CHAPTER XXVIII.

“Homeward bound” at last.—The prevailing Feeling.—Wauhoo and Atoowi.—“Stowaways.”—Farewell to the Sandwich Islands.—Ship “Uncas.”—On the Equator.—Whytootucke.—Roratongo.—Meeting of old Friends.—Interesting Missionary Incidents.—A good Reason.—Good-by to Roratongo.—Preparing for Cape Horn.—Christmas.—A heavy Gale.— Off Cape Horn.—New Experiences.—In the Atlantic again.—Ship “Betsey Williams.”—Brazilian Coast.—North of the Line.—Hurra for Yankee Land.—Brig “Alpha.”—Try-works overboard.—Scudding off Bermuda.—Gulf Stream.—Soundings.—Old “Hard-a-lee.”—The old Adage.— “Home at last!”—Conclusion.

To the reader who has followed us through the wanderings of more than four years, we tender our thanks, and beg his indulgence through our “homeward bound” passage, where we will take leave of him, with the kindest wishes for his prosperity and happiness.

On Monday, October 31st, we commenced our preparations for sea. All were anxiously longing for the time to come when we should see the ship’s head pointed toward home.

We had discharged several men who shipped with us at different times during the voyage “for the last port,” and it became necessary to procure more for “the passage home.” These were now all on board, and we only waited the arrival of the captain and lady to take up our anchor, loose our sails, and be under way. The day came. Tuesday, November 1st, the joyful command was given to “heave away.” The old windlass brakes rattled merrily, and

“Huzza! we’re homeward bound!”

rang out in full clear chorus from every voice on board, till the hills and mountains of Maui echoed back the sound. We could see the faces of our brother whalemen around us as they looked, no doubt, enviously at our craft, thinking of the long season yet on the “nor’west” to be gone through before they could sing as we did. But we felt that we had a _right_ to be happy. For more than four long and weary years had the ship been our floating home. We had labored, toiled incessantly, in storm and in calm—in the boats and on board ship—beneath the scorching heat of the tropical sun, and the freezing cold of rigid climes—been exposed to all dangers both on sea and land—and now, we hoped, we were going home to enjoy the fruit of our hard-earned savings. Going home! None but they who have been separated from near and dear friends, as we had been, for years, can fully realize the joy which these words produced.

The ponderous anchor was soon raised from its coral bed and snugly stowed away upon the bows; all sail was set, and we gladly left the anchorage of Lahaina with strong northeast trades. We shaped our course west-northwest for the island of Atoowi. The following day we passed to the southward of Wauhoo, which was plainly in sight, and “stood off and on” Atoowi. We procured several boat-loads of sweet potatoes, yams, and other recruits, and then shaped our course for the Society Islands. About an hour after leaving Atoowi a stranger made his appearance on deck. This took the captain rather by surprise, and he inquired of him “who he was and whence he came.” The man replied that “he belonged to the ‘——,’ and did not wish to try another season in the Arctic, and _did_ want to get home; was willing to work his passage, and hoped the captain would allow him to go home in the ship.” After giving him a long lecture upon the evils of desertion, the old man consented that he should remain, and he went forward with a happy heart.

On Friday, November 11th, we spoke the “Uncas,” of New Bedford, Captain James, like ourselves, bound home. We had a very pleasant “gam” with them, talking of the pleasures we were to enjoy, and anticipating with them great happiness. Our captain threw down the gauntlet to Captain J. for a race to New Bedford, which he gallantly accepted, and, we must confess, as gallantly won.

Nothing of great interest to us occurred, except crossing the equator for the last time in the Pacific, until we reached the Societies. We felt, at the time we crossed the line, that another goal was reached and passed—that another “milestone” in our journey was gone by. We sighted the island of Whytootucke, one of the Society Islands, on Friday, December 9th. We passed it, and on the following day raised Roratongo, distant fifty miles. Language is inadequate to describe the feeling of our Kanakas at once more seeing “my land,” as they called it. They were half frantic with joy. But when boat-loads of the natives came off to us the next day (having “beat” up to the island during the night), and they found their own relatives among them, we actually thought they would become crazy. We can not describe the scene. We can only give the reader an idea of their mode of salutation, which is to grasp each other by the right hand, place the other over the back, and rub noses very affectionately! With all our _pathetic_ feeling, we could but laugh at the ludicrous method. But this meeting almost brought tears to our eyes as we thought of those whom we soon hoped to meet.

