es breeds in many minds a powerful desire to
establish "laws" for the history of man,--that is, to establish for
man's history an invariable programme. To this end an effort is made to
render all results in history dependent on a few simple and tangible
conditions. The intrepid prosaic logic of Spencer, the discursive
boldness of Buckle, the rigid dogmatism of Draper are all engaged in
this endeavor. But, while eager to make history simple and orderly, they
forget to make it human. There is an order and progress, perhaps, but an
order and progress of what? Of _men_? Of human souls, self-moved? No, of
sticks floating on a current, of straws blown by the wind! Men,
according to this theory, are but ninepins in an alley which Nature sets
up only to bowl them down again; and what avails it, if Nature makes
improvement and learns to set them up better and better? The triumphs
are hers, not theirs. They are but ninepins, after all. Progress? Yes,
indeed; but _wooden_ progress, observe.

Mr. Kingsley recognizes human beings, and recognizes them
heartily,--loves, hates, admires, despises; in fine, he deals with
history not merely as a scientist or theorist, but first of all as a
man. There are those who will think this weak. They are superior to this
partiality of man for himself, they! They would be ashamed not to sink
the man in the _savant_. But Mr. Kingsley refuses to dehumanize himself
in order to become historian and philosopher. He does well.

Again, it is partly Mr. Kingsley's merit, and partly it expresses his
limitation, that he is treating history more distinctively as a
moralizer than any other noted writer of the time. He assumes in this
respect the Hebraistic point of view, and looks out from it with an
undoubting heartiness which in these days is really refreshing. He
believes in the Old Testament, and doubts not that riches and honors are
the rewards of right-doing. And in this, too, there is a vast deal of
truth; and it is truly delightful to find one who affirms it, not with
perfunctory drawl, but with hearty human zest, a little red in the face.

It adds to the color of Mr. Kingsley's pages, while detracting from his
authority, that he is always and inevitably a _partisan_. He must have
somebody to cry up and somebody to cry down. In "Sir Amyas Leigh," his
hatred of the Spanish and admiration of the English were like those of a
man who had suffered intolerable wrongs from the one and received
invaluable res