y of
Civilisation."

How, it may be asked, did a work of this sort find its way to such a
place? If the reader will pardon a short digression, I shall explain the
fact.

Immediately after the Crimean War there was a curious intellectual
movement--of which I shall have more to say hereafter--among the Russian
educated classes. The movement assumed various forms, of which two of
the most prominent were a desire for encyclopaedic knowledge, and an
attempt to reduce all knowledge to a scientific form. For men in this
state of mind Buckle's great work had naturally a powerful fascination.
It seemed at first sight to reduce the multifarious conflicting facts
of human history to a few simple principles, and to evolve order out of
chaos. Its success, therefore, was great. In the course of a few years
no less than four independent translations were published and sold.
Every one read, or at least professed to have read, the wonderful book,
and many believed that its author was the greatest genius of his time.
During the first year of my residence in Russia (1870), I rarely had
a serious conversation without hearing Buckle's name mentioned; and
my friends almost always assumed that he had succeeded in creating a
genuine science of history on the inductive method. In vain I pointed
out that Buckle had merely thrown out some hints in his introductory
chapter as to how such a science ought to be constructed, and that
he had himself made no serious attempt to use the method which he
commended. My objections had little or no effect: the belief was
too deep-rooted to be so easily eradicated. In books, periodicals,
newspapers, and professional lectures the name of Buckle was constantly
cited--often violently dragged in without the slightest reason--and the
cheap translations of his work were sold in enormous quantities. It is
not, then, so very wonderful after all that the book should have found
its way to two villages in the province of Yaroslavl.

The enterprising, self-reliant, independent spirit which is often to
be found among those peasants manifests itself occasionally in amusing
forms among the young generation. Often in this part of the country
I have encountered boys who recalled young America rather than young
Russia. One of these young hopefuls I remember well. I was waiting at a
post-station for the horses to be changed, when he appeared before me
in a sheep-skin, fur cap, and gigantic double-soled boots--all of which
ar