On Monday, December 12th, the boats went ashore to bring off fruit. Wishing to have one more run on one of “the Pacific Isles,” we jumped into one of the boats, and were soon on shore. On inquiry, we learned that the missionary who was there at our former visit had been recalled, and that Rev. Mr. BUYACOTT, from England, who had been stationed there many years before, was again among them. The natives appeared greatly attached to him; and we must relate a simple incident of this attachment. They had received information of his coming, and when the boat arrived which brought him from the ship to the shore, it was instantly seized by the natives ere he had time to land, and triumphantly borne, with great rejoicings, upon their shoulders to the market-place, where he was received by the authorities and his old friends with a warmth of feeling that bespoke how universally he was beloved, and how rejoiced all were to see him returned to them again.

They had lately erected a fine church edifice under his supervision, which was certainly a credit to him as an architect, and to the islanders. Great preparations were making for its dedication, which was to take place in a few weeks. Under his care and example, the natives appeared cheerful and happy; their little farms well tilled, and themselves well dressed, neat, and contented. All united in saying that Mr. BUYACOTT was a most excellent man; and the interest he manifested in them, both temporally and spiritually, went far to prove it. Under his supervision we found a printing-office in operation, where tracts, papers, and hymns were printed in the native language, and distributed, not only in Roratongo, but in every island of the group. We found also blacksmiths, carpenters, shoemakers, and nearly all kinds of mechanics, who had received their knowledge from him. His residence was a fine stone house of two stories, situated on a gentle rise of ground, surrounded by a beautiful yard interspersed with shrubbery and flowers. A fine graveled walk led from the gate to the house. We found it a cool, shady retreat, refreshed by the sea-breeze, and shaded by beautiful orange groves.

But it was time for us to leave all this beauty of nature behind, and plow our way homeward. We discharged all our Kanakas save one, who wished to remain in the ship and go to America. On asking him what particular reason he had for wishing to see “’Merick,” as he termed it, he replied, “I like see all; and get my sister three fathom (six yards) red ribbon!” We thought him going a long distance for “three fathom red ribbon,” but, as he said “plenty time,” we gave up the argument.

We here shipped three white men who were anxious to go to America, and, having loaded the old ship with tropical fruit for the last time, we bade our Kanaka friends adieu, and were soon on our way home again, steering to the southward for a westerly wind that would send us to the coast.

On Friday, December 16th, we commenced our preparations for doubling the Cape. First, we gave the old ship a new suit of sails throughout, from flying jib to spanker, good and strong ones, that would stand many a heavy storm. Anchors were taken in on deck; also the bow and waist boats, and every thing made snug generally. This was rendered necessary also from the fact that we had commenced leaking so much as to require pumping every four hours; and, these precautions taken, we knew that she would not strain so much in heavy weather.

Sunday, December 25th, was Christmas with us as well as with those at home. And, although we had no visits from Santa Claus, we felt very happy, and knew that when another Christmas-day came round, if living, we should be enjoying it with loved ones at home. The best on board ship was served up for dinner, and all hands enjoyed it with a keen relish, sharpened by the anticipation of the good things yet to come. We were now about eighty degrees to the westward, and twenty to the northward of Cape Horn.

