The _History of the Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella the Catholic_ appeared in 1837. It was followed by _The Conquest of Mexico_, 1843; _Critical and Historical Essays_, 1845 (consisting chiefly of papers reprinted from the ‘North American Review’); _The Conquest of Peru_, 1847; _The History of Philip the Second_, 1855 (left unfinished at the author’s death). To this list of important works may be added a brief continuation of Robertson’s _Charles the Fifth_, and a _Memoir of Abbott Lawrence_. Prescott’s life was without marked external incident. His surroundings were ideal. Having inherited a fortune, he could give himself to toilsome literary undertakings with no care for the financial result. He took satisfaction in the thought of having refuted Johnson’s dictum that no man could write history unless he had good eyes. Early in 1858 Prescott was stricken with apoplexy, but so far recovered as to be able to resume work on the _History of Philip the Second_. A second attack (January 27, 1859) ended in his death. II PRESCOTT’S CHARACTER To those who knew him in varying degrees of intimacy, whether as friends, neighbors, or chance acquaintance, Prescott seemed the incarnation of urbanity, thoughtfulness, good humor. To us who know him only through the story of his life he seems notable for his heroic qualities. He had enormous courage and force of will. That other men have performed great tasks under like difficulties cannot lessen the glory of his individual achievement. Handicapped by partial blindness, he wrote history, a type of literature which makes the most exacting demands on the physical powers. Had Prescott’s genius inclined him towards poetry or fiction, the heroic element in his literary life would have been less noteworthy. In general a novelist is not expected to read; what is chiefly required of him in the way of preparation is, that he shall observe, feel, and occasionally think--but not read; much reading makes a dull story-teller. The novelist gleans material as he walks the street. For his purpose an hour of talk with ‘a set of wretched un-idea’d girls,’ as Doctor Johnson half affectionately, half pettishly, called them, is worth ten hours over a book. History is another matter. The historian must often read a thousand pages in order to write one. And the work of preparation is indescribably exhausting; there is so much detail to set in order, so many documents to be consulted, such a wilderness of notes to be arranged, compared, and fitted into place. The task, difficult under the best conditions, must seem endless to any one with an imperfect sense.