Well..."A History Book." I'm talking about Henry Thomas Buckle's History of Civilization in England Volume III, which is, at the very least, a lot more than "A History Book." But that said, here's the passage. No, wait a minute...a little context first.
Buckle's 1840 visit to Europe with his sister and mother (when he was 19 years old) inspired him to write a History of Civilization of England. Whilst in Europe he taught himself to read eighteen foreign languages. He spent seventeen years, working ten hours a day to produce his great historical work. (That's over 60,000 hours.)
By 1851 he decided that his work would be the history of civilization and spent six years writing, altering and revising the first volume. History of Civilization in England was first published in June 1857.
The work remained unfinished by his death in 1862. It was originally intended to expand to 14 volumes.
His last words were, "My book, what about my book?" 1
Okay. Now the passage:
"To solve the great problem of affairs; to detect those hidden circumstances which determine the march and destiny of nations; and to find, in the events of the past, a key to the proceedings of the future, is nothing less than to unite into a single science all the laws of the moral and physical world. Whoever does this, will build up afresh the fabric of our knowledge, re-arrange its various parts, and harmonize its apparent discrepancies. Perchance, the human mind is hardly ready for so vast an enterprise. At all events, he who undertakes it will meet with little sympathy, and will find few to help him. And let him toil as he may, the sun and noontide of his life shall pass by, the evening of his days shall overtake him, and he himself have to quit the scene, leaving that unfinished which he had vainly hoped to complete. He may lay the foundation; it will be for his successors to raise the edifice. Their hands will give the last touch; they will reap the glory; their names will be remembered when he is forgotten. It is, indeed, too true, that such a work requires, not only several minds, but also the successive experience of several generations. Once, I own, I thought otherwise. Once, when I first caught sight of the whole field of knowledge, and seemed, however dimly, to discern its various parts and the relation they bore to each other, I was so entranced with its surpassing beauty, that the judgment was beguiled, and I deemed myself able, not only to cover the surface, but also to master the details. Little did I know how the horizon enlarges as well as recedes, and how vainly we grasp at the fleeting forms, which melt away and elude us in the distance. Of all that I had hoped to do, I now find but too surely how small a part I shall accomplish. In those early aspirations, there was much that was fanciful; perhaps there was much that was foolish. Perhaps, too, they contained a moral defect, and savoured of an arrogance which belongs to a strength that refuses to recognize its own weakness. Still, even now that they are defeated and brought to nought, I cannot repent having indulged in them, but, on the contrary, I would willingly recall them, if I could. For, such hopes belong to that joyous and sanguine period of life, when alone we are really happy; when the emotions are more active than the judgment; when experience has not yet hardened our nature; when the affections are not yet blighted and nipped to the core; and when the bitterness of disappointment not having yet been felt, difficulties are unheeded, obstacles are unseen, ambition is a pleasure instead of a pang, and the blood coursing swiftly through the veins, the pulse beats high, while the heart throbs at the prospect of the future. Those are glorious days; but they go from us, and nothing can compensate their absence. To me, they now seem more like the visions of a disordered fancy, than the sober realities of things that were, and are not. It is painful to make this confession; but I owe it to the reader, because I would not have him to suppose that either in this, or in the future volumes of my History, I shall be able to redeem my pledge, and to perform all that I promised. Something, I hope to achieve, which will interest the thinkers of this age; and something, perhaps, on which posterity may build. It will, however, only be a fragment of my original design. In the two last chapters I have attempted, and in the two next chapters I shall still further attempt, to solve a curious problem in the history of Scotland, which is intimately connected with other problems of a yet graver import: but though the solution will, I believe, be complete, the evidence of the solution will, most assuredly, be imperfect. I regret to add, that such imperfection is henceforth an essential part of my plan. It is essential, because I despair of supplying those deficiencies in my knowledge, of which I grow more sensible in proportion as my views become more extensive. It is also essential, because, after a fair estimate of my own strength, of the probable duration of my life, and of the limits to which industry can safely be pushed, I have been driven to the conclusion, that this Introduction, which I had projected as a solid foundation on which the history of England might subsequently be raised, must either be greatly curtailed, and consequently shorn of its force, or that, if not curtailed, there will hardly be a chance of my being able to narrate, with the amplitude and fulness of detail which they richly deserve, the deeds of that great and splendid nation with which I am best acquainted, and of which it is my pride to count myself a member. It is with the free, the noble, and the high-minded English people, that my sympathies are most closely connected; on them my affections naturally centre; from their literature, and from their example, my best lessons have been learnt; and it is now the most cherished and the most sacred desire of my heart, that I may succeed in writing their history, and in unfolding the successive phases of their mighty career, while I am yet somewhat equal to the task, and before my faculties have begun to dwindle, or the power of continuous attention has begun to decay."
There is a man coming face to face with his own mortality. I wish he had had more years on this planet to come closer to fulfilling his vision.
1 Sorry to admit that I don't know where I got this information from...and I altered it so much in condensing and rewording it that my searches for the original source have been in vain. Most likely it started with Wikipedia, but there seems to be a bit of Encyclopedia Brittanica involved as well. If I manage to locate anything else, you'll be the first to hear about it.
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