From this time until Tuesday, January 24th, we bowled it along merrily with a southwest wind, every thing set that would draw, and every hour lessening the distance between us and the Cape. On that day the gale increased to almost a hurricane, and hauled to the west. We were “scudding” before it, with close-reefed topsails, a heavy sea running, and threatening to ingulf us every moment. The wind increasing and sea still rising, it was deemed prudent to “heave-to.” This was a dangerous proceeding in such a gale, but, with careful management at the helm, it could be done. All hands were called, and placed at their stations. The second and third officers took the helm, the men stationed at the braces, and the ship’s head slowly brought to the wind. She gallantly came up; but a wave—an _avalanche_ of water—struck her on the quarter, dashed in on deck, sweeping every thing before it. “Hold on for your lives!” was the cry from the captain’s lips, and each man grasped the rigging, expecting every moment to be swept overboard. It was a fearful moment. The brave men at the helm were up to their waists in water, but bravely they clung to the wheel, knowing that if they left it death and destruction awaited us all. The body of water on deck was immense, being filled to the rail; and as the noble old ship would roll fearfully from side to side, it would seem as if she never would recover herself. By dint of great exertion, boards were knocked off the bulwarks, and the water began to pour out. This rendered her laboring more easy, and she was soon “luffed-to,” and rode comparatively easy. We all breathed more freely when this was done, and felt that we had had a narrow escape.

As we remained on deck watching the scene, we could not but contemplate its grandeur. As the ship would rise on the top of a gigantic wave, it seemed as if we were placed on the summit of a high mountain, with a yawning gulf at our feet, into which the ship would rapidly plunge as if she would bury herself. A feeling of awe and terror would involuntarily creep over us as she alternately rose to the crest of the mountain waves, and again plunged downward with fearful velocity, as if every plunge would be her last.

As soon as the gale moderated sufficiently sail was again made, and the noble old craft plowed her way onward through the briny wave, bearing her freight of humanity nearer, nearer to that home they so longed to see, and to those friends whose embrace they so longed to clasp. By our reckoning we now found ourselves “off Cape Horn,” and, with a fair wind, hoped soon to leave the Pacific far behind us.

The weather now became very cold, and our Portuguese and Kanaka found some rather tough experiences of it. In fact, they were about froze up. Amo, the Kanaka, would come on deck, and, the cold soon taking hold, exclaim, “What for all the same? Ah! too much bite you no see ’em! What make all the same this?” On asking him if he ever saw cold weather before, he replied, “Golly! no. I no been see all same this my land. Cape Horn, he no good.” He constantly wore three or four coats, and, in fact, all the clothes he could get on. It appeared almost impossible that the cold should penetrate so many thicknesses, yet he complained that it did. Manuel and Amo both came on deck one morning, and found it covered with snow. We never saw two persons more astonished than they. They made all sorts of inquiries, asking where it came from, what it was for, and questions innumerable. Seeing some of the men engaged in snowballing, they thought they would “take a hand,” especially as they occasionally received a quantity in the face. On picking it up, however, and attempting to pack it, they very soon let it fall, exclaiming, “Golly! he hot all the same fire!” and ran off, slapping their hands together, and blowing their fingers.

By our reckoning we found that on Thursday, January 26th, we had fairly passed Cape Horn, and were once more in the Atlantic. When this fact was announced, a feeling of great joy seemed to pervade the whole ship. We had all dreaded the passage round, and, now that it was passed, all felt a great relief. And we felt that we were so much nearer home. In fact, it appeared as though we were almost home; and as we had before counted the months, and then the weeks that would elapse ere we should tread our native soil, we felt that we could now begin to count the _days_.

On Saturday, February 3d, we spoke the “Betsey Williams,” of New London, Captain Pendleton. She was, like ourselves, homeward bound, with a full cargo of whale oil. We passed a very pleasant day with them, and at evening wished each other a safe and speedy passage, and parted company.

We had the usual amount of calms and head winds, which brought out the usual quantity of _grumbling_ from all hands, until we sighted the Brazilian coast. We then took a southeast wind, which merrily bowled us onward toward the line, which we were soon to cross for the last time. And cross it we did on Friday, March 10th, but with far different feelings than when we crossed it the _first_ time, nearly five years previous. Then we felt the future to be all uncertainty; now we looked forward to the happy time when we should meet those we so much longed to see. Then we had the prospect of four years’ absence from our native land; now we felt that that time had passed away, and we were soon to reap the fruit of our labor. At evening all hands gathered upon the forecastle, spinning yarns, singing songs, etc., in joyful anticipation, and, with three hearty cheers for “Yankee land,” adjourned.

