and ephalents have ever since pursued the arts of peace and eats pea nuts. Mister Jonnice, which has the wood laig, he was one time a soldier in the war, and thats the way he got it, cause the enemies they shot it off with cannons for to keep him from runnin away. But he says he done some mighty good hoppin.

Mose, which is the cat, and Bildad, thats the new dog, they are good friends, but when Mose is give a saucer of milk Bildad he jumps in and swallers it in 3 or 4 gulps. Then he looks around at Mose, like he was astonished, and shakes his head, much as to say: "Well, well, if I had knew there wasnt no milk in that saucer I wouldnt have took the trouble for to come and see."

Bildad has got a bushy tail, and Mose he can blow hisn up like a balloon wen he is mad, but the Manx cat it hasnt got any. And that proves that all is for the best, cause man was made in six days and rested on the 7th and went a fishin.

When cats fight they spit fire and sword! One night 2 tom cats was fightin and a woman she put her head out of the window and said to a police man: "Poor things, why dont you part them, you wicked man?"

The police man he spoke up and said, the police man did: "I thought of that, mum, but I guess it aint worth while, cause it looks to me like they would part one a other."

I think he was afraid, but it is nice for to be brave like Billy, which says if there wasnt any soldiers the Millennium would be upon to us and we would all have to flee to the mountains!

My sisters young man says that once there was a cat, and there was a dog, and there was a lamb, and there was a ox. The dog it said to the ox: "Thats a mighty long tail you got there, mister, with a nice duster to the end of it, but you cant waggle it when you meet your master carryin a beef steak."

Then the cat it said to the ox, too: "No, indeed, and you cant blow it up and spit fire wen you meet a other ox."

The lamb it said: "And you aint able for to twinkle it when you think of some thing funny."

The ox he thought awhile and then he said: "I played hookey when I was a little boy so much that I didn't learn them vain acomplishments, thats a fact, but I have got a tolerbly fair business education, and I guess maybe you fellers would have to come to me for to help you out if you had to fill a order for ox tail soup."

Mary, thats the house maid, she has wrote some poetry about cats, which my mother says is mighty fine. Here it is:

The cat it has 4 feet, And it has got a tail, And purs when you stroke it the right way, But beware its toe nail!

There is nothing beautifuller than cats When they are little kits, But some day they grow up to be big toms And hunches up their backs and spits.

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