would go first to Boston and
New York, the intellectual and commercial heads (as he said) of the
republic,--and to Washington, the political capital. He would then like
to pass from the Northern into the Southern States, but asked if he
could travel safely in the latter, in view of his extreme opinions in
detestation of slavery. I assured him that nobody would dare to molest
one so well known, even if our war did not abate forever the nuisance
of lynching, to say nothing of its probable effect in promoting the
extinction of slavery. From the Southern States he said he would wish to
pass into Mexico, thence to Peru and to Chili; then to cross the Pacific
Ocean to Japan, to China, to India, and so back by the overland route
to England. This magnificent scheme he has seriously resolved upon, and
proposes to devote to it two or three years. He undertakes it partly for
information and partly for relaxation of his mental faculties, which he
has injured by overwork, and which imperatively demand repose. He asked
many questions with regard to matters of detail,--whether he would find
conveyance by steamers in the Pacific, and of what sort would be the
accommodations in them and in sailing-vessels. 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 din