It was now time for us to begin to paint ship, slick up things generally, and make every thing “shipshape and Bristol fashion.” This must be done in pleasant tropical weather, and we soon had a new coat on the old ship, making her look “e’enamost as good as new.” We were on the watch for outward-bound vessels, as we wished to obtain late news from home, and naturally felt anxious to know what was going on, and news of any kind was welcome. On Saturday, March 25th, we spoke the brig “Alpha,” of Halifax, and sent a boat on board to obtain, if possible, some news, and a few vegetables of some kind, as ours had long since, to use a somewhat homely expression, “gi’n out.” The boat soon returned, however, with neither, and we bid our Blue-nose friends good-by, and went on our way.

As we stated in a previous chapter, we obtained our last whales on Japan. It is customary for whalers to man mastheads during the passage home as well as on cruising-grounds, although not as vigilant a watch, we think, is kept. The try-works, also, are kept standing until they arrive near Bermuda. On Saturday, April 1st, the order was given, “Overboard try-works,” and at it we went with a will. Bricks and mortar soon flew into the ocean, and the large try-pots were released from their places and lashed to the deck. “No more whales this voyage,” cried the mate, as the last brick disappeared over the side. Yet we felt a regret at this too, for we would have loved the excitement, just then, of fastening to an eighty barreler, and having a nice run. But it was not to be, and we were not _very_ sorry.

All seamen know the weather which is most common “off the Bermudas.” We had our share of the gales so prevalent there. From this time for a week or more, we experienced all sorts of weather and winds. One day a fair wind, and the next “dead ahead,” as seamen term it, blowing a gale.

At last we took a breeze from the southwest, which increased to a heavy gale, but held on until we entered the Gulf Stream. This we knew by the temperature of the water, which is there always blood-warm. On Saturday, April 8th, we ascertained that we were to the northward of the Gulf Stream, and on soundings, the water being a bright green color.

On Monday, April 10th, all hands were ordered to “bend the cables.” It is unnecessary to say that we rejoiced greatly at this order. The chains were dragged from their resting-place in the hold in double-quick time, and every thing got ready for “letting go” the anchor on soil that had not been touched by it for nearly five years. Although not yet in sight of land, we all were anxious, excited, nervous. If the reader asks why, we reply we had been years separated from our native land, and were now returning to it.

The morning of Tuesday, April 11th, broke upon us thick, rainy, cold, and disagreeable. As the fog gradually rose, we discovered around and about us on every side a great number of vessels, probably a majority of them coasters. Bringing the old gun to the gangway, we fired it several times, in hopes it would bring us a pilot. The effort was successful. In a short time, the New Bedford pilot-boat “George Steers” ran alongside, and furnished us with an old gray-headed veteran, a regular old sea-dog, to take charge of the ship, and bring her to an anchor off New Bedford. It is useless to attempt describing the joy, the enthusiasm of all hands, now that the long-looked-for moment had come when “old Hard-a-lee” should put his foot on deck. And when he informed us that he intended to have the ship at anchor in New Bedford harbor at 10 P.M. that night, one simultaneous shout arose, and every man sprang to his post.

We never heard that the adage “There’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip” failed because it is old, and we realized it during that night and the following day. Instead of being in the city of New Bedford, as we anticipated, we found ourselves, on the following morning, in the midst of as severe a gale as we had experienced during the voyage. A short time after the sun went down, the wind rose from the northeast, and we were soon stripped to the bare poles. Add to this furious storms of hail and snow pelting us continually, and one can judge of our situation. The gale continued during the whole of Wednesday and Wednesday night, furious as a hurricane, and directly in our teeth. This was tantalizing; but bear it we must, and wait for a fair wind.

