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 Europe and Asia for his health, intending to arrive in this country in autumn, to procure facts as a basis for his third volume, and the last of his introduction. Although his work is an unfinished one, it will remain a lasting monument to the industry of its author. He has done enough to exhibit the necessity of studying and writing history, henceforth as a _science_; and of replacing the chaotic fragments of narrative, called history, with which the world abounds, by a systematic statement of facts, and philosophical deductions. Some other author, with sufficient energy and industry, will--not finish the work of Mr. Buckle, but--write another in which the faults of the original will be corrected, and the omissions filled; who will go farther in defining the relative influences of the three powers which control civilization, during the different stages of human progress. AN ANGEL ON EARTH. Die when you may, you will not wear At heaven's court a form more fair Than beauty at your birth has given; Keep but the lips, the eyes we see, The voice we hear, and you will be An angel ready-made for heaven. THE MOLLY O'MOLLY PAPERS. VIII Better than wealth, better than hosts of friends, better than genius, is a mind that finds enjoyment in little things--that sucks honey from the blossom of the weed as well as from the rose--that is not too dainty to enjoy coarse, everyday fare. I am thankful that, though not born under a lucky star, I wasn't born under a melancholy one; that, though there were at my christening no kind fairies to bestow on me all the blessings of life--there was no malignant elf to 'mingle a curse with every blessing.' I'd rather have a few drops of pure sweet than an overflowing cup tinctured with bitterness. Not that sorrow has never blown her chill breath on my spirit--yet it has never been so iced over that it would not here and there bubble forth with a song of gladness.... There are depths of woe that I have never fathomed, or rather, to which I have never sunken--for there are no line and plummet to sound the dreary depths--yet the waves have overwhelmed me, as every human being, but I soon rose above them. 'One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, Do not fear an armed band; One shall fade as others greet thee-- Shadows passing through the land.'