The next morning, about eight o’clock, the wind moderated and hauled to the south. It was not many minutes before every stitch of canvas that would draw was set, and we were rapidly approaching the land. Block Island hove in sight, then Montauk Point, and thus one point of land after another rose to view. “That ’Merick?” exclaimed Amo, the Kanaka, as the land loomed up in the distance. “Yes,” we replied, with a feeling of joy and pride, “yes, _that is America!_”

Bright and beautiful shone the full moon as we sailed up Buzzard’s Bay that evening, steering for Clarke’s Point. Sail was gradually reduced, and furled for the last time. At midnight we dropped anchor off the point, about two miles below the city, and when it struck the bottom, three hearty, enthusiastic cheers were given, that made the welkin ring. The remaining sails were soon furled, and we started for the shore, where we found our friends waiting to receive us with open arms. We breathed a prayer of gratitude to Almighty GOD, who had spared and shielded us through all the vicissitudes and dangers to which we had been exposed, and permitted us to return in safety to our native land.

And what shall we say in conclusion? We thank the reader who has followed us through the wanderings of five years, and, if he has been instructed or amused, we are content. As is remarked in the Preface, we have told our “yarn” in a plain, unvarnished style, laying no claim to literary merit, or wishing to be considered an _author_, but merely seeking to lay before the public a _truthful_ statement of what we saw. With this conclusion, we wish all our readers long life and happiness, and bid them an affectionate farewell.

Q

THE END.

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_Mr. Motley, the American historian of the United Netherlands—we owe him English homage._—LONDON TIMES.

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History of The United Netherlands.

FROM THE DEATH OF WILLIAM THE SILENT TO THE SYNOD OF DORT. WITH A FULL VIEW OF THE ENGLISH-DUTCH STRUGGLE AGAINST SPAIN, AND OF THE ORIGIN AND DESTRUCTION OF THE SPANISH ARMADA.

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His living and truthful picture of events.—_Quarterly Review_ (London), Jan., 1861.

Fertile as the present age has been in historical works of the highest merit, none of them can be ranked above these volumes in the grand qualities of interest, accuracy, and truth.—_Edinburgh Quarterly Review_, Jan, 1861.

This noble work.—_Westminster Review_ (London).

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The careful study of these volumes will infallibly afford a feast both rich and rare.—_Baltimore Republican._

Already takes a rank among standard works of history.—_London Critic._

Mr. Motley’s prose epic.—_London Spectator._

Its pages are pregnant with instruction.—_London Literary Gazette._

We may profit by almost every page of his narrative. All the topics which agitate us now are more or less vividly presented in the History of the United Netherlands.—_New York Times._

Bears on every page marks of the same vigorous mind that produced “The Rise of the Dutch Republic;” but the new work is riper, mellower, and though equally racy of the soil, softer flavored. The inspiring idea which breathes through Mr. Motley’s histories and colors the whole texture of his narrative, is the grandeur of that memorable struggle in the 16th century by which the human mind broke the thraldom of religious intolerance and achieved its independence.—_The World, N. Y._

The name of Motley now stands in the very front rank of living historians. His _Dutch Republic_ took the world by surprise; but the favorable verdict then given is now only the more deliberately confirmed on the publication of the continued story under the title of the _History of the United Netherlands_. All the nerve, and power, and substance of juicy life are there, lending a charm to every page.—_Church Journal, N. Y._

Motley, indeed, has produced a prose epic, and his fighting scenes are as real, spirited, and life-like as the combats in the Iliad.—_The Press_ (Phila.).

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We regard this work as the best contribution to modern history that has yet been made by an American.—_Methodist Quarterly Review._

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This work bears on its face the evidences of scholarship and research. The arrangement is clear end effective: the style energetic, lively, and often brilliant. *** Mr. Motley’s instructive volumes will, we trust, have a circulation commensurate with their interest and value.—_Protestant Episcopal Quarterly Review._

To the illustration of this most interesting period Mr. Motley has brought the matured powers of a vigorous and brilliant mind, and the abundant fruits of patient and judicious study and deep reflection. The result is, one of the most important contributions to historical literature that have been made in this country.—_North American Review._

We would conclude this notice by earnestly recommending our readers to procure for themselves this truly great and admirable work, by the production of which the author has conferred no less honor upon his country than he has won praise and fame for himself, and than which, we can assure them, they can find nothing more attractive or interesting within the compass of modern literature.—_Evangelical Review._

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Mr. Motley is a sturdy Republican and a hearty Protestant. His style is lively and picturesque, and his work is an honor and an important accession to our national literature.—_Church Review._

Mr. Motley’s work is an important one, the result of profound research, sincere convictions, sound principles, and manly sentiments; and even those who are most familiar with the history of the period will find in it a fresh and vivid addition to their previous knowledge. It does honor to American literature, and would do honor to the literature of any country in the world.—_Edinburgh Review._

A serious chasm in English historical literature has been (by this book) very remarkably filled. *** A history as complete as industry and genius can make it now lies before us, of the first twenty years of the revolt of the United Provinces. *** All the essentials of a great writer Mr. Motley eminently possesses. His mind is broad, his industry unwearied. In power a dramatic description no modern historian, except, perhaps, Mr. Carlyle, surpasses him, and in analysis of character he is elaborate and distinct.—_Westminster Review._

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It abounds in new information, and as a first work, commands a very cordial recognition, not merely of the promise it gives, but of the extent and importance of the labor actually performed on it.—_London Examiner._

Mr. Motley’s “History” is a work of which any country might be proud.—_Press_ (London).

Mr. Motley’s History will be a standard book of reference in historical literature.—_London Literary Gazette._

Mr. Motley has searched the whole range of historical documents necessary to the composition of his work.—_London Leader._

This is really a great work. It belongs to the class of books in which we range our Grotes, Milmans, Merivales, and Macaulays, as the glories of English literature in the department of history. *** Mr. Motley’s gifts as a historical writer are among the highest and rarest.—_Nonconformist_ (London).

Mr. Motley’s volumes will well repay perusal. *** For his learning, his liberal tone, and his generous enthusiasm, we heartily commend him, and bid him good speed for the remainder of his interesting and heroic narrative.—_Saturday Review._

The story is a noble one, and is worthily treated. *** Mr. Motley has had the patience to unravel, with unfailing perseverance the thousand intricate plots of the adversaries of the Prince of Orange; but the details and the literal extracts which he has derived from original documents, and transferred to his pages, give a truthful color and a picturesque effect, which are especially charming.—_London Daily News._

M. Lothrop Motley dans son magnifique tableau de la formation de notre République.—G. GROEN VAN PRINSTERER.

Our accomplished countryman, Mr. J. Lothrop Motley, who, during the last five years, for the better prosecution of his labors, has established his residence in the neighborhood of the scenes of his narrative. No one acquainted with the fine powers of mind possessed by this scholar, and the earnestness with which he has devoted himself to the task can doubt that he will do full justice to his important but difficult subject.—W. H. PRESCOTT.

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Works by Thomas Carlyle.

History of Friedrich the Second, called Frederic the Great. 4 vols. 12mo, Muslin, $1 25 each. Vols. I. and II., with Portraits and Maps, just ready.

The French Revolution. A History. Newly Revised by the Author, with Index, &c. 2 vols. 12mo, Muslin, $2 00; Half Calf; $3 70.

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By William C. Prime.

Boat Life in Egypt & Nubia. Boat Life in Egypt and Nubia. By WILLIAM C. PRIME, Author of “The Old House by the River,” “Later Years,” &c. Illustrations. 12mo, Muslin, $1 25.

Tent Life in the Holy Land. By WILLIAM C. PRIME, Author of “The Old House by the River,” “Later Years,” &c. Illustrations. 12mo, Muslin, $1 25.

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PUBLISHED BY

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Romanism at Home. Letters to the Hon. Roger B. Taney, Chief-Justice of the United States. By KIRWAN. 12mo, Muslin, 75 cents.

Men and Things as I saw them in Europe. By KIRWAN. 12mo, Muslin, 75 cents.

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Letters to Bishop Hughes. By KIRWAN. New and Revised Edition. 12mo.

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COMPLETION OF GROTE’S HISTORY OF GREECE.

A HISTORY OF GREECE, FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD TO THE CLOSE OF THE GENERATION CONTEMPORARY WITH ALEXANDER THE GREAT.

BY GEORGE GROTE, ESQ.

Vol. XII. contains Portrait, Maps, and Index. Complete in 12 vols. 12mo, Muslin, $9 00; Sheep, $12 00; Half Calf, $15 00.

It is not often that a work of such magnitude is undertaken; more seldom still is such a work so perseveringly carried on, and so soon and yet so worthily accomplished. Mr. Grote has illustrated and invested with an entirely new significance a portion of the past history of humanity, which he, perhaps, thinks the most splendid that has been, and which all allow to have been very splendid. He has made great Greeks live again before us, and has enabled us to realize Greek modes of thinking. He has added a great historical work to the language, taking its place with other great histories, and yet not like any of them in the special combination of merits which it exhibits: scholarship and learning such as we have been accustomed to demand only in Germans; an art of grouping and narration different from that of Hume, different from that of Gibbon, an yet producing the effect of sustained charm and pleasure; a peculiarly keen interest in events of the political order, and a wide knowledge of the business of politics; and, finally, harmonizing all, a spirit or sober philosophical generalization always tending to view facts collectively in their speculative bearing as well as to record them individually. It is at once an ample and detailed narrative of the history of Greece, and a lucid philosophy of Grecian history.—_London Athenæum, March 8, 1856._

Mr. Grote will be emphatically _the_ historian of the people of Greece.—_Dublin University Magazine._

The acute intelligence, the discipline, faculty of intellect, and the excellent erudition every one would look for from Mr. Grote; but they will here also find the element which harmonises these, and without which, on such a theme, an orderly and solid work could not have been written.—_Examiner._

A work second to that of Gibbon alone in English historical literature. Mr. Grote gives the philosophy as well as the facts of history, and it would be difficult to find an author combining in the same degree the accurate learning or the scholar with the experience of a practical statesman. The completion of this great work may well be hailed with some degree of national pride and satisfaction.—_Literary Gazette, March 8, 1856._

The better acquainted any one is with Grecian history, and with the manner in which that history has heretofore been written, the higher will be his estimation of this work. Mr. Grote’s familiarity both with the great highways and the obscurest by-paths of Grecian literature and antiquity has seldom been equaled, and not often approached; in unlearned England; while those Germans who have rivaled it have seldom possessed the quality which eminently characterizes Mr. Grote, of keeping historical imagination severely under the restraints of evidence. The great charm of Mr. Grote’s history has been throughout the cordial admiration he feels for the people whose acts and fortunes he has to relate. ** We bid Mr. Grote farewell; heartily congratulating him on the conclusion of a work which is a monument of English learning, of English clear-sightedness, and of English love of freedom and the characters it produces.—_Spectator._

Endeavor to become acquainted with Mr. Grote, who is engaged on a Greek History. I expect a great deal from this production.—NIEBUHR, _the Historian, to Professor_ LIEBER.

The author has now incontestably won for himself the title, not merely of a historian, but of the historian of Greece.—_Quarterly Review._

Mr. Grote is, beyond all question, _the_ historian of Greece, unrivaled, so far as we know, in the erudition and genius with which he has revived the picture of a distant past, and brought home every part and feature of its history to our intellects and our hearts.—_London Times._

For becoming dignity of style, unforced adaptation of results to principles, careful verification of theory by fact, and impregnation of fact by theory—for extensive and well-weighed learning, employed with intelligence and taste, we have seen no historical work of modern times which we would place above Mr. Grote’s history.—_Morning Chronicle._

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Transcriber’s Notes:

- Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - Blank pages have been removed. - Silently corrected a few punctuation errors. - “remainer” corrected to “remainder”, otherwise spelling and hyphenation variations were